#the hotel of forgotten memories | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

poisonf0rest · 2 days ago

Text

Intertidal Zone

♱⋅── rafayel x reader

♱⋅── about: Nightly Rendezvous card, but now we finally understand why rafayel was so desperate when he came back to the hotel room.

♱⋅── word count: 6.7k

♱⋅── warnings: mdni, smut, porn with some plot, the belt scene, slight exhibisionism, sooo much kissing, slight oral fixation, Lemurian mating bond, needy raf

art credit to @/khouxy on instagram

You swear Rafayel is doing this on purpose.

The first time it happens is right after your flight, the two of you only just managing to check into your hotel and change for dinner.

It's a fancy restaurant overlooking the vast desert, and the outdoor patio offered a clear view to gorgeous sunset. Furious spirals of orange and vermillion cast their light across the sand, making it appear to glow as winds kick up waves of golden dust along the horizon.

It’s beautiful, almost as much so as the man across you, who is still staring longingly into the distance as though committing every color to memory. As if repainting it entirely in his mind.

Not hues of warmth, but those of the deep sea. Blues and purples and colors so dark they’d only come to life in the night.

“How’s your drawing?”

Rafayel sighs at your voice, tossing his pen across the dinner table with a huff before leaning back against the sofa. A stack of crumpled sketches litter your table among half-finished plates of food. He insisted on traveling here to relax, and yet he seems to be doing everything but.

“If a few lines count as a drawing, then wonderfully.” Sassy as ever.

He sighs again, but this one sounds more pained, and you notice the red tinge highlighting his ears and neck as he leans against your shoulder.

“You still don’t feel good?” You ask, voice hushed as you place a kiss against his temple, the skin burning beneath your lips. Raising a hand, Rafayel immediately nuzzles into your palm as you pull his chin up towards you, feeling the rising temperature along his cheek and forehead. “We can head back if you’d like. Take a bath, or shower?”

You hoped the together was implicit by now.

But Rafayel only nods, placing a chaste kiss against your exposed shoulder. “What about the sunset? I saw you admiring it, and squandering a beautiful view is unacceptable for an artist. It’s one of the greatest offenses.”

Rafayel’s breath is minty and dry against your ear, and when you turn to look at him, his face is doused in the fiery hues of the sunset, each one casting deep purple shadows that only make his features all the sharper, half his face veiled in darkness.

Some days you wish you were an artist as well, if only to capture moments like this—to show Rafayel just how gorgeous he was.

Perhaps it’s only natural for a god. After all, no mortal could ever need beauty so violently arresting, so worthy of worship.

You’re leaning in despite yourself.

Rafayel meets you halfway, one hand on your waist as the other traces your jaw and bottom lip. But as soon as you feel the brush of his lips across yours, he pulls away.

You open your eyes in confusion. Rafayel’s never denied you before.

When you look at him in question, he only gives you a tired smile and pulls you to your feet with a chaste kiss on your cheek. “Sorry. I’ll feel better as long as I’m close to you like this.”

The second time it happens is when the hotel reception mixes up your and Rafayel’s rooms, leaving you to deliver some sort of formal invitation to him.

But the letter is soon forgotten; you can’t be bothered thinking about it, not when Rafayel still looks so absent.

He’s right next to you, knees brushing yours as you sit side by side on the couch, and yet he seems to be miles away, gazing out the window as the dunes shift and rise like waves under the moonlight.

"I used to really enjoy scenic spots before," Rafayel says, voice barely rising above the hum of the heater. "Catching sights of subtle things that might be easily overlooked used to feel like enough. More satisfying than finishing a painting, even."

A laugh. Dry, humorless.

His fingers grazed the edge of his glass, tracing the condensation absentmindedly. A droplet trails down his wrist. "But now, sometimes, I forget why I even decided to travel in the first place.”

You watch him, waiting. He doesn’t meet your gaze.

"I think," Rafayel continues, "somewhere along the way, I stopped just... noticing things. And I started needing them. Like the world wasn’t worth looking at unless I could turn it into something. Capture it, hold it in my hands, and call it mine." He shakes his head, a shadow of a smile crossing his lips. "It’s not a very generous way to live, is it?"

"You don’t need to be generous with everything," you say carefully. "Some things are just... for you to enjoy."

"Enjoy," he repeats, like the word doesn’t quite fit in his mouth. A pout. "It doesn’t feel like enjoyment anymore. It feels more like... hunger.”

Like he’s always fucking starving.

Rafayel finally turns to look at you, eyes eclipsed in the dark. Nearly dilated black.

“Sometimes I’m afraid that if I feed it, it’ll only grow worse.”

You turn to face him on the couch, sliding your leg between his thighs before perching yourself on Rafayel’s lap. It’s not lost on you how his heartbeat picks up, chest rising and falling rapidly as each shallow breath hits your lips. Perhaps it’s cruel, but you can’t help but touch him again, fingers tracing his full lips, up his jaw, fluttering against his eyelashes and into his hair.

“You think hunger gets worse when you feed it?" You finally ask, voice quiet, slow, daring to push back. "Doesn't it stop when you're full?"

Rafayel’s mouth quirks, a sharp, fleeting twist of a smile. "Not always. Sometimes it makes you realize just how much more you want. Or how much more you could take."

You frown. “You’re not demanding anything. Not from the world, not from me."

"Maybe not yet. But, if one day, I become someone who only takes… If I were like that, would you leave me?"

The confession hangs for a moment, the truth of it hidden. Something about the way his shoulders tense under your touch— like he's bracing for something, but it hasn’t yet arrived. A phantom pain from centuries ago, and a pain to come for a thousand years more.

“Silly fishie, I’d never leave you.”

Rafayel smiles in a way you know all too well, lopsided and teasing and empty.

“Thank you…” he hums, finally pulling you closer as his lips skim alongside the curve of your neck. “for accepting me the way I am.”

His breaths come out in desperate huffs against your skin, and he inhales sharply, freezing, before finally placing a kiss against the crook of your neck. And then another, and another.

“You’re just anxious,” you whisper, sucking a mark into Rafayel’s neck as he moans so sweetly against your ear. “I can help you relax.”

You wiggle your hips to better balance yourself on his lap and Rafayel looks almost near tears, one hand forcing you still while the other grabs your wrist, trailing kisses from your fingertips back up to your neck.

More. You need more. Rushing, your hands fly up into his hair, about to tug Rafayel to lay down on the couch when a crack echoes behind you.

The glass lays shattered against the floor.

Panting, Rafayel stares at the spilled water for a long moment before pulling away. You feel his erection digging into your thigh, the warmth of his fever spiking yet again as his skin burns against yours, yet he still refuses.

“As you said, I’m anxious…” Still panting, Rafayel picks you up, gently lifting you up as he stands from the couch. “Or, more like restless. In every sense of the word.”

The need in his eyes almost makes your knees buckle. He looks at you like you’re the only thing he could ever crave, like a bite would both be salvation and leave him hungry forever.

“But see, now I can’t stand the idea of letting you go again, and you don’t want me to either.” He sets you down just a little farther than necessary, but his hands don’t leave your waist, trembling, waiting. “What should we do?”

“Rafayel…” You want him. You want him so badly it hurts.

“Fuck.”

You nearly jump at that. Rafayel curses again, his head falling onto your shoulder as his breath hitches. “I can feel your concern. That and…” another convulsion, his body burning up. “Fuck. You have to leave.”

You don’t even have time to retort before you’re pushed out of his hotel room, and the door slams shut behind you.

By the third time, you know something is wrong.

It’s not that you and Rafayel haven’t kissed yet. Hell, you’ve had sex before. The last time was quite literally on the night before you were supposed to leave for this trip. Obviously, Rafayel suggested that you stay at his place for the night—insisting he was closer to the airport and getting an Uber would be quicker this way—and one thing led to another, as is what happens nearly every time Rafayel and you are left alone for too long.

But now it’s been nearly a week and Rafayel has barely touched you, let alone picked up on your not-so-subtle clues.

So yes, it's safe to say you’ve become rather pent up.

You’ve fallen asleep in the off-roader the two of you rented out for the day, bobbing up and down the dunes like waves flecked white not with seafoam but snow. There’s a chill as you drift off, but your dreams are anything but, plagued with memories of Rafayel.

His hands, deft and talented with a brush, are even more so when teasing your skin, knowing exactly how to trace delicate circles against your thighs before roughly curling into your cunt. His tongue, every smartass comment and teasing grin now silenced as he licks and sucks against your clit. His body, the warmth of it, bearing down on you with every thrust, or perhaps writhing beneath you as you take him again and again and again—

It’s the cold that wakes you up.

Your eyes flutter open, first noticing the dim light of the hotel parking lot, and second, the burning desire still aching between your legs.

“Rafayel?”

A shuffle makes you turn, and you find said man still seated in the driver’s seat, unbuckled as he sits with his head resting on his hand.

“Yes, cutie?” Rafayel’s tone is teasing, but the way he stares down at you feels like anything but. The hunger is back.

Sitting up, you clear your throat. “How long have I been asleep? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You seemed like you were having such a nice dream, I didn’t want to disturb you.”

You inhale sharply. Glaring, you try and see if he’s teasing again or being serious, but Rafayel doesn’t let you read him for long, already leaning over the middle console.

He places his lips gently on your temple, brushing over the skin, and then moves down to your cheek, his breath warm against your neck. He whispers your name, so softly you almost think it was a trick of your imagination.

Your mind goes blank when he kisses your jaw, a small noise escaping the back of your throat as you feel his hair tickle your skin.

"Raf," you mumble under your breath, but you know he hears it because he exhales sharply against you.

Rafayel trails a series of kisses up your neck, "I know, I know. I'm sorry, cutie." His body temperature is rising again, and the air in the van feels dangerously thin as he sways in your grasp. "I'm trying."

The hunger is back, all-consuming and hot as you genuinely fear you might burn up. A wave of dizziness washes over you, and you finally cup Rafayel's jaw, leading him towards your lips.

Yet again, he stops you halfway.

“Do you want to go back to your room first?”

At first you think he’s suggesting moving there before continuing, but you know better at this point.

“You’re not coming with me?”

Rafayel pulls out the invitation from before, waving it between the two of you as if all this was the letter’s fault. “I still have to attend my friend’s salon thing.”

“But you’re still burning up! Forget this, I can’t let you go out to who knows where when you’re still acting strange. Maybe we can see a doctor—”

“Cutie…”

“—No, no. Or maybe I can come with you.”

Rafayel says your name this time. Firmer. Cutting off your rambling as he places his forehead against yours.

“Do you want me to turn into a sea creature that’s beached on the sand after the ocean recedes? Leaving me to suffocate when I come out of the water?”

You don’t quite know how to respond to that, feeling his desperation in every word even as you struggle to make sense of it.

Rafayel continues, pulling away from you again. “Don’t you trust me? How about we make a promise?”

“What kind of promise?”

A smile. “I promise… I’ll be okay without you tonight.”

There’s no joke, no hidden meaning, just Rafayel who so violently hopes that this promise will hold true.

So you relent. “Okay, just take care of yourself.”

Finally, Rafayel opens the car door, letting the desert night winds sweep in with a biting chill as he leans back against the driver’s seat. He lets out an almost inaudible sigh. “You can head back. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Rafayel promised he’d be okay without you tonight, but you don’t think the opposite could hold true.

Not when the dizziness Rafayel caused remained. Not when you still feel the phantom touch of his lips and hands all over your body, burning you up, leaving you cold and empty and aching.

You’ve been burning for the better part of a week now.

Something stuck between a laugh and a cry of pure frustration leaves you as you fall onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “This is pathetic.”

Even the damned sheets smell like Rafayel, pillows deeply laced with his shampoo and the smell of his cologne—amber, yuzu, and something salty like the ocean—surrounding you as though this were his hotel room and not yours.

Desert nights were cold, but even the room's chill could do nothing to quell your desire, arms shaking with it as you quickly stripped yourself of your shirt and bra. The room spins as you stumble around, leaving your clothes on the floor, another delirious whimper seizing you as you sprawl against the silk sheets.

You need him.

Fuck, you need him, and you hate him for leaving you while the growing ache between your thighs threatens to swallow you whole.

The sheets are deliciously cool against your flushed skin, and you turn your head to rest your cheek in the cool embrace of the pillow. But it only needs a second to heat from your desire.

And then the room is all too hot once again.

Kicking off your pants, your hand snakes down your bare torso, leaving half-hearted squeezes to your breasts and hips, failing to replicate the touch Rafayel already has you addicted to. The memory only makes you more frustrated.

A hand slips beneath your soaked underwear, and fuck, you’re dripping enough to ease your fingers in already. You force yourself to slow down, rubbing slow circles around your entrance, the mere friction enough to have your hips bucking up against nothing.

Inhaling sharply, you slide a finger into your weeping cunt, a moan pushing from your lungs as you do. Not enough. It’s not enough.

You force yourself to draw each movement out, the curl of your wrist accompanied by your muffled cries and the slick, obscene sounds echoing alongside your ragged breath. Withdrawing your finger nearly to the fingertip, two plunge back in this time, and your back arches off the bed with violent tremors as you imagine it was Rafayel's hand instead.

How he’d tease you in the early mornings to wake you up, how he’d take special care of every sensitive spot on your body, how he’d draw his fingers along your clit just the way that will make you come undone.

And as your fingers find that sensitive bundle of nerves, the way you cry his name into the empty room is no different.

Your head is spinning, falling, your thighs shake, and it's not long before you're gasping out, "Rafayel, please.”

Still not enough. Every rough thrust of your fingers brings you higher and higher, but without the pressure of Rafayel's chest pressed to yours, or his hot breath ghosting across your ear, his voice, his lips, his touch—

Without him.

A sob rips from your throat, your hips bucking uselessly against the air as you fuck yourself harder, deeper. But your fingers are only so long, and your free hand, fisting the sheets, is unable to make up the difference. "No, no please," a whine, and your free hand rushes to circle your clit, the other picking up pace.

You're close, so close, sobbing his name when the dizziness from the car returns tenfold, overtaking your body in waves as your eyes roll back. "Please, ah! Rafayel, m’cumming-"

The world goes silent as pleasure surges through you, muscles convulsing, a choked, garbled sound escaping as you come. Collapsing back against the sheets, you struggle to catch your breath, the stickiness of both the heat and your orgasm coating your thighs.

There’s another tug, a violent pull against your chest, but the dizziness remains.

You know you should change the sheets or at least move them aside, but you can’t manage to do either as you rush to shower before Rafayel returns from his friend’s exhibition.

It’s only when you stumble into the bathroom that you notice it.

Shit. This is Rafayel’s room.

You must be trying to kill him.

Surely, this is the gods' cruelest trial—a final test of his resolve—to see if he’d bow once more, forsaking divinity and succumbing to the temptation of you.

Because it’s been barely an hour, and Rafayel has already resigned himself from the party, passing blank smiles and empty compliments as he quietly counts down the minutes until he can return to the hotel, when suddenly he feels it.

The tug of your bond flashes through his body as his dick aches.

Rafayel freezes mid-sentence, the polite smile he'd been wearing slipping from his face. The conversation at the bar around him, something about chiaroscuro in the artist’s latest piece, become muffled static as the chains tighten, digging into his heart.

It’s unmistakable now. The rhythm, the rising intensity, the waves of pleasure that don’t belong to him but still manage to spark delirious heat up his veins.

Rafayel’s breaths quicken, body temperature rising as his Evol flickers out of his control. He glances around the room, feigning interest in the conversation, the glittering glasses of champagne, the faint hum of the crowd. It doesn’t work. The only thing he can focus on is you.

He should leave. Go outside, breathe in the night air, and let the tether between you both loosen, just to regain control. Just to prove to himself it’s not too late.

But the bond tightens, as invasive as it is intoxicating, demanding Rafayel’s attention like a leash coiled around his neck. It’s not gentle. It’s not kind. It’s primal, every nerve in his body pulled taut like you’re screaming his name over and over into the depths of his soul.

It’s not fair.

No god can deny the prayer of a worshipper.

Your pleasure becomes his, and when Rafayel closes his eyes, he swears he can feel your phantom hands on him, dick already heavy and throbbing, leaking through his expensive trousers.

Are you in bed, thighs trembling as you grind against your own palm? Or maybe the shower, steam curling around you as you chase release? Or worse—are you riding something of his? His shirt? His pillow? Is this vengeance a cruel punishment meant to shatter what little resolve he has left?

Shit. He’s hard.

“Hey man, what’s wrong? You good?”

The slam of a glass brings him back. Gods, he hates these rich socialites.

The champagne glass Rafayel was holding is now covered in cracks, blood trickling down his ring finger. He’s unraveling, composure fracturing with every pulse of your pleasure surging in and out as violently as a full moon’s tide.

Rafayel looks up, smiling. “Stress. And apparently a very needy pet.”

The man laughs at what he assumed was a joke, but Rafayel sees his hesitation, the type animals give when they pick up rustling in the bush. Fear.

Rafayel’s grin only widens, all teeth. “I should probably go check on her. Wonderful party,” he adds, lifting his glass in a half-hearted toast before setting it down with a sharp clink.

As he steps outside, the desert air does nothing to soothe him. If anything, the dryness makes it worse as the pull becomes sharper, like you’re reaching for him, your need coiling tighter around his chest.

A growl, almost feral, rumbles low in his throat as he staggers down the cobblestone streets. He doesn’t need directions. He doesn’t even need to think. His body moves instinctively, guided by the bond, by you.

Rafayel swears he can feel you all across his body, your heartbeat picking up as you get closer, the smell of your skin and arousal, the cries of his name that only become more and more desperate as you fail to bring yourself over the edge without him.

You’re begging for him in a way his bond mistakes for worship, because Rafayel’s body feels like it’s burning. Like blood spilled on his altar, an offering of yourself to your god, your husband.

The thought that you might be doing so unintentionally only drives him further into madness.

But, beneath the frustration, there’s something else. A glimmer of something Rafayel hates to name but knows all too well: relief.

Because as much as he might deny it, Rafayel could never leave you. And now that you’ve reciprocated, now that you’ve begged for him oh so sweetly, he would gladly submit to his bond and become chained to you once again, forever at your mercy, unable to escape the inevitability of his fate.

He doesn’t even knock when he reaches the hotel room door. It swings open under the force of his hand, and the sight of you standing there—wide-eyed, startled, only in a bath towel—hits him like a blow to the chest.

There's a soft click as Rafayel locks the door. A hurried shuffle of shoes as he all but stumbles toward you, closing the distance between you in one hurried, unstoppable motion. A startled gasp as he grabs your face in his hands.

It's the last breath you take.

An arm wraps around your waist, blocked by only a flimsy hotel towel as Rafayel violently spins you around. Your surprise is swallowed by his lips as you’re pinned against the window, the chill of the desert snow, frosted against the glass, a harsh contrast to the burn of his touch. His hand pins yours at the wrist as he stares down at your fingers.

“Rafayel? What are you doing here?”

The question barely gets out, not before he rushes forward to claim you in a kiss, if it was even that. A desperate, consuming need overtakes him, Rafayel pushing you back so insistently that your head hits the window with a thud, pain immediately distracted as his clothed knee grinds up between your bare thighs.

Holy fuck, just a towel. Right.

You try to push him back, one hand pressing against his chest as the other flies back to tighten the towel. “Wait–”

Rafayel kisses you again. And again. And again.

You can feel the cloth slipping.

But Rafayel makes it very hard to care. His hand traces your throat, your heartbeat, then drags you closer by your hips as he thrusts forward in time, still caging you against the window. He’s relentless, every kiss only broken with a ragged breath or gasp as though he’s given up on breathing entirely, content to consume you instead, his tongue sweeping against your lip before it coaxes yours to meet it halfway, licking and sucking into your mouth.

It’s obscene, animalistic, and you swear that there has to be something wrong with you because the dizziness is back, and this time it’s enough to make your knees buckle, the two of you blindly stumbling across the hotel room.

So you bite him.

“Why–” Breathe. Remember how to breathe. “Why are you here?”

Rafayel almost looks offended, thumbing his bitten lip before licking away the smudge of blood with a lopsided smile.

Fuck, he’s hard. You feel the heat of his cock jolt against your thigh, pressing into you as he surges forward again, kissing you as his hands squeeze and cup your waist, lifting you up.

"Why?" Rafayel laughs, roughly grinding up against you, your legs wrapping instinctively around his hips. "This is my room, remember? You’re the one who decided to come in here." He growls the last part, licking, biting, sucking at your throat.

“Or was that intentional?”

The look in his eyes is feral.

There’s no hesitation left, no half-riddled questions, no sweet praises, no semblance of your devoted lover. Just hunger. He’s rushing, pushing forward even with nowhere to go, almost in revenge. In punishment. Your teeth click together, foreheads bumping, unable to talk because when you try to open your mouth his tongue only slides in deeper.

The wet sounds echo against your ears alongside your racing heartbeat, only causing you to grind harder, rougher, before Rafayel ungracefully drops you onto the bed.

Your body bounces on the mattress, but it gives you a moment, and you scramble to cover Rafayel’s lips with your palm before he can begin devouring you again.

“What I meant was, shouldn’t you still be at that art salon?”

He all but collapses into your touch. Lips parted, he grabs your wrist, tongue darting out as he licks up your middle and ring fingers, moaning against your skin.

“I tried. I tried going, leaving.” He's panting, breathing in your scent before biting your palm. “But you called me back, you cruel, selfish human. And now I’ll never leave again.”

Your words come out between moans, unable to look away. “I called? I didn’t do—” You’re cut off as Rafayel licks up your skin, sucking lightly at your fingertips as his eyes, half-lidded and blown out stare down into yours.

Oh.

A hot flush of embarrassment seizes you and Rafayel must sense it because his eyes flutter closed. His hips snap forward, grinding his erection into the side of the bed, and he lets out a low whine.

Gods, the taste of your cum lingers in Rafayel’s mouth. Every dry swallow, every inhale, every damn breath tastes like you, and it makes him want to submit to every horrid urge and simply consume until—

“You don't think I know? Don't think I can’t tell?” Rafayel goes back to kissing your wrist, needing something more, something stronger. His hand ventures to the edge of your towel. ”Can feel everything you do, no matter how far away I go. Gods, I feel it, feel everything, and it drives me insane. Need you so bad, need to hear you, feel you, taste you..."

A shudder runs up Rafayel’s spine at the mere thought, and he can't stop himself anymore, leaning down to suck your fingers into his mouth, tongue curling around the digits, saliva coating your fingertips. He rips the towel from your body.

"Say you need me too," He’s begging, sinking down to your knees. "Say you need me just as badly. I–ah fuck—I can smell how much you want me."

Throwing the towel to the floor, Rafayel runs his hands down your chest, rougher, long fingers cupping and massaging your breasts as his mouth trails wet kisses down your stomach, his tongue dragging against the smooth skin, a clear goal in mind as he settles between your thighs, looking up at you as though you were a thing worthy of worship. His Goddess.

He’d offer himself to your alter time and time again. So long as he was the only one who got to bleed for you.

“Yes.” You’re already soaked, the sight of Rafayel panting between your thighs enough to have you babbling, ”Yes, Rafayel. I needed you so, so badly all week. Couldn’t help m’self, please.”

He freezes at that, pouting. “Right, you already came, didn’t you. So mean, cutie. Leaving me out.”

Before you can argue, Rafayel dips his head, dragging his tongue up your cunt before sucking roughly at your clit.

Your legs thrash above his shoulders. “Ah– wait, not so!” It’s too much too soon. Still sensitive from your prior orgasm, your back arches violently off the mattress, but Rafayel pays it no heed, deaf to your cries as he sloppily makes out with your pussy, drool and slick connecting his lips to you in sticky strands even as he pulls away just far enough to talk.

“She’s already so sensitive, s’not fair,” he pouts, mouthing against your thigh as he flicks your throbbing bundle of nerves. You jolt, gasping at the sharp jolt of pain. At the same time, Rafayel fucks his tongue into your cunt, just barely dipping in before he moves back to rub nonsensical patterns on your clit. “But this is mine. I don’t want you touching it without permission anymore.”

Fuck, if you had any semblance of a coherent thought you would have argued, maybe even laughed at the sheer audacity of the man.

Instead, all you can manage is a pathetic whine of his name, because the strange swirls and harsh lines he’s licking into your clit aren’t patterns at all but letters, spelling something over and over and over again.

R-A-F-A-Y-E-L-R-A-F-A-Y-E-L-R-A-F-A-Y—

The ring of the hotel phone buzzes from the nightstand. It’s the artist whose party Rafayel left only minutes ago.

“Tch,” Rafayel scoffs in annoyance, whipping his chin as he goes to decline the call.

But this gives you a moment to breathe, and all you can think of is getting revenge. Especially on the bastard you tried to take Rafayel from you tonight.

“Wait,” you grab his wrist. “You’re just going to hang up? What if it was something important?”

Rafayel turns to you with narrowed eyes, knowing there’s no good intent behind your wicked smile. It turns you on more than you can admit, the sight of his glare, mad at both the call and you interrupting his feast. But Rafayel can't deny you anything and does as he’s told, pressing accept.

“The guest of this room is unable to answer. Please leave a message.”

Instantly, you have Rafayel on his back.

His neck looks far too bare, and you climb onto his lap, enjoying the way his pulse kicks up under your palm. Ripping his shirt’s buttons off you begin biting dark spots down the pale expanse of his chest and neck. You’re about to aim right for the glowing mark on his chest when the phone beeps again, playing a voice recording of a clearly very drunk man.

“Why did you leave, bro? Come back here r’now. One more round of drinks a—” Incoherent laughter and sounds of clinking glasses.

No. No, Rafayel’s not allowed to leave you, not again.

You don’t know where the fear comes from, but you force yourself closer on top of him, breasts pressing into his abs as Rafayel shivers beneath you. Leaning down, you kiss the glowing mark atop his heart, admiring the way it flickers and glows when Rafayel bucks into your touch, moaning as you begin to nip and suck in earnest.

And then you’re flipped onto the mattress once more.

Rafayel’s heaving, arms trembling to keep himself up. Away. “...Are you sure?”

“If I don’t, then you might actually leave. What will you say if you’re asked why you didn’t go back?”

Rafayel smirks, and you catch a glimpse of fangs as he sits back on his knees. There’s a click, the rough sound of metal on metal as he undoes his belt, unzipping his trousers with one hand as the other cups the inside of your thigh, yanking it over his shoulder as he drags you down the bed. “I’m busy.”

And then he’s kissing you.

You’re lost, so hopelessly lost in each other that you fail to notice the phone beep once again, the monotone voice of the machine saying, “Please leave a message at the tone,” before flashing twice, still running.

Again, Rafayel seems to forget the concept of breathing, gasping into your lips as he ruts his hips into yours. “You’re not leaving me, right?” Fuck, he’s leaking all over his stomach, pre-cum splattering across your thighs.

“Never. I’ll never leave you, Rafayel.”

“Then tell me you’re mine. Tell me, please, please—hah—tell me and I’ll do anything, promise cutie, promise.” He’s all but gasping between kisses, cock trapped between his body and yours as he grinds forward, voice a pitch or so higher than it usually would be. “Say it, say you're mine, tell me, I need to hear it again."

He's talking in circles, rambling, the desperation in his voice palpable. Grasping the base of his cock, he sloppily fisting himself once, twice, before thumping against your entrance.

“I’m yours, Rafayel.” You writhe, grinding yourself up against him in hopes that he’s just hurry the fuck up.

“Again.”

“I’m yours, yours Rafayel.”

“Again, ah—again,” he’s nuzzling into your neck, lifting your leg higher and higher, pinning it to your head as he folds you into a matting press. Still, he refuses to press in, cock throbbing against your clit as he hugs you tight, every muscle in your body screaming in protest and pleasure. “Again, please, please.”

“I’m-” You’re either gasping or crying, words flooding out, ”Rafayel’s, I’m Rafayel’s.”

At that, Rafayel’s entire body convulses. He sobs, finally thrusting forward, bullying up into you bit by bit, forcing you to count every inch as the entirety of his weight bares down onto you.

You can feel the way his muscles shift, the way his arms bulge and contract as he holds himself above you, hips flush against yours. The desert air must be infecting him, because Rafayel is dripping sweat, flushed from his ears to his chest as he begins to pull out and slowly grind himself back in.

His voice is wrecked, breathless as he tries to kiss you, missing slightly as he sucks against your bottom lip, drooling. "I'm yours too, I'm yours." At the same time, his cock jerks in you, burying deeper with every filthy roll of his hips, throbbing against your sweet spots.

Then something snaps, Rafayel’s lips sealed back on yours, and the rhythm he sets is brutal.

Rafayel's cock drags over your walls, molding you in ways you never thought possible. Each thrust is hard, deep, and leaves you gasping, eyes rolling back into your head as you arch off the mattress, nowhere to go as his body folds yours damn near in half, weight bearing down on you.

It's all you can do to wrap your arms around him, nails scratching into his back, drawing thin lines of blood across his shoulder blades as you try to stay grounded, keep your mind from being swept away as the dizziness returns.

But the pressure building up in the pit of your stomach makes it hard.

Harder still as Rafayel begins mumbling into your lips, the filth pouring from his mouth making you clench, cunt fluttering around his cock as he pounds into you.

He can see and feel everything like this. Unable to look away from your face only inches away, watching every expression with love-drunk eyes, hugging you closer, fucking you harder.

"Can feel you, can feel you getting tighter. You're close right? Say you're close, please, mhm fuck." he's panting, and if you focus hard enough you can hear the sloppy noises of him sliding in and out, wet and obscene, the harsh slap of his balls against the curve of your ass.

But then Rafayel’s pushing himself lower, your legs dangling uselessly in the air as his chest is pressed so tight against yours you can barely take a breath.

"You're mine, only I can touch you like this, feel this. My wife. Say it, say you're mine, wanna hear it, please. Please, ah, I’ll do anything, say it."

He's barely pulling out anymore, resigning to quick, deep grinds as though he can’t bear to part.

Too uncoordinated to kiss you, Rafayel's head falls to your neck, sobbing into your marked-up skin before messily kissing atop the bruises.

"Yours. Yours. I'm yours, your wife," the words spill from your lips before you can even think, and Rafayel nearly passes out trying to stop himself from cumming then and there.

It’s like you’re trying to milk him, hugging him closer and ankles wrapped around his neck as he’s lifting your hips right off the bed. But now he needs to see it.

Needs to know the way you'll cry out his name, how your eyes will glaze over and roll back into your head, the way your chest will heave, the sweat that will pool at the valley between your breasts, the way the skin will flush from a soft pink to a burning red as you lose yourself in the feeling. To him.

It's the only thing he's able to concentrate on, the only thing he's able to think of. The feeling of your body beneath him, the sound of his name on your lips.

And that alone is enough.

Rafayel’s orgasm is sudden, a jolt of pleasure that surges up his spine with enough intensity to have him collapse, pinning your body beneath him. You can feel it, the way his cum splatters against the walls of your womb, painting your insides, filling you up until the excess squirts out around his cock and your intertwined thighs. He can't stop his hips, can't stop the way he grinds his pelvis against yours, trying to get deeper and deeper still.

"Mine, mine, mine," is all he can say, eyes wide and pupils blown out as he watches the way your body twitches, a mixture of sweat and cum painting your body as you nearly pass out in exhaustion. "Gonna- gonna fill you up, fuck, so pretty, my pretty girl, pretty wife, gonna make sure it sticks, so I’ll never leave. So you’ll never leave me again."

You're cumming.

He can feel the way your cunt spasms, the way your walls lure him back in, the way you tremble and shake as you throw your head back with tears.

Rafayel can't stop himself from leaning down and biting, teeth sinking into the crook of your neck, his hands grabbing at any bit of flesh he can find. All the while he fucks you through your orgasm, the mess of fluids creating the most obscene noises as they squish and bubble out, pooling out from between your bodies.

As you’re swaying in and out of reality, you think you see it. A field of red flame lilies, a poison so sweet that when you drink it, you lick your lips and thank the gods.

God. Just one, the one of the sea and the flaming sun.

The one who's still kneeling before you.

The one who you love.

"Maximum voicemail length reached, recording sent."

♱⋅── a/n: Uber now canonically exists in the lnds universe, thanks. Also, I would have included the absolutely gut-wrenching aftercare included in the card with MC asking Rafayel to sing for her, but honestly I would not change that scene in the slightest and am content to believe that is exactly what happened next.

Oh the things I’d give to hear Raf sing~

#poisonwrites #nightly rendezvous #rafayel love and deepspace #love and deepspace #lads rafayel #lnds smut #l&ds smut #l&ds rafayel #rafayel x reader #love and deepspace x reader #intertidal zone #love and deepspace smut #rafayel smut #lnds #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel #qi yu #lnds rafayel

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writing-fanics · 1 year ago

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more than anything

Lucifer Morningstar x F!Reader

chapter i > chapter ii > chapter iii

[summary: Charlie Morningstar arrives in hell and meets someone from her dad's past when he was an angel.]

warning: mentions of depression: angst: seemingly unrequited love: loneliness: charlie might be ooc:

Charlie gasped her eyes widened with joy, clasping her hands together jumping up and down excitedly. "Are you Y/n?!" She asked, and the angel looked at her shocked, "You already know about me?" the angel looked at the princess of hell, in disbelief.

"Of course, I do!" She exclaimed, remembering the stories her father used to tell her about, [Y/n].

"My dad would tell me stories about you when I was little!" She said smiling, at [Y/n] who's body tensed up for a moment and her cheeks darkened a little. "Really?" She mumbled, under her breath looking away from the princess for a moment. "I thought he'd forgotten about me." She mumbled, her smile faltering for a moment. Before shaking her head. Forcing a smile on her face.

Charlie looked around the angel's office curiously, "So, your father?" said [Y/n], looking over at Charlie, smiling as she continued to look around the room. "So what did your father tell you about me?" She asked, and the princess of hell nodded.

"Good things I hope?" She said, and the princess of hell looked at the angel. "Of course, he said you were the only angel that believed in him." said Charlie, and the angel smiled reminiscing on times that have long since passed.

"We shared the same dream even adding some ideas onto each others, expanding on them. " said [Y/n], looking down her angelic wings seemed to go limp at her side as she frowned, "That was eons ago," She said, looking down.

Their conversation went on for what seemed like hours, the angel saw so much of the one she loved in his daughter. [Y/n] talked about Lucifer, and stories that he never told Charlie. Charlie watched as the angel's eyes sparkled as she talked about memories. [Y/n]'s heart seemed to swell, and then to suddenly falter back to sadness as she remembered, that she was to shy too scared to confess her feelings for the man she loved.

“You loved him didn’t you?” asked Charlie, and the angel looked over at her in shock and smiled softly, and chuckled softly. “Loved?” said [Y/n], and she smiled her eyes closed as she turned towards Charlie. “I still love him?” She said, her smile forced.

She said, “I couldn't bring myself to tell him,” She wrapped her arms around herself, taking a deep breath and letting out a sigh. “I was afraid of ruining the friendship we already had.” She said, placing her hand on her head her thumb resting on her cheek, as she turned away from Charlie. Letting out a sigh, “I-If he didn’t accept my feelings, I didn't wanna lose what we already had." She bit her lip nervously, and turned back towards Charlie.

“S-So I didn’t." She said, looking at Charlie. The Princess of Hell, could see the sadness and loneliness in her eyes. Eyes that were filled with so much regret, "So, I watched as he fell in love with another." Her voice cracking slightly, clearing her throat she continued.

She pursed her lips inward, "Did and said nothing as he was banished to Hell," She looked down, "But, I can't take back what happened eons ago." She said, forcing a smile on her face as she looked at Charlie.

"So tell me about this Hazbin Hotel, I've been hearing so much about?" She asked, curiously and Charlie's eyes lit up. "Your father, wouldn't of set up a meeting with Heaven, without a reason." She said, and Charlie nodded.

[Y/n] listened intently about Charlie's plan, even though she was going to hear it again in court. She nodded in response smiling, "Sounds intriguing." the angel said, looking at the girl. "I do agree that everyone deserves a second chance." She said, a smile growing across Charlie's face.

"If those sinners that come to the hotel are willing." She added, placing her hands on her desk and sighed. "But, it isn't me who you are going to have too convince." She added, and Charlie looked at her, "But, I believe in the cause." She said, smiling looking at the princess of hell.

[Y/n] looked at Charlie and saw so much of her father in her, her heart couldn't help but ache. "You remind me of your father." Charlie looked at her and smiled, "Thank you, if it wasn't for him I wouldn't be here right now." said Charlie, “The apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree.” said [Y/n] a hint of sadness in her voice.

Charlie smiled softly, "You really do love my dad don't you?" asked Charlie, and the angel looked away closing her eyes for a moment. Taking a deep breath and with a solemn look on her face, she turned back towards Charlie. "More than anything." said [Y/n] sadly, the room filled with silence. She still loves him even after eons have since passed they've last seen each other, "Sorry, I shouldn't even be saying this to you." She said shaking her head.

She scoffed at herself, "Telling you his daughter that I've got some silly crush on him," She shook her head and placed her head on her desk, "Ugh, I'm so pathetic!" She groaned, into her desk. For eons, after Lucifer was banished to Hell. [Y/n] hasn't been the same since forcing a fake smile on her face, while doing her daily angelic duties. With a fake smile plastered on her face.

One the inside she was hurting. She was lonely. She was depressed. Filled with so much regret being the cause of her own lonely existence. If she wasn't such a coward maybe things would've ended up differently maybe they wouldn't?

Charlie placed a hand on shoulder causing [Y/n], to lift her head and look up at her. "I'm sure he misses you just as you miss him." said Charlie smiling, trying to comfort the angel as much as she could.

"He used to tell me so many amazing and wonderful things about you," She said. [Y/n]'s lower lip started to quiver as tears welled up in her eyes, hiding her head into desk. She glanced over at the clock on the wall; lifting her head up from the desk. She wiped away her tears, "I-It's almost time for the court meeting. You should probably get ready." said [Y/n], as she stood up from her chair.

"Maybe, you can visit once this is all over?" Charlie said, and the angel looked at her and smiled, "I'm sure that would make both his and yours day." The angel really could see so much of the man she loved in his daughter, "That sounds like a dream to me." said [Y/n], as she walked towards the door and placing her hand on the door knob.

She missed him dearly and for many years she stayed in heaven, wallowing in self-pity and regret. Loneliness and heartbreak. Grieving over the lover she was to cowards to confess her feelings towards.

"But, I don't know. Right now you should focus on convincing the angels." She said looking at the young demon, as her gaze drifted towards the ground. "I-I shouldn't of even mentioned what I said today." She said a solemn look on her face.

"You have nothing to apologize for." She said, looking at Charlie and smiling, "I have only myself to blame." She smiled sadly, and Charlie and the princess of hell a gave her a sympathetic smile. As Charlie left the room, "Charlie?" The Princess stopped and turned around, "When you see him again." She said, "L-Let him know." She stammered, nervously biting her lip her wings limp at her side.

"L-Let him know that I miss him more than anything," She said sadly, and Charlie smiled and nodded. [Y/n] watched as she walked away, and closed the door behind her and turned away. Leaning her back against the door, she sank to the ground and brought her knees to her chest and cried. "I really am pathetic," She sniffled, once again wallowing in self-pity.

"E-Even, if I were to go and visit would he even wanna see me?" She mumbled, maybe she should. She didn't expect anything from it but, maybe it would fill the hole in her immortal heart. The thought of seeing him again brought a smile to her face, she really did love him with every fiber of her being. She envied Lilith and was jealous of her not in a hateful or spiteful way.

She just..[Y/n] sighed, wiping away her tears. Standing to her feet and dusting herself off, taking a deep breath in and exhaling. As she placed her hand on the doorknob, sighed, leaving her office and making her way towards the courthouse.

If only she knew how much he truly did miss her, as on his desk. Sat a rubber duck that shared the same angelic features as her, wings and all. If only she knew how is heart would ache, as he would glance at it.

if only she knew

how much she truly means to him

a/n: ngl..i kinda wanna maybe make her charlie's stepmom.. i mean she still loves lilth of course but.. i mean.. like.. come on.. i should..

#lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar x you #lucifer morningstar x y/n #lucifer morningstar fanfiction #lucifer morningstar #charlie morningstar x reader plantonic #charlie morningstar #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel fanfic #angst #seemingly unrequited love #unrequited feelings #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin

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alastorss · 7 months ago

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⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Alastor comes home to silence.

It's strange considering how much of a night owl you've become since meeting him. The quietness is almost eerie—the long stretch of hall between the staircase and your shared bedroom seeming daunting despite the fact that he's walked it a million times before.

The rest of the hotel is dark, like it's been devoid of life all this time. Even Husk has retired for the night, the bar closed and wiped down.

He wonders if he accidentally waltzed into an alternate dimension.

Shaking his head, Alastor creeps down the hall as to not disturb the other guests between him and the bedroom. The door creaks at the hinges as he slowly pushes it open, not wanting to spook you in case you were awake.

He can't explain it, but warmth fills him from the tips of his ears all the way down to his toes when he finally lays eyes on you.

You've fallen asleep at the desk, head buried in your arms to hide your face from the light of the lamp. Your shoulders rise and fall gently with each soft snore, the blanket sloppily thrown over your shoulders cascading down to the floor to make you look like royalty.

The demon feels his grin shrink into a small smile as he slips behind you to peer at what you were doing before you passed out. Dozens of polaroid photos are lazily scattered around the desk, each one dated in the corner and signed with your name and a heart.

His eyes scan the sprawling expanse of photos, dating all the way back to just before you'd introduced yourselves to each other.

He carefully plucks the sharpie from your fingers and caps it before slipping an arm under your knees and the other behind your back. Hoisting you up and using his hip to slide the chair back into place under the desk, he watches as you stir in his arms for a moment.

Alastor carries you to bed, laying you down and re-fluffing your blanket so that you can cozy into it. He sweeps your hair from your eyes and leans down to kiss your forehead.

"Sleep well, Cher," he whispers.

He's just about to whisk himself away to get ready to join you in bed when he happens across the photos again. Curiosity washes through him and, nosy as ever, he dares to take a peek at what your little project was all about.

The demon is careful not to nick the photos with his claws as he lightly drags them across the film, tracing each memory you captured.

Your first day at the hotel, dangling between Charlie and Vaggie as they took you in like a lost puppy. He's not in the photo, but he still remembers hearing your laughter from the lobby and thinking it was wonderful.

Your first time doing one of Charlie's ridiculous bonding activities, where you confessed that you had no recollection of your life as a human. It wasn't uncommon for new Sinners to have forgotten their lives, after all.

Your first time letting Angel dress you. He had decided to put you in something tight and revealing... that bastard.

Alastor's fingers stop atop a polaroid dated to when you first became friends.

He's distracted, looking at you with an expression he can't even recognize himself. Brows quirked and smile making his cheeks cherub—you snapped the photo in his moment of vulnerability when he normally would have vanished from it instantly.

He continues tracing your face in chronological order, your smile growing in each. And he's in every single one of them, never looking at the camera but instead distracted by you in some way.

"People told me you never like to take pictures," your voice suddenly startles him. He looks at you over his shoulder in surprise. You blink at him slowly through your bleariness, the same smile he's seen in all the photos gracing your face. "But for some reason, you've always been in mine."

Alastor turns around again to scan across all the polaroids you've taken of him, dating up until just last week when you had surprised him his favourite meal.

For a moment it dawns on him that he, a demon, should never have opened himself up so much to you. That you were his greatest flaw. That he was weak around you. The thought leaves as fast as it came when he realizes how soft his smile had gotten around you.

He can't remember ever being this happy even as a mortal walking the earth.

"Al?" You say quietly, now sitting up in bed alert and awake from his uncharacteristic silence.

He's still for another second. Then, he swipes the camera from the desk and makes his way to your side. You barely have time to register what he's doing before the light flashes and the shutter clicks.

The picture prints slow enough for you to finally realize that you had been the subject of his photo.

"What was that for?" You giggle, rubbing your eyes from the blinding light.

Alastor takes the picture and slips it into his pocket.

"I want to remember this," he tells you with a kiss to the top of your head. "A memory for me to keep, dearest."

taglist: @the-lake-is-calling @dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice @averylonelysea @bri22222 @cxrsedwxrlds @amarokofficial @anae-naea-zacheria @for-hearthand-home @fantasy-is-best @angixyc @th3-st4r-gur1 @nonbinaryanarchist0013 @dilemmaiscool @concentratedconcrete @squiword7 @clarakainda @princekeerys @cedarrthefluffylee @alastorthirsty @queermaxwooo @readergirlstuff (send an ask to be added!)

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ohisms · 1 year ago

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↪ 𝑺𝑬𝑻𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺 , updated . ( a collection of various settings meant to inspire drabbles or be used as prompts . )

001. the seaside , as the sun is setting .

002. a cabin in the middle of the woods .

003. a picket-fenced home in the suburbs .

004. a dark bus stop lit only by street lights .

005. a private jet miles high in the sky .

006. a funhouse’s room of mirrors .

007. an office building , bustling and busy .

008. the back row of an empty movie theater .

009. a run - down motel room .

010. a loud house party on a suburban street .

011. a university lecture hall during a class .

012. the rooftop of a very tall building .

013. a great ballroom during an elegant party .

014. the back of a wailing ambulance .

015. the wine cellar of a large mansion .

016. behind the school’s gymnasium .

017. a boisterous bonfire at the lakeside .

018. an otherwise empty parking lot .

019. the shady bar of a noisy , dark club .

020. the grounds of an empty summer camp .

021. a large hedge maze , easy to get lost in .

022. a neglected or derelict treehouse .

023. a spacious , light-filled meadow .

024. an underground illegal fighting club .

025. an abandoned scrapyard .

026. a large penthouse overlooking the city .

027. an apple orchard in the middle of spring .

028. an empty playground with squeaky swings .

029. an extravagant greenhouse .

030. the base of a large waterfall .

031. a spacious walk - in closet full of lovely clothes .

032. a solemnly quiet hospital room .

033. the dark depths of an abandoned mine .

034. the deck of a fishing boat at night .

035. the thick crowd of an audience at a show .

036. a long , winding road .

037. the scene of a violent crime .

038. a fork in a hiking trail deep in the wilderness .

039. a cramped dressing room .

040. a dusty antiques shop full of relics .

041. the street of an unfamiliar city at night .

042. between the tall shelves of a thrifted book shop .

043. a building abandoned during construction .

044. a house without power or running water .

045. a mysterious trail found in the woods .

046. the back of a taxi stuck in traffic .

047. the inside of an elevator that won’t move .

048. fairgrounds during a large event (or after hours) .

049. a garden bountiful with flowers or produce .

050. a childhood home or bedroom .

+ 30 more setting prompts : 1 / 3 / 2024

051. the site of a horrible accident .

052. a closed pool , after everyone has left .

053. a home holding horrific memories .

054. by the side of a dangerously quick river .

055. a private hotel room .

056. a police station in the middle of the night .

057. a ferris wheel carriage under a sky of fireworks .

058. a lavish , invite - only party .

059. a public transit stop as rain is pouring down .

060. the back of a taxi going in the wrong direction .

061. the underworld .

062. a dusty , forgotten attic .

063. on the set of a television show or movie .

064. a lighthouse overlooking the raging sea .

065. in a post - apocalyptic bunker .

066. on a ship hundreds of miles from the nearest coast .

067. on the rooftop of a perilously tall building .

068. a tent pitched in the middle of the woods .

069. a crowded stadium during a football game .

070. the morgue during an identification .

071. an otherwise empty library during a late study session .

072. a place that feels familiar , yet you've never been here before .

073. a long hallway that seems to stretch on forever .

074. a signpost at the start of a hiking trail .

075. a bar or tavern bustling with life .

076. the dance floor of a masquerade ball .

077. inside of a car parked in a secluded area .

078. at the edge of a cliff overlooking a large lake .

079. inside a very old house with very old haunts .

080. the antiseptic interior of a space station .

#i'll add more eventually #just had to repost this time cos the old post wasn't in beta :/#inbox prompts #setting prompts #rp prompts #rp memes #inbox memes

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tayraedoll · 2 months ago

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Radio Daddy

My entry for @6esiree contest! I hope you enjoy this little story!

18+ MDNI

This is my take on what the dynamic between Alastor and a Gen Z radio host would be like. A little bit of rivalry, a little bit of sexual tension, and a lot of attitude.

Word count: 2979

TW: Smut, P in V Intercourse, Oral (male receiving), Rough s3x, soul deals, swearing, Alastor is a bit mean, but reader likes it

"...and that is why Hell would be better off as a matriarchy", you spoke into your mic. It had been a long four hours of broadcasting, you were exhausted and definitely looking forward to dinner by this point. But you also loved the studio, the freedom of creating your own show and speaking your mind, and the power to sway the masses that listened.

"Don't forget- I will be DJing at the Hazbin Hotel Grand Re-Opening tomorrow night! It's sure to be lit so stop by and have a drink with me. Until next time, stay gucci my friends!"

You signed off and leaned back in your chair, closing your eyes and taking a moment to relax. The tranquility didn't last long however, before you had a chance to take a breath you heard the telltale radio static of your boss- Alastor The Radio Demon. You sigh before opening your eyes and turning to the futon in the corner of your recording studio.

You arrived in hell 2.5 years ago after unfortunately overdosing when someone spiked your drink at a gig. When you learned that Hell only had one radio station you set out to create your own; everyone called you crazy, that the radio was the domain of the infamous Radio Demon. But at that time he had been missing for 5 years, his radio show nothing but static whispering memories of the past. So you brushed everyone off and made your own show anyways. It was an instant hit, your fan base expanded rapidly as sinners were eager to listen to a new voice in Hell's media scene. You had found your niche, your place in the despondent plane called Hell.

For two years you were the queen of radio, but you unfortunately sat atop a borrowed throne. Six months ago you were broadcasting like any other day when, after signing off, you had found yourself locked inside your own studio as the shadows of the room crawled over you. Alastor had offered you a choice- either you sign a soul contract with him and continue your show under his administration, or you cease broadcasting for the rest of your afterlife. You suppose you should count your lucky stars that he didn't just kill you, you were technically a rival after all and you had heard how he dealt with others who challenged him. His reason for letting you live was just one of the many mysteries of The Radio Demon.

Said demon now sat on your futon, back ramrod straight and legs neatly crossed and tucked underneath him. His fingers were interlaced in his lap as he smiled radiantly at you.

"Evening my little doll! Riveting performance as always! Although, I do have one note. You recall a discussion we had earlier about not using profane language while on air yes?", his smile tightened, his eyes hardening ever so slightly in annoyance.

You rest your chin in your palm and give him the most bored expression you could muster,"No one gives a shit if I swear Alastor. We are in Hell, or have you forgotten?"

Everyone else was scared shitless of this man, but he made your heart rate spike for an entirely different reason than he did for most others. Your boss was fucking HOT. You regularly pleasured yourself as you listened to his own radio show he revived upon his return, your thighs automatically clenched together at the sound of his voice. So, in retribution for him being so damn attractive, you behaved like the biggest brat. It was a victorious day if you could make his ears twitch, an almost imperceptible movement of his fluff that would be easily missed if you weren't looking so hard for it.

Your sassy remark earned you the little ear flick you were going for which made you smirk, your Overlord employer narrowing his eyes at you in warning. "I really wouldn't start with that smart mouth if I were you Darling. Need I remind you that I own your little show? Therefore, you will abide by my rules- no more profanity. This is the end of the discussion." His tone left no room for argument; as much as you liked pushing his buttons, you were not stupid and knew when to quit while you were ahead...or alive that is. You let the argument go with a scoff and a mumbled "Fine".

Alastor beamed back at you once again, his voice returning to its normal, chipper tone, "Splendid! Now on to business- I would like to hear what you have prepared for the hotel's ceremony tomorrow. This event means quite a lot to our dear Princess Morningstar and I will not let her down." You caught the underlying threat, really it was you who carried the burden of making sure you upheld his image. Your job was not just to entertain the hotel guests, but to make The Radio Demon look good as well.

Luckily for you, Charlie was huge fan of your show. She would regularly call in to talk to you about your chosen discussion topic of the day and put in song requests. Really you had known Charlie for longer than Alastor had, you knew exactly what she liked and were more than prepared to cater your services for her party. Your smile sweetened again as you logged into your playlist for the Grand Re-Opening Ceremony, "I was going for a persevering and uplifting kinda vibe, concentrating on songs that will give girl-power and fuck-the-system. Charlie is a Swiftie, so I made sure to add several of her greatest hits to the line-up like 'Shake it Off' and 'Look What You Made Me Do'." You turn your laptop around so your boss could look at the playlist you made, only to be met with him giving you a "are you dumb?" look.

"There is absolutely no way you will be bringing that ridiculous contraption into my hotel Darling", he pointed to your computer with revulsion written clearly on his face as if the laptop personally wronged him.

You bark a short, incredulous laugh, "Alastor, if I can't bring my equipment into the hotel then how exactly am I supposed to do my job?" You cross your arms over your chest and lean back in your chair, waiting for him to explain his absurd rules that will only hinder your ability to make him proud.

"VoxTek cannot be trusted and is not allowed in the hotel- particularly by my very own employees! No no no no, I will provide you with everything you will need to provide top-notch entertainment to our esteemed guests", he snapped his fingers and a retro-looking record player and several record albums appeared beside your desk.

You became more and more exasperated as you rifled through the collection before you, "There isn't even anything from the last 50 years in here! As far as I'm aware, this isn't a "Roaring 20's"-themed party. If the goal is to make a good impression and get more sinners to stay at the hotel then we need to offer more than just old jazz tunes!"

The Radio Demon clutched at his chest in offense to your comment, "My Doll, no one partied harder than we did in the 20's. Jazz and speakeasies were truly the pinnacle of entertainment. I assure you that if you stick to my plan all will go just swimmingly." His voice hardened again at the end of his speech, warning you to just follow along. But you wouldn't, not when you knew you were right.

"And how many sinners from the NINETEEN-20's will be there exactly?!", your voice rose in volume with each word,"Face it, Alastor, most of the sinners there will be from more recent times. Therefore, we need to play music that ISN'T 100 years old!" You got up and started pacing your studio, completely oblivious to the growing radio static filtering off the man in red or how his antlers were starting to grow more tines. "Honestly, it's like you don't even try to connect to your audience anymore. I don't understand your complete aversion to modern technology, if you don't learn to adapt your are going to be left behind-", you stopped abruptly in the middle of the room, staring at the wall as the epiphany hit you like a ton of bricks. Your back was turned to the now irate Overlord, his claws dug into the leather of your futon to stop himself from launching at you. "That's why I'm here", you whispered, "You didn't kill me, you made me sign a soul deal so you could use me to bridge the gap between you and the younger audiences of hell. The younger generations find your show BORING."

You whip around with a triumphant smile on your face, ecstatic that you figured out the clever demon's ploy. Your face paled and the smile quickly disappeared when you took in the state of The Radio Demon. His normal crab-claw antlers now more closely resembled an elk's spread, the sclera of his eyes were jet black. The ever-present smile still adorned his face, but it now resembled a malicious grin akin to one you'd associate with The Joker. He rumbled out a low, dangerously dark chuckle that had the hair along your arms raising in goosebumps.

"Oh my Doll, you really should have learned when to quit running your mouth", he stood up and had you backed into the wall in three strides flat. "I should kill you for your insubordination, if you were anyone else you would be a mangled mess of blood and bone where you stand", his eyes bore down on you. Your heart hammered away in your chest as he lifted one hand to your face but you refused to flinch away from him, if this was how you died a second death then you would not give him the satisfaction of seeing your fear. Instead of dealing you a death blow, however, he gently dragged a claw from your temple to your chin. "Luckily for you, Princess Charlie would never forgive me if you were hurt by my hands. That... and I admit that I have grown quite fond of you myself. But-", his claw dug into the point where your chin and throat met just behind your jawbone, "-there must still be punishment. What kind of Overlord would I be if I let my possessions speak to me in such a disrespectful manner?"

You opened your mouth to plead your case but were quickly shot down, "Careful Doll. I enjoy you, but be careful. In fact, perhaps it is best if you do not speak at all", he chuckled again before summoning your soul chain in his hands. The bright, radioactive green glow of the chain blinded you momentarily and before you could process what was happening you were yanked to the other side of the room. When your eyes finally focused again you were on your knees with Alastor sat on the edge of the futon in front of you.

"Now Darling, how about you show me if that smart mouth of yours is good for something other than backtalk?", he pulled the chain again and your face came just inches from his crotch. You looked up at him with wide eyes, was he really asking you to do what you thought he was asking you to do? The way his eyes narrowed and his grin widened told you that yes- he wanted you to do exactly what you were thinking.

Well, you know what they say- what The Radio Demon wants, the Radio Demon gets. With a newfound determination you steeled your resolve and ran your fingers up his thighs to his belt. Without ever breaking eye contact with him you slowly unbuckled and removed the belt before opening his trousers. His cock was only half-hard under his briefs, running a finger up the length of it made it twitch deliciously and you smirked again before you freed his length from its fabric prison.

Even at only half-mast he was of impressive length and girth, no doubt you would struggle to take all of him once he was fully hard. Your mouth watered at the thought, you glanced back up at his face and noticed how his jaw was clenched in anticipation, eyes half-lidded at he stared at your mouth.

His expression was all the confirmation you needed before you leaned forward and licked up the length of his shaft from tip to base, nose brushing against the red curls of his pubic bone. Alastor gasped sharply above you, one hand wringing your hair around it as the other hand held your leash taut.

You teased his lower head with your tongue, swirling around it tantalizingly slowly. Gently parting your lips, you take just the mushroomed part into your mouth and give a gentle suck before teasing with your tongue again. You repeat this process a few times until his cock stands at full attention. After the third suck, he lets out a growl uses his hand in your hair to force you down further on his cock, clearly tired of the teasing. A small gag escaped your throat before you forced it to relax to accommodate the sudden intrusion. With a moan you slowly pushed forward until you felt him bottom out at the back of your throat.

"That's it Doll, such a good girl", Alastor gritted out through his teeth, holding your head there for a moment. You slowly started to bob your head, lips wrapped tightly around his shaft giving a popping sound every time they passed his engorged tip. Your tongue ran along the vein on the underside of his length, the skin velvety and warm.

After several long, slow passes, the deer demon gripped your head again to still your bobbing movements with your nose buried in his curls. Without a warning, he harshly pulled back and thrusted forward again, burying himself as deep down your esophagus as he could go. You sputtered, gagging sharply and tears instantly forming in your eyes. Your hands came up to push against his thighs but the chain on your neck quickly pulled tight again to keep you from moving a centimeter off his cock.

"Nuh-uh-uh Dear, it's time you learn your lesson for talking back to your master", he pulled back again just to thrust back into your mouth with brutal force. True to his word, he set a punishing pace. You struggled to breath between his continuous assault on your throat and the saliva that pooled in your mouth, dripping down your chin in thick spouts. Tears clouded your vision, all you could do was sit there and take his punishment and try not to pass out from lack of air. Every breath you managed to take came in through a gasp and left through a gag.

"My, my Doll. What pretty noises you make, so much better than the sassy remarks you usually give me. Perhaps you deserve a reward for taking your punishment without complaint."

You were suddenly pushed back off his cock, your lungs taking full advantage of the reprieve by gulping in as much air as they could. Clawed hands gripped your elbows as strong arms picked you up from the floor, your knees hit the futon cushion as your forearms landed on the back of the frame. A sudden breeze alerted you that your skirt was hiked up over your hips and your heard fabric ripping as your panties were torn from your core.

Alastor held your hips in a bruising grip and he thrusted into you, filling you to the hilt in the first go. A strangled moan left your raw throat, hands clenching onto the back of the couch. You were given minimal time to get used to the full feeling before Alastor resumed his brutal pace from before.

"I'll tell you what my dear, I'll make you a deal. I will provide you with a more modern record player and the vinyls for all those songs you wanted to play tomorrow as I still will not allow VoxTek technology in the hotel," you were honestly only partially listening as his tip was hitting your g-spot with every word. "In exchange, your body is mine to use as I see fit. Does that sound fair Doll?"

A lewd moan escaped you as he continued to drag his length through your walls, "Fuck Alastor-"

He stopped his movements just as you were reaching your peak making you whine in displeasure "I asked you a question- do we have a deal? You will not cum until you've answered me."

"Yes, Alastor! It's a deal. Please, please, please make me cum!", you cried out, you were so desperate for release you would have agreed to anything he asked.

"Hmm, I quite like you begging Doll. I quite like punishing you as well- I do hope you continue to behave like a brat, just to give me an excuse", he resumed his pace and before you knew it you were pushed over the edge, clenching hard around him. Alastor's own release soon followed as he spilled into you with a groan.

You knelt there on the futon, catching your breath as he pulled out and redressed himself. Once he was neatly tucked away again he walked around the couch to your face. His index finger lifted your chin so you were looking up at him, "I will see you tomorrow my doll, do not be late."

With that he disappeared into the shadows, leaving you reeling from what just happened. After a few minutes of processing the unexpected turn of events the smirk returned to your face.

"I wonder what would happened if I was just 5 minutes late?"

#hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x you #hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #fem reader #alastor is in hell for a reason #rough daddy #rivals to rivals with benefits?

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drmaddict · 4 months ago

Text

Keep Out

Summary: modern!Aemond takes his girlfriend home with him for the semester break over summer. He had already forgotten that he barely got any peace and quiet in his old room.

Wordcount: 1.717

Warnings: tiny smuttish part, but also not really, mentions of an unwanted lap dance, lots and lots of fluff

Present

They heard something rumbling loudly against the door. "Urgh. Fuck. Aemond?" shouted Aegon through the door.

(Y/n) laughed silently and shook an equally smirking Aemond, who was lying on her stomach.

2 months before

Aemond was unusually nervous for his ratio. He had never brought anyone home before. It was unusual. He felt strangely naked, as she paced around his room, looking at the books and posters from his school days.

When a grin appeared on her face, he knew immediately what was coming.

"Aha!" She pulled the CD case from the shelf and held it up triumphantly. "I knew it!",she grinned at him.

He just rolled his eyes and put the My Chemical Romance CD back in its place. "Behave.", was all he said.

Her smile softened. Her arms gently wrapped around his neck and pulled him in for a soft kiss.

"Close the door! Would you?", they heard someone laugh. None other than Aegon stood in the doorway and grinned at them both. "We don't want mummy to think you're promiscuous."

"Wow. That was a difficult word for you.", Aemond replied in a calm voice, but (Y/n) could see the tension in his jaw.

"At least I'm not a twenty-year-old virgin.", Aegon rolled his eyes and walked away again.

(Y/n) scratched his neck reassuringly. "So this is Aegon?"

He grumbled in agreement, annoyed.

"You exaggerated a bit with his hair. I was almost expecting a half bald head.", she turned his mind to another topic, knowing full well that he was largely uncomfortable with the subject of sex.

"You didn't see him after rehab. He was close."

She laughed lightly.

He lay relaxed on the bed. (Y/n) half beneath him. His head lay on her chest and he savoured the delicate fingers, as they ran over his scalp and through his long strands.

Sleeptoken was playing softly in the background, but he focussed more on her heartbeat, which he could now hear so clearly.

His eyes had fallen shut at the caresses, his breathing was calm and deep.

Everything was beautiful. Everything was good. Everything-

"Aemond we - Oh sorry."

Both their gazes shot in the direction of the roughly flung open door. His mum stood in the doorway, a little embarrassed. "We'll order something from the Italian. Please come downstairs... And put a shirt on Aemond!"

He dropped his face into the crook of her neck and groaned in annoyance. "I should have taken a hotel.", he grumbled.

She kissed his temple. "Just locking up is cheaper, I think."

"We don't have to.", she explained quietly.

Aemond shook his head. "I want to try it.", he admitted, still looking nervous. "But only on you for now.", he confessed quickly.

She stroked his hair. "Okay."

"You sure?"

She nodded with a smile.

Aemond cleared his throat. He had come a long way since he was a boy and a teenager, but the memory of that night was still so present.

Aegon had dragged him along to his birthday. He doesn't know what he'd expected, but it hadn't been a stripper.

He and his friends had cheered her on as she danced on Aemonds lap. He had never felt so overwhelmed und uncomfortable. The fact that he had come in his pants less than two minutes later had, of course, taken the mockery to the extreme.

They had bawled and Aemond had simply run away until he could lock himself in the bathroom, where he washed himself three times in a row in an attempt to wash off the shame.

"Hey." He felt her hand on his cheek. He pulled himself from his memory. "It's just me here. No one else." She smiled so warmly at him again. And she was right. The rest of his family was gone tonight, except for Haelena. But she rarely left her bugs voluntarily anyway.

He nodded, but still buried his face briefly on her shoulder. "Can I?," he asked, stroking her waistband with his fingers.

She nodded with a smile.

He carefully slipped his hand under the elasticated fabric and immediately came across the top of her panties. He looked at her questioningly again. She simply nodded. His fingers travelled deeper. He felt light stubble and took in the slightly scratchy feeling beneath his fingertips. He drew a few exploratory circles.

"Does that bother you?", she asked a little hesitantly, but he immediately shook his head.

"Not at all."

He let his fingers wander deeper until he felt what he was looking for. He groped around a little awkwardly and blindly. Searching for what he had already read about. She tenderly pushed her hand towards his. Grasped his fingers and brought them into position. She calmly showed him how to move them. He followed her with concentration.

She sighed slightly and withdrew her hand again. He tried himself out. Experimented. Memorised what caused which reaction.

And he realised, that this was okay. It was even kind of nice. It was-

The door to his room opened again. Helaena poked her head into the room. She didn't pay any attention to the situation of the two of them, frantically trying to present themselves in a more socially acceptable manner.

"Helaena!", shouted Aemond reprovingly.

She looked absolutely neutral in return. "Have you seen my Tarantula? She's run off."

"Your what?", asked (Y/n) immediately in alarm.

"My Tarantula. She-"

"Rethorical question.", explained Aemond immediately. "And no."

"Okay."

The door closed again.

"Please tell me that Tarantula is the name of your cat."

"Don't worry about it. The creature is ancient. It probably just turned to dust."

"Found her!", Heelena shouted from the corridor.

"Great.", Aemond called back, only slightly annoyed.

(Y/n) was still sitting tensely on his bed. "What do you say we-"

"Chinese or Thai?" he asked.

"Chinese."

"I'll just wash my hands and get the car.", he explained and stood up humbly. Would he ever have a quiet evening in this house?

"I love you.", she called after him tensely.

"Love you too.", he called back with a sigh.

They made out violently. She was sitting on his old desk and had her legs wrapped around his hips like a snake.

His centre kept twitching slightly forward. His family was gone, even his sister, and the damn door was locked.

Aemond pressed himself against her even more than he already did. His hands wandered under her top. His lips broke away from hers and travelled to her neck. He was ready. He was sure. He felt comfortable with her. He wanted this.

"To bed?", he asked, slightly out of breath.

She nodded eagerly. "Please.", she sighed. He lifted her from the table and carried her towards the bed. She took off her own top and threw it somewhere. He did the same.

She was already sitting down on the mattress and pushed herself into the middle of it, when Aemond tried to get out of his trousers.

He lay down on top of her. Their lips met. He sighed, when he felt her hands on his bare back.

He was just sliding his hands into the waistband of her trousers when he heard the click of the lock. He frantically threw half of the blanket over (Y/n) to cover her body as his grandfather stood in the doorway.

He looked at them both in astonishment.

"Excuse me.", he nodded briefly to (Y/n). "Otto Hightower. The grandfather." He introduced himself impassively.

"Hello." (Y/n) waved back, overwhelmed.

"You still have my encyclopaedia.", he explained, turning to Aemond.

He looked at him perplexed. "Couldn't you have just called me?"

Otto just raised an eyebrow. "The book, Aemond.", he demanded.

Aemond stood up angrily, took the book from the shelf and pressed it into his grandfather's hand.

"Could we have some privacy now, please?"

Otto just waved him off. "But don't get her pregnant. We don't need any more complaints like your brother's."

He didn't even look at them again. He simply left the house.

Aemond breathed in and out in a controlled manner.

He turned round with a jerk and pulled his trousers back on.

"Aemond, it's all-"

"Get dressed. We're driving."

"Driving? Where?"

"To a hotel.", he explained curtly and held out her top.

(Y/n) looked at him in surprise. "So we're not stopping?", she asked, half teasingly, half cheerfully.

Aemond looked at her insistently. "Not if you don't want to."

She smiled. "Let's go then."

The night was mild. Mild enough that they didn't try to put as much distance between them as possible. Just touching fingers or knuckles.

No. Aemond had snuggled up to her chest and (Y/n) held him in a relaxed grip.

They both lingered in the land of dreams, knowing that the door was locked and the key was still in it.

They had had their peace and quiet all evening. No one had gotten on their nerves. Aemond had snuggled up to her as he usually only did in his own flat. A place where no one could go without his permission. The key in the lock wasn't the highend security system in his flat, but it reassured him enough.

Even in his dreams, he still had the feeling that he had finally triumphed when he was suddenly and rudely torn from this world.

A loud, breaking sound rang out. The sound crashed into the room like a bang.

And with the noise, Aegon smashed in too.

"Oaaa! Fuck!", he exclaimed, annoyed, then he laughed clearly drunk.

Aemond and (Y/n) immediately sat upright in bed. (Y/n) looked perplexed at Aegon.

Aemond looked at the hole in the wall that had once been his door, now lying as splinters of wood on the floor.

"I didn't get the curve.", Aegon laughed, still on the floor. "Sorry little brother."

Present

"Stable.", (Y/n) stated, when she had her laughter under control again.

"Steel core with a security lock. Standard for banks.", explained Aemond relaxed.

He firmly grabbed her hand, which she had withdrawn during her fit of laughter, and put it back on his head.

"Don't stop.", he just sighed and closed his eye again. A slight smile played around his lips.

She kissed the top of his head with a smile and complied.

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #hotd fanfic #modern!aemond #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen x you #fluff #aemond targaryen fluff

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b00tyliciousbabe · 5 months ago

Text

waves

pairing: surfer!bf x THICC!male reader

summary: oh, how i need a tall, curly headed goofball…

notes: HOPE MY LOVELIES ARE DOING WELL. trying to get through my requests, but this was a personal one of mine. slowly but surely y’all! as summer is coming to an end, it was SO necessary for me to feed my hot girl delusions at least a couple more times. also, enjoy the new style i have been experimenting with!

song rec: they. - diamonds and pearls

album rec: sabrina carpenter - short n sweet (my girl sabz ate so hard with this project, i just wish it was released in early aug so she could’ve rly CONQUERED summer 2024) THEE POP PRINCESS!

brief background:

your boyfriend was raised with a silver spoon; he’d never had to work a day in his life and everything he ever wanted, he got. well, everything except you. throwing money to impress people had worked on all of his other childhood crushes, but not you, which made him all the more determined to prove to you he wasn’t just some fuck boi the media painted him out to be. his family owned the richest resort in the carribean, and had hotels in every mega city worldwide. but wherever they travelled to, your man was never too far from a beach. call it fate, but the sea would always lead you back to him. it was where he first laid eyes on you; reading a very lengthy novel as you laid on the sand, watching your friends play in the water. after their surf practice, your mutual friends introduced the two of you and you were SMITTEN - but you couldn’t show your interest too soon. he too was whipped, and didn’t take nearly as much effort to hide it, practically drooling whilst staring at you. his mates would constantly ridicule him for his dazed expression around you, and he could never hear the end of the new nickname ‘bambi boy’ you gave him because he looked so cute when he was flustered. after weeks of regular conversation and a couple walks on the beach, he officially asked to be your boyfriend and you said yes.

when it came to finally introducing you to his family, they loved you almost as much as he did. he was the youngest of six and so he got the privilege of this. his parents especially were wishing y’all would stay together. they believed you were the perfect match for their goofball of a son.

core memory sfw:

the first time he said ‘i love you’ with TRUE meaning; you were always worried that you were just one fuck away from being forgotten, but your man made sure to constantly affirm his love for you. he brought you the biggest bouquet of your favourite flowers, and stood outside in the pouring rain, playing a mixtape he’d made for you. it was genuinely a scene out of a film, he was your knight in shining armour (a hawaiian shirt and matching shorts) and it was then that you knew that you guys were endgame.

core memory nsfw:

to say your bf loves your body is an understatement. the way he’s hooked on your body, some might say it’s borderline unhealthy. he’s so handy and keeps his hands on your ass all the time. whether it’s a spank, watching it jiggle as you walk away from him, or a full on grip as his pulls you onto his dick, he’s a man that would gladly die between your cheeks. one time during dinner you wore a wrap skirt paired with a tank top, paired with a thong that was peeping out enough to make your man’s eyes pop out of his head like a cartoon character. as his jaw dropped, practically salivating at the sight of your body moving closer to him, you picked it up and giggled, stroking his chin endearingly. for the entire meal he was practically sat right next to you, breathing in your luscious skin. ‘boy, you better calm down, we have company.’ you giggled. ‘fuck bby, how can you say that when you look good enough for me to eat?’ he whispered into your ear, trying not to bring too much attention. before you knew it you were face down, ass up and your thong was pulled to the side, as he used it as a pseudo leash keeping your pussy bouncing on his cock.

your favourite thing about him: his oddball nature.

as much as it can annoy you that he’s always cracking jokes, leaving no room for respite, your bf never fails to bring joy to your life. as the life of the party he’s always bringing that much needed energy to the dull world of his mostly corporate family. whether it be seeing you hollering at some unhinged thing he’d said, or watching him (ironically) fuck the smile onto your lips, you can tell that comedy is who he is, and you wouldn’t change your weirdo for anything.

his favourite thing about you: how artistic you are.

almost impossibly, it makes your boyfriend fall in love with you even more seeing your creativity flourish. you’re always making him jewellery out of the shells and stones you find. he loves to wear them, it gets you going when you see the necklace you made for him swing back and forth as he fucks into you. or when you feel the cold of his rings and bracelet on your waist as he holds you in position to fuck you even harder. he’s so proud of you.

his insta post: mostly just him showing off his good looks (we love a cocky man around here) and his beach flix.

surfer!bf my face is his favourite seat.

y/n: that big dick is a very close second though.

tinashe replied: @y/n, you a nasty girl fr.

sabrinacarpenter replied: @y/n girl, need you on that bed chem remix. about to do some damage…in a good way x

your insta post: almost always pictures of your creations; you like to keep your relationship with him private, that’s YOUR man, and you can get very possessive.

y/n feel free to add to your pinterest boards.

surfer!bf: baby you’re so talented 🩵

viviennewestwood: so excited to see your next collection!

surfer!bf: i love you.

y/n replied: @surfer!bf aw, i love you too babes!

plans for the future!

being with one of the greatest surfers in the world, definitely came with some amazing perks.

marriage:

oh, he’s 100% thought about it, and would definitely be the one to propose. the free spirit in him doesn’t need a piece of paper to prove that he loves you, truly. But would totally be your husband if you let him x

children:

your surfer!bf ABSOLUTELY WANTS TO HAVE A FAMILY WITH YOU! sees himself as the best father and y’all would have the cutest kids ever.

tag list:

@gayaristocrat

@multireese

@malereadermaniac

@lysanderplume

@ghostking4m

#gay #bottom male reader #smut #gay male #gay reader #male bottom #male x male #gay love #gay smut #male bottom reader #male x male fluff #male reader #bottom reader

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antimonyandthyme · 2 months ago

Note

body swap, for carcar or even landoscarcar?

He wakes up, disoriented. It’s not even light out yet, why the fuck is he awake? His throat’s a little sore, his hips are a little sore. Jeez. Didn’t even bother to put some pants on last night, and did he chafe his ass on like, the sheets or something? Wow. He’s sore all over. A settled, pleasant kind though, a muscle ache too deep for him to reach. Maybe he can skip the gym today, hop on a stream, relax. Grab Carlos for a round of golf before he leaves, if he’s not too busy mapping Monaco on his bike.

He turns to his left. Claps a hand over his mouth, shrieks into it.

Like, he’s groggy. He doesn’t have the remnants of a disaster headache, so he’s not hungover. But it’s early, and he never wakes up early. Must be why he’s hallucinating.

When he can bring himself to look again, Carlos is still there. Close enough that Lando can hear the air whistling softly through his teeth.

Lando shifts uselessly, stares. That’s Carlos, alright. He’s always been a loud sleeper. Back in their McLaren days, when they’d shared hotel rooms, Lando had taken voice recordings to prove to an adamant Carlos that he snored. The memory makes his lips twitch. It’s nice Carlos looks well-rested. Better than he has in awhile. A pretty trophy will do that for you. If he wants, Lando can choose to waste precious time counting Carlos’s lashes while he figures out what to do. He’ll lose count at probably a hundred.

That’s Carlos, alright.

What were they doing last night? Surely Lando would remember. The party was loud, raucous, the Prince of Monaco victorious here at last. All podium finishers present, fourth place included. Drinking, laughing, cozying up to one another. Carlos and Oscar smiling tentatively at each other after sharing just one couch, animosity seemingly forgotten. The prickly itch crawling under Lando’s skin, until Charles finally manages to bag him a set. The music, beats pounding a tattoo into his brain. He remembers all of that.

Surely he would remember taking Carlos’s clothes off. He’s wanted to for—

Lando slaps both hands onto his cheeks, hard enough to sting. He needs to take a leak.

He squeaks out of the bed, as quietly as he can. Trips over a pair of jeans that look vaguely familiar, rams his toe into the wheel of a suitcase that definitely wasn’t there last night. Finds the bathroom, closes the door with a silent snick.

Fumbles around like a dunce for the light switch, right there where all light switches usually are.

Flicks it on. Shrieks for real this time, without his hands to cover the noise.

It’s a good thing Carlos has always slept like the dead. To be absolutely fucking certain, Lando peeks his head out.

Yep, still asleep. That’s Carlos, alright.

Deep, deep breaths. As deep as he can go without passing out. He returns to the mirror. Feels for his face like it’s a foreign object.

Which it is. Because that’s Oscar Piastri, looking right back at him.

He means to start off with something useful. Something like, Hey, do you remember what drugs we were on last night? E? Salvia? Because mate, these are the strangest withdrawal symptoms I’ve ever experienced. Or even something funny, like Haha, now I know what you look like naked. The fans are going to have a field day.

Instead, what comes out of his mouth is, “Why are you sleeping with Carlos?”

“Good morning to you too,” Oscar says, after the longest pause on planet fucking earth.

He didn’t mean for that to sound as sulky as he did. But he’s sore all over, and his lips, which are not his, but Oscar’s, feel extremely kissed, and he definitely does not expect that to make something in his chest twist tighter than a coiled spring.

“Aren’t you going to answer?”

“What did we drink last night?” Oscar says, unsurprisingly choosing to be the level-headed one in this conversation.

“Something bright green, something ocean blue. Dunno. Lost track during the set.”

“Lando,” Oscar says patiently, in Lando’s voice. Which is just all kinds of weird. “Something green, something blue, doesn’t sound all that normal.”

“I knew that DJ couldn’t be trusted.”

The world-weary sigh Lando receives makes his skin prickle with heat. Things have been happening. The car’s gotten faster. From his grandmother to the mechanics, everyone’s been talking about a chance he could pull like magic out of thin air. It’s not his fault he wasn’t paying attention. At the club, or to every encounter Carlos and Oscar had prior to this that has led them here.

“Look, I’m gonna—where are you?”

“In Carlos’s room,” Lando says, rudely, unhelpfully.

“Right. I’ll. I’ll be there in. We’re staying just, two blocks away, right? I’ll be there in ten. Could you. Could you please, just—”

Lando expects him to say something totally condescending. Please just don’t freak out. Please just don’t do anything until I get there, because I’m being responsible and you’re being a baby.

“Just, go back?”

“What?”

“Be next to him, when he wakes up?”

Lando swallows. The acid from yesterday must be making his stomach churn. Oscar—in Lando’s fucking voice, sounds smaller and more hopeful than Lando ever wants to hear himself sound.

“I don’t want him to think.” Oscar stops. Lando can practically see him scrubbing at the back of his neck. “I don’t want him to think I left, or anything like that. Could you—”

Lando hangs up.

The earnestness. The, the audacity.

The phone rings again, and Lando hangs up again, out of pure spite. He paces wildly, in front of the mirror. Each time he turns on his heel he imagines his body morphing back into what’s right. Each turn smacks him with the image that Oscar’s pale, freckled skin turns splotchy red when he’s angry.

What. A useful thing. To know.

It’s been half an hour since he’s woken up. Which means, oh fuck. Fuck. Carlos’s body clock has always been impeccable. Eight, on the dot, he springs out of bed like it’s a wonderful thing being alive at that hour, and then goes and makes coffee without fail. Which means in three, two minutes, Carlos will open his eyes. And, and he’ll be alone in bed.

He’ll be alone. That’ll make Lando feel better, right? Carlos will be alone, and then Oscar will no longer be a problem, and then the itch under his skin will disappear, for good.

Carlos will be alone.

He flicks off the light, slips out of the bathroom. Bangs his toe again on that damned suitcase. Slides under the covers, adjusts himself into a position he hopes might be believable. Head on one hand, face tilted toward Carlos. Body leaning, reaching. Always reaching. Eyes half-closed.

But open enough so that he can see the exact moment Carlos wakes. See that small, relieved smile. See the way Carlos clicks his jaw askew, the way he always does before making a decision. Then feel Carlos run the backs of his knuckles against a face he wishes were familiar.

#athy texts #fanfic #rpf #carcar #carlandoscar #anon why not both #why not both!!!#bodyswap prompt fic

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darkshrimpemotions · 1 month ago

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You know, the counter to criticism of John has always been "John did the best he could under those circumstances" but that argument REALLY falls apart hard when the show gives us multiple examples of other hunters who had kids and provided them with stable homes or at the very least, didn't abuse, neglect, and exploit their children to the degree John did.

Bill and Ellen Harvelle. Krissy's dad. Tasha Banes. Hell, Mary's parents, even.

Hunters are all traumatized people who've lost someone, and yet not all hunters with children left them alone in hotel rooms for days or weeks at a time without enough money or food, used them as bait for a shtriga or god knows what else (I haven't forgotten or forgiven Dead Man's Blood), put them in danger constantly, isolated them even from other hunters, or emotionally abused them to have no self worth and view "I'm proud of you" as a dangerously out of character statement from their parent.

Jo grew up safe at home with her mom, viewing her dad coming home as an occasion for joy. After her dad died, her mother tried EVERYTHING to keep Jo from hunting to keep her safe, and finally only started hunting again herself to protect Jo. Dean reminisces about "when dad got home" with a haunted look in his eyes. Dean was hunting werewolves at sixteen. When Sam was afraid of the thing in his closet, John gave him a .45.

Krissy wanted to be by her dad's side all the time. Her dad even quit hunting, laid down whatever reasons made him start, to give her a shot at a better life. Dean gets quiet and changes the subject when asked if he misses his dad. Sam's fondest memories are of getting away from John. John drove his kids nearly to death with his obsession. Spent Sam's college fund on ammo.

Max and Alicia Banes were part of a community. Their understanding of hunters' funerals included friends and family gathered to celebrate the life of the departed. Sam and Dean knew very few hunters before John died. They only knew how to grieve in isolated silence around a solitary pyre.

Mary grew up in a house. She slept warm in a bed in a room of her own. She had family dinners. When she said the worst thing she could imagine was her kids being raised like she was, she meant hunting by itself. And I'm not saying hunting is good or healthy! It's not.

But it was the worst thing she could imagine. She couldn't even imagine the abuse, neglect, deprivation, instability, and hunger her children would one day endur on top of hunting.

But sure, yeah. John definitely did the best he could under the circumstances.

#john winchester's a+ parenting #supernatural #dig him up so i can kill him again actually

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awhhayden · 2 months ago

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TAKE IT AWAY ⊹₊⟡⋆ 18+

CONTAINS : 20+ age gap, f is 19, james is 40, smut, fem!reader, p in v sex, size kink, praise kink, soft!dom, y/n implied, daddy kink,

SUMMARY: James Kelly is your bfs dad, after a stinging betrayal by your bf you find yourself at James front door.

JAMES KELLY’S doorstep was the last place you'd expect to find yourself at in the pouring rain late at night, but after a painful betrayal by your boyfriend and a rocky relationship with your family, your boyfriend's dad was the only person you could think to go to.

Of course, you knew him. You’d been dating Chris for over a year now—a relationship that began with promise but grew increasingly tangled in his chaotic habits. Chris, a year older than you, had seemed charming when you met at the start of your senior year. But as time passed, his love for drinking and late-night parties began to erode the foundation of what you thought you had. Tonight was the breaking point. After a grueling shift, you arrived at your shared apartment, only to stumble upon a scene you’d never prepared yourself for. Chris lay in your bed, passed out and tangled in the sheets—with another woman by his side. The mess of discarded clothes and disheveled bedding told the story as clearly as if they’d shouted it aloud.

You fled the apartment as quickly as you’d entered, not uttering a single word. The night’s silence was broken only by the soft patter of rain, which quickly turned into a downpour as you sped out of the complex’s parking lot. Hot tears streaked your face, blurring your vision as your mind raced. Part of you had almost anticipated this moment, yet another part had clung to the hope that Chris would never stoop so low. For 30 aimless minutes, you drove through the rain-slicked streets, the clock on your dashboard flashing 1:00 a.m. The storm was heavier now, matching the chaos inside you.

You considered pulling into a nearby hotel, but the cost gave you pause. Going to your family wasn’t an option—they’d never been the kind of safety net you could count on, and showing up at their door in the middle of the night would only make things worse. Your mind drifted to an unconventional idea, one that felt both reckless and oddly comforting: James Kelly. Chris’s father had always been kind to you, a steady presence in the background of your chaotic relationship. He owned a small auto shop, if memory served, and lived alone after Chris’s mother walked out when he was a baby. You’d been to his place a handful of times, and now, with no other options, you found yourself driving down his street. A flicker of hope lit within you, faint but persistent, as you wondered if he might still be awake. The thought of telling James everything—of laying bare what his son had done—sparked a strange mix of boldness and satisfaction that pushed you forward.

You eased your car up to the small two-story house, its silhouette hazy in the rain. To your surprise, the living room light spilled out into the dark night, accompanied by the warm glow of the porch light. Was he awake? you wondered, your chest tightening with a mix of nerves and anticipation. Taking a shaky breath, you pulled into the driveway, the rhythmic drumming of rain against your windshield growing louder.

Glancing at the passenger seat, you realized with a groan that you’d forgotten a jacket in your frantic rush. Bracing yourself, you inhaled deeply before throwing the door open and making a dash for the porch. The rain immediately soaked through your clothes, icy and relentless, but you pressed on. By the time you reached the shelter of the porch, your hair and sleeves clung to you uncomfortably. Hesitating for just a moment, you raised a trembling hand to the doorbell and pressed it. The chime echoed faintly inside, and seconds stretched like hours. Then, you heard the sound of a lock clicking, followed by the creak of the door swinging open. Standing before you was James Kelly, his piercing eyes locking onto yours. His expression flickered briefly with confusion, then concern, as he took in your soaked appearance

James’s brows knitted together the moment he saw you—soaked to the bone, shivering uncontrollably. Concern flickered across his face. “Kiddo, what are you doing here? Is everything okay?” His voice was steady but laced with worry. Tears burned your eyes as you tried to respond, but the words caught in your throat. “I…” was all you managed before your voice cracked. Without hesitation, he reached out, gently taking your arm and pulling you inside. The door closed behind you with a solid thunk, and the sudden warmth of the house wrapped around you, a sharp contrast to the cold rain that clung to your skin. He took a step back, studying you with a careful yet alarmed expression. You could only imagine how you must have looked—drenched, trembling, your face a portrait of exhaustion and heartbreak. In that moment, you felt as fragile as glass, yet something about his steady gaze made you feel a little less alone.

James grabbed a soft throw blanket from the closet and draped it around your shoulders, his hands shaking slightly as he pulled it tight. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling a shaky breath before looking at you with deep concern. “What happened, hon?” His voice was low, barely above a whisper. You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself, but the words spilled out before you could stop them. “Chris... He... I came home from work, and he was passed out in our bed—with another girl.” The tears, which had been threatening to fall for hours, finally spilled over, and you wiped at your face, your voice breaking. James's expression shifted in an instant, his features hardening with disbelief and a flash of anger. “He did what?!” he demanded, his voice sharp with fury. You flinched at the force of his reaction. “I... I didn’t do anything. I just left. They were still asleep when I left.” You could feel the weight of your own words as they hung in the air. James’s face softened with regret. He closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if trying to process the words that didn’t seem to make sense. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with sympathy. “I didn’t realize it had gotten that bad between you two” You nodded, unsure of what to do with the heavy silence that followed. Your chest tightened, the emptiness of it all pressing in. “I just needed you to hear it from me,” you whispered. “I’ll go now. Thanks, Mr. Kelly.” You turned to leave, your hand hovering over the doorknob, when his voice stopped you, hesitant but firm. “Are you going back?” For a moment, you stood still, torn between the truth and what you thought he wanted to hear. Finally, you let out a shaky breath and admitted, “No... I was planning on sleeping in my car tonight and figuring out the apartment thing tomorrow.” His face softened with worry, his eyes darkening with concern. “What? No, honey, you can’t do that”, he said gently, stepping forward. You can stay here tonight. “Chris’s old room is still open. Please... stay here.” The offer hung in the air, warm and kind, like a lifeline thrown at just the right moment.

You hesitated, heat rising to your cheeks. You’d always found James attractive—his kind demeanor and effortless warmth had a way of making you feel safe, even in moments like this. The thought of losing him, too, in the aftermath of this breakup made your chest ache.

“I… I don’t want to be a burden,” you murmured, glancing down at the floor. “Burden?” he scoffed gently, already grabbing a fresh sheet and blanket from a nearby closet. “Not a chance. You’re not sleeping in your car. That’s final.” He handed you the linens, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Take these up to Chris’s room. There’s no bedding on it right now,” he said, pausing to take in your still-drenched frame. His eyes softened. “You should shower in the bathroom up there. I’m pretty sure Chris has some old clothes in the closet you can borrow. It’s not ideal, but it’ll do for tonight.” He offered a small, reassuring smile that made your heart flutter despite everything. You swallowed hard, emotions bubbling to the surface. “Sir… I mean… Thank you,” you managed to say, your voice wavering. He smiled again, softer this time. “Please, call me James.” With a nod, he pointed toward the stairs, and you turned, clutching the linens tightly as you made your way to Chris’s room. Each step felt heavy, but for the first time that night, there was a flicker of comfort waiting for you.

James sank back onto the couch, the soft hum of his show barely registering as he stared blankly at the screen. Letting you stay wasn’t an inconvenience—not after what his son had done to you. He sighed heavily, tipping back his beer, the familiar bitterness doing little to chase away the anger and disappointment that churned in his chest.

How had it come to this? He’d tried to raise Chris better. Sure, his son had always had his flaws—his drinking, his impulsive, reckless streak—but James had held onto the hope that with age, Chris might finally grow up. Turning 20 should’ve been a turning point, yet here they were. James dragged a hand through his dark hair, frustration etched across his face.

And then there was you. Sweet, soft-spoken, kind-hearted—you’d always been a bright spot in the mess Chris often created. James had secretly hoped you might be the one to inspire his son to change, to break free from the careless habits that held him back. But tonight shattered that illusion. The image of you standing on his doorstep flashed through his mind: rain-soaked, shivering, and heartbroken. It stung more than he cared to admit. How could Chris betray someone like you? Someone who, in James’s eyes, deserved so much better.

You stepped out of the shower, steam curling around you as the cold air hit your skin. Reaching for a towel, your hand met empty space. Shit. Your stomach dropped as you realized you’d forgotten to ask for one. Frantically, you glanced around the bathroom, hoping to spot something—anything—you could use. But the room was almost barren, save for a few toiletries and the clothes you’d left in a heap.

Groaning in disbelief, you stood there for a moment, weighing your options. Finally, with a deep breath, you cracked the bathroom door open just enough to call out. “J… James?”

Downstairs, James’s head snapped up from the TV, the sound of your voice cutting through his thoughts. He rose, walking to the base of the stairs. “Yeah?” he called back.

Your face burned with embarrassment. “I… uh… I don’t have a towel,” you admitted, your voice barely louder than the hum of the rain outside. James winced, mentally kicking himself for forgetting. “Right. Sorry about that,” he called up, his tone gruff but understanding. “I’ll grab one and leave it outside the door.”

He trudged upstairs, grabbing a fresh towel from the laundry room. His footsteps were heavy but careful as he approached the bathroom. Setting the towel just outside the door, he cleared his throat. “It’s there,” he said, his voice low. Without waiting for a reply, he turned and disappeared into his bedroom, the quiet click of the door shutting behind him leaving you alone once more.

You peeked out from the door before quickly grabbing the towel and drying yourself off gently. Taking a deep breath, you wrapped the towel around yourself and stepped cautiously out of the bathroom. Just as you did, James emerged from his bedroom, having changed into his pajamas. You turned and gasped, nearly bumping into him as you took in the sight before you. He stood there in nothing but grey sweatpants, his bare chest inches from your face, his tall, toned frame towering over you.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, your heart racing.

James looked down at your figure, your glistening skin only partially concealed by the towel, and felt a rush of heat pulse through him. “Sorry, kiddo,” he muttered, quickly walking past you and heading downstairs. You turned on your heel and rushed into Chris’s room, shutting the door behind you, your breath coming in heavy gulps, a mix of confusion and rising desire swirling within you.

Quickly, you dressed in one of Chris’s oversized shirts and a pair of old boxers. You tiptoed down the stairs and into the living room, where James was engrossed in his show. “Mr. K—erm, James,” you said softly, not wanting to disrupt him completely. He turned to look at you, a warm smile breaking across his face as he gestured for you to sit beside him.

You settled onto the opposite end of the couch, trying to maintain as much distance as possible, but the charged air between you grew thicker with each passing moment. As the episode concluded and the credits began to roll, James stretched and stood up, preparing to walk by you. But in a moment of boldness, you reached out and grabbed his hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“Sir,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. His gaze flickered down to your hand entwined with his, surprise etched on his face. “Y-Yes?” he stuttered, a hint of uncertainty in his tone. You patted the cushion next to you, silently inviting him to stay. He hesitated, the tension palpable, before finally sitting down beside you. A rush of emotions surged through you—hurt, anger, confusion, and an undeniable longing. Gathering your courage, you turned toward him, your hand resting on his leg.

“I…I don’t want to be alone tonight,” you whispered, the implications hanging heavily in the air. James tensed at your touch, his eyes widening as he processed your words. “What do you mean?” he choked out, his voice thick with apprehension.

You took a deep breath, hesitating for only a moment before straddling his lap, trailing soft kisses down his neck. His eyes widened completely as his body ignited with fire at the feel of your warmth pressing against him. “Sweetie…you…you don’t know what you’re doing, you’re upset” he protested weakly, but the growing tent in his pants betrayed his struggle. Pulling back slightly, you met his gaze, intoxicated by the electric tension that surrounded you.

You gazed up at him, an intoxicating mix of desire and exhilaration coursing through your veins. “No… please…” you whispered breathlessly, your lips trailing down the warmth of his neck once more. He panted, the sound raw and primal, his hands hanging limply at his sides as he surrendered to the moment, throwing his head back against the couch in a surrender that sent shivers down your spine.

Pulling back, you locked eyes with him, vulnerability etched across your features. “Please, sir… take it away… it hurts… please,” you whimpered, your voice thick with need. Each plea that slipped from your lips only stoked the fire of his desire, the tent in his pants growing more pronounced, his pupils dilating with hunger.

He held your gaze for a heartbeat, tension crackling in the air, before swiftly rising to his feet, lifting you effortlessly over his shoulder. You gasped in surprise, the rush of exhilaration making your heart race, and just then, he gave your ass a playful slap, the sound echoing like a declaration. “You asked for it, princess,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips as he carried you triumphantly up the stairs, the anticipation of what was to come hanging thick in the air.

As he carried you up the stairs, your heart raced in tandem with each step he took. The world around you blurred, and all that mattered was the thrilling heat radiating from your bodies. He reached the top, and with a swift motion, kicked opened his door and tossed you onto the plush bed, the soft fabric welcoming you against your skin.

You lay there, panting in anticipation, your body tingling with electric excitement. He stepped closer, a feral glint in his eyes. “You wanted me to take it away, didn’t you?” he growled, a predatory smile curling his lips. The heat between you was palpable, a magnetic force that drew him even nearer.

“Please,” you murmured, your voice quivering with an intoxicating mix of pleading and longing. He leaned over you, his breath hot on your cheek, sending shivers cascading down your spine. His hands found your waist, fingertips digging into your skin as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

His tongue danced with yours, a seductive exploration that ignited every nerve ending in your body. You moaned softly, lost in the taste of him, the way he pressed his weight against you, his arousal evident. He broke the kiss, his breath a ragged whisper against your skin. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted you,” he confessed, his voice low and husky, making your pulse race.

His hands roamed down your sides, exploring every curve, every dip that made you uniquely yours. The roughness of his touch contrasted with the softness of the bedding beneath you, creating a delicious tension that made you ache for more. “I’ll make it go away” he promised, his eyes dark with desire as he captured your gaze.

As he hovered over you, the energy in the room crackled with intensity. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. “What would Chris think seeing you this wet for me?,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “You naughty girl begging for my cock.”

Your heart raced as he pressed his body against yours, the heat between you growing unbearable. His hands roamed freely over your skin, almost worshiping every curve, exploring the soft expanse of your thighs before moving higher, teasingly slow. “Tell me what you need, princess,” he commanded, his tone both rough and thrilling.

“Please… I need you,” you gasped, your body arching instinctively towards him, craving his touch as if he were the only source of sustenance in your world.

He captured your lips fiercely, plunging his tongue into your mouth, dominating yet savoring you at the same time. “Do you want me to fuck you hard? Or would you rather I take my time and make you beg for it?” His words dripped with sultry intent, fanning the flames of your desire even higher.

“Both,” you breathed, the urgency of your need spilling over. “I want you… I want all of you.”

He grinned wickedly at your response, his eyes blazing with lust. “Good girl,” he praised, the words igniting something deep within you. “You’re so fucking cute when you beg.”

He slid down your body, leaving a trail of kisses that ignited your skin as he plunged further down. He paused, his mouth hovering dangerously close to where you most craved him. “I want you to remember this,” he said, his gaze locked onto yours, “Think about how much you begged for your exs daddies cock. I own you.”

His lips finally found you, teasing at first, sending waves of pleasure washing over you. You moaned, your back arching, your hands tangling in his hair, urging him closer. The sensation was exquisite, and he lapped at you hungrily, his tongue swirling and flicking in ways that made your hips buck against his mouth.

“Does that feel good, princess?” he asked between trails of kisses, his voice a low, intoxicating whisper that wrapped around you like silk. “God, yes… please don’t stop,” you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating through you. “I won’t stop until you’re begging me to let you come.” And with that, he intensified his rhythm, his fingers now working in perfect harmony with his mouth, bringing you closer to the edge.

The tension coiled within you, a tight spring ready to snap. You could feel it building, an insatiable need coursing through your veins as he took his time, drawing you tantalizingly close but never quite over the edge.

“Just a little more,” he urged, watching you with hungry eyes. “Let go for me, let me hear how good I make you feel.” And with one final stroke, he pushed you over the edge. The pleasure exploded through you, radiant and consuming, as you cried out his name, your body trembling as he held you through it, his voice a dark, sultry whisper in your ear. “That’s it, let it all out.”

Finally, he climbed back up, his body pressing against yours once more as he captured your lips in another heated kiss, tasting you, savoring the sweetness of your release. “You’re perfect,” he growled against your mouth, his hands finding your waist, pulling you flush against him. “Now it's my turn.”

With a commanding grip, he positioned himself at your entrance, looking deep into your eyes as he pressed forward, filling you completely. “You feel so fucking good,” he murmured, his voice rough with need. “You’re mine, all mine.”

He began to move, slow and deliberate at first, before ramping up the intensity, each thrust igniting the fire within you once more. “You like that, don’t you?” he growled, his breath hot against your skin. “You like being my little slut.”

“Yes… I’m yours,” you moaned back, surrendering completely to the pleasure.

His pace quickened, urgency fueling every movement as he drove into you harder, taking you deeper with each thrust. “Tell me how much you love it,” he demanded, a rough edge to his tone.

“I love it so much! I never want you to stop! fuck Daddy” you cried.

“Good girl,” he hissed, driving into you harder, faster, the sound of your bodies joining filling the air. Everything faded away until it was just the two of you, lost in this fevered dance, spiraling higher and higher together.

With each thrust, he pushed you closer to the edge, and as your bodies intertwined, there was no denying the depth of your connection. The heat, the passion—it consumed you both, leaving nothing but raw desire in its wake. And as he whispered words of lust and possession, you became his entirely, swept away in the madness of the moment.

“Let go for me again, princess,” he urged, his voice laced with a dark hunger. “I want to feel you come around me.”

His breath hot against your skin, you could feel the tension building, both of you teetering on the precipice of something profound. The delicate dance of pleasure wrapped around you, binding you closer together. You arched your back, desperate for more, your body aching.

“Just like that,” he whispered, his voice a low growl that sent shivers racing down your spine. You could hear the urgency in his tone, the need that mirrored your own. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, craving the sweet release. The room filled with the sounds of your shared ecstasy—breathless gasps, soft moans, and the sweet melody of bodies moving in perfect harmony. With one final thrust you came around him one final time with a cry.

With one final Thrust of his own, he captured your gaze, and in that moment, you felt him let go. The powerful rush of his release sent waves of heat through you, and you could feel him spilling into you, filling you completely with a low groan.

As the waves of ecstasy began to subside, he slowly pulled out, a mix of tenderness and lingering desire in each deliberate movement. The warmth of his body left a lingering heat, and the sudden emptiness felt both startling and oddly intimate. You felt the weight of his gaze as you both lay there, the aftermath wrapping around you like a soft blanket.

For a moment, silence enveloped you, broken only by the soft sounds of your breathing gradually returning to normal. The room was thick with tension, the kind that seemed to pulse with the echoes of what had just transpired. You could still feel the remnants of his warmth surrounding you, the faintest ache reminding you of the deep connection you had forged in the sweet bliss just moments ago.

He turned to you, his eyes reflecting a mixture of satisfaction and vulnerability, as if he was also processing the intensity of the experience. His fingers brushed through your hair, a tender gesture that sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn’t help but smile, feeling a rush of affection swell within you.

“It was…” he started, searching for the right words, “beyond anything I expected.” you answered voice low, almost a whisper, laden with sincerity. He could see how the rawness of the encounter had affected you too, his usual confidence was softened by the depth of what you’d shared.

he nodded, as you tried to gather your thoughts. The connection felt different, more profound, Nothing that you had ever experienced with Chris. An understanding passed between you—an acknowledgment that this was more than just a fleeting moment. His presence beside you was grounding, comforting, and you reveled in the intimacy of simply lying there together, skin against skin.

The world outside faded away, and in that cocoon of tranquility, it felt as if time had paused, allowing you both to bask in the simplicity of being together. Every breath drawn in was a reminder of the shared pleasures and an exhilarating sense of belonging. You lay there, enveloped in the warmth of his arms, feeling the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. James sleepily trailed soft kisses down your shoulders, each gentle touch igniting a warmth that spread through your skin. The comfort of his presence filled the space between you, soothing and incredibly intimate. As you felt his breathing slow, turning into a soft snore, a sense of peace washed over you.

You closed your eyes for a moment, absorbing the atmosphere—the quietude, the warmth, the feeling of being cherished. In this serene bubble, worries about consequences or judgments seemed to fade like shadows in the light. You allowed yourself to embrace the moment, the vibrancy of your feelings, and the possibility of something beautiful unfolding.

You didn’t want to think about what tomorrow might bring or how you would confront Chris. All you could focus on was the way he held you, the way his arm wrapped protectively around you, making you feel safe. In that moment, nothing else mattered. The only thing on your mind was falling asleep in the warm embrace of James Kelly, letting the softness of his breath lull you into a gentle slumber, where everything felt perfectly right.

ahhh my first story, Thank you so much for reading! it isn’t the best as I’m still experimenting with ideas and writing style but glad I could get something out there!

#fanfic #oneshot #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen #james kelly smut #james kelly x reader #star wars #i need him #anakin x reader #pleak #plz reblog #i hope you like it

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heesvnqie · 19 days ago

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Between Meetings- Lee Heeseung FF

Request: It would be great if you could do like an ff, where y/n and heeseung are rivals through their company and they fall in love after a one night stand

.............

You were standing in the bustling lobby of your office building, your heart racing as the elevator doors opened with a soft ding. The scent of fresh coffee and the murmur of early morning chatter filled the space, but your eyes were glued to the figure stepping in to the lift—Heeseung, your rival.

You had been at the same company for the last five years, both of you climbing the corporate ladder with a ferocity that had earned you both respect and fear from your colleagues. Yet, in that brief moment, the animosity between you two was as palpable as the heat from the cup of coffee you gripped tightly in your hand.

Heeseung's eyes met yours, and for a fleeting second, you saw something unexpected—a flicker of recognition that sent a jolt through your body. It was as if the electricity in the room had suddenly surged, lighting up every corner of your consciousness with the memory of last night—a night of passion that had blurred the lines between love and war.

The tension grew heavier as you stepped into the elevator together, the silence stretching taut like a bowstring about to snap. The metal box ascended with a gentle hum, the floor numbers lighting up one by one as you both rode to your respective offices. Your forehead pained as memories came running back in.

The night had been a blur of whispers and shadows, a dance of desire that had led you to a place you never thought you'd go with your enemy. But here you were, your rivalry momentarily forgotten in the haze of lust and longing. The hotel room had been a stage for a drama you never wanted to end, the soft whispers of the city outside a backdrop to your tangled bodies. His touch had been surprisingly tender, his kisses a revelation that had left you breathless and aching for more.

You shook your head as he snapped a snarky comment as usual. "Good morning Miss Annoying."

Heeseung leaned against the elevator wall, his eyes never leaving yours, a smug smile playing on his lips. He knew he had the upper hand now—a secret to wield against you in the corporate battles ahead. You felt a mix of anger and arousal, unsure how to navigate the treacherous waters of your newfound feelings.

As the elevator stopped at your floor, you stepped out with a newfound determination. You weren't going to let this one night define you or compromise your position at the company.

"Idiot." He murmured under his breath as the doors closed, the word echoing in the empty space.

You walked into your office, the door clicking shut behind you like the final beat of a dramatic crescendo. Your desk was a mess of paperwork and half-finished cups of coffee, a stark contrast to the pristine hotel room where your world had been turned upside down.

You took a deep breath, the scent of his cologne still lingering on your skin, and started to organize your thoughts. You had a meeting with the CEO in an hour, and you couldn't afford to let your mind wander.

As the day unfolded, you found yourself stealing glances at Heeseung from across the boardroom table, his every gesture a silent reminder of the passion that had ignited between you.

His sharp intellect and commanding presence had always been intimidating, but now there was an underlying tension that thrummed beneath the surface, a secret you both shared.

The air grew thick with anticipation as the meeting with the CEO approached. You straightened your blazer, the fabric whispering against your skin as you tried to push aside the memories of Heeseung's hands on your body.

The conference room was a battlefield of PowerPoint presentations and strategic jargon, but all you could think about was the way he had looked at you in the harsh glow of the hotel room's bedside lamp.

As you took your seat, Heeseung slid in beside you, his leg brushing against yours. It was an innocent touch, but it sent a bolt of electricity through you, a reminder of the way he had touched you last night, leaving no inch of your body unexplored.

The CEO's voice droned on, but you were lost in the silent conversation happening between your rival's eyes and the subtle shifts of his body language. It was a dance of power and desire, each of you trying to read the other's intentions.

The meeting ended with a round of applause, and you both stood, the tension between you thick enough to slice with a knife. The CEO praised both of your contributions, but you could see the gleam in Heeseung's eye, the smug satisfaction of knowing that he had claimed a victory over you that went beyond the boardroom. As everyone began to filter out, you felt his hand on the small of your back, guiding you through the throng of colleagues. You eyed him suspiciously.

"What do you think you're doing?" you hissed.

He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. "Just playing the game, darling. You know how it is." The endearment sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help but wonder if he was referring to the corporate world or the intimate dance you had shared the night before.

As the day progressed, the office buzzed with whispers and sideways glances, the air charged with the knowledge that something had shifted between you two. Colleagues who once avoided eye contact now studied you with a mix of curiosity and envy. You could feel their speculation, their unspoken questions, but you kept your head high, focusing on the work at hand. Yet, the memory of Heeseung's touch lingered, a phantom sensation that seemed to electrify every nerve ending.

Lunchtime arrived, and you retreated to the rooftop terrace, seeking solace in the crisp autumn air. The city sprawled out before you, a maze of concrete and steel, a reflection of the tangled web of your emotions. The wind played with your hair, whispering secrets that only you and Heeseung knew. You had vowed to keep the events of last night buried, but as you bit into your sandwich, you couldn't help but replay every moment, every caress, every whispered word of passion.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the gravel. You turned to find Heeseung standing there, his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled up, looking every bit the part of the corporate warrior with a hidden, seductive side. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, his voice a smooth blend of arrogance and charm. You nodded curtly, unsure of what to say. He sat down opposite you, his eyes never leaving yours as he unwrapped his lunch.

For a few moments, the only sounds were the rustling of plastic and the distant honk of traffic. Then, Heeseung broke the silence. "So, about last night…" he began, his tone casual but his gaze intense. You felt a blush creep up your neck, the heat of his stare warming your skin even in the chilly air. "Forget it."You snapped, trying to maintain the illusion of indifference. But he just chuckled, a low, rich sound that seemed to resonate within you.

"Is that what you want, really?" His question hung in the air, as potent as the aroma of the nearby potted flowers. You stared at your half-eaten sandwich, the bread suddenly tasting like cardboard in your mouth.

"Look, it was a mistake," you finally managed to say, your voice shaking slightly. "A one-time thing. We're rivals, remember?"

Heeseung leaned back in his chair, his smile never wavering. "Oh, I remember," he said, his eyes glinting with mischief. "But sometimes, the best rivalries start with a little… friction."

You rolled your eyes, but his words sent a thrill through you. You knew he was right. There was something undeniably thrilling about this forbidden attraction, a dangerous allure that had drawn you together in the first place. But you couldn't let it ruin your career—or worse, turn into a juicy piece of office gossip.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur of emails and conference calls, each one more mundane than the last. Yet, every time your phone buzzed, you felt a jolt of excitement, hoping it was him.

By the time the workday ended, you were a bundle of nerves and unanswered questions. You gathered your things, your mind racing with the possibility of what might happen next.

As you stepped out of the office, the cool evening air slapped you in the face, a stark contrast to the warmth of the office—and the heat of your thoughts.

You couldn't shake the feeling that you were being watched, and when you glanced over your shoulder, you saw Heeseung leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest, his eyes dark with intent.

"Walk with me," he said, his voice low and commanding. You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what game he was playing. But something in his gaze, something unspoken, made your legs move in his direction.

You fell into step beside him as he led you through the labyrinthine streets of the city, the neon lights casting a garish glow over your faces.

The city was alive around you, a cacophony of sounds and smells that seemed to fade into the background as you walked. You could feel the heat of his body next to yours, the memory of his touch a constant reminder of the tumultuous night you had shared.

Each step brought you closer to the precipice of a decision you weren't ready to make, but the gravitational pull of his presence was too strong to resist.

Heeseung led you to a quiet, dimly lit alley, a stark contrast to the neon jungle you had just left behind. The walls were adorned with graffiti, telling tales of love and anger, a mirror to your own tangled emotions. He stopped abruptly, turning to face you.

The air between you crackled with tension, and you knew that the conversation you were about to have would change everything.

"Look," you began, trying to keep the tremble from your voice, "we can't do this. It's not just about the company; it's about us. We're supposed to be enemies, not… not…"

Heeseung stepped closer, his eyes searching yours. "Lovers?" he offered, the word hanging in the air like a dangling thread of fate, waiting for you to pluck it and watch the web of consequences unfold. "Or are we more than that now?"

"Not now." You took a step back, needing space.

"We need to keep this separate. Work is work, and last night was…" He cut you off with a sharp laugh. "Last night was a mistake," he said, mimicking your earlier words. "But tell me, how can you ignore something that feels so right?"

Your heart hammered in your chest as he closed the gap between you, his hand reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. His touch sent a jolt through your body, and you felt your resolve wavering. "It's complicated," you whispered. "Isn't that what makes it interesting?" he murmured, his voice a seductive purr that seemed to stroke every nerve ending. "Heeseung. Not now. Maybe in the future but not. now."

He leaned in, his breath warm on your skin as he spoke. "You can't deny it. There's something between us, something that's been there all along, just waiting to be set free." His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you almost believed him.

But you knew the reality was much more complicated than that. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself against the storm of emotions raging inside you. "We can't. We're competitors, and we need to keep it professional."

He stepped back, his smile never fading. "Very well," he said, his voice like a soft caress. "But know this—I won't forget what happened between us. And I suspect you won't either."

With that, he turned and disappeared back into the neon embrace of the city, leaving you standing in the alley, your thoughts swirling like a tornado.

You took a deep breath, the chilly air a stark reminder of the reality that lay before you. You had to put last night behind you, had to focus on the job that had consumed your life for the past five years. But as you made your way home, the echo of Heeseung's voice lingered in your mind, a siren's call that you couldn't ignore. You couldn't help but wonder if he was right—if this electric connection between you was more than just a fleeting moment of weakness.

As the days turned into weeks, the tension in the office grew more palpable with each passing hour. The glances, the whispers, the knowing smirks—it was all a constant reminder of the secret you shared. Yet, you remained steadfast in your resolve, refusing to let the fire of your forbidden romance consume the empire you had worked so hard to build. You threw yourself into your work, letting the numbers and deadlines dull the ache in your heart.

But it was during those quiet moments, when the office was a ghost town of flickering monitors and humming printers, that the memories of Heeseung's touch would come rushing back, like a floodgate that had been held back by the dam of your willpower. You'd sit at your desk, staring at the reports and spreadsheets, but all you could see was the heat in his eyes, the feel of his skin against yours. His scent lingered in your mind, a haunting specter that taunted you with what could have been.

Each time you saw him, the air grew thick with tension, a silent battle of wills that only the two of you could feel. Your rivalry had taken on a new dimension, the unspoken challenge now laced with a seductive undercurrent that made every interaction feel like a dance of seduction and denial.

The way his gaze lingered on you in meetings, the subtle brush of his hand as you passed in the hallway—each touch a silent declaration of war and a whispered promise of peace. You walked up on the terrace during lunch break again.

The city below was a canvas of chaos, a symphony of honking horns and distant laughter, and for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to imagine a world where the two of you could be more than just adversaries. A world where the passion that had ignited between you didn't have to be doused by the cold, hard realities of corporate life. But the chime of your phone brought you back to reality, the screen lighting up with an email from the CEO. Another challenge, another battle to be won.

You sat in your office, the glow of your computer screen the only source of light in the otherwise darkened room. The email was a new project, a high-stakes deal that could make or break the company. And as the details began to unfold, you realized that Heeseung would be your main competition on this one. The irony wasn't lost on you—fate seemed to be playing a twisted game of Cupid meets corporate espionage.

The project was an international merger, one that would require all your wit and skill to navigate. The board had made it clear: whoever brought this deal home would be seen as the true heir to the company throne.

Your rivalry was no longer just about personal pride—it was about power and legacy. You knew Heeseung was already strategizing in his own office, his mind a whirlwind of numbers and negotiation tactics.

The next few weeks were a blur of late nights and early mornings, your sleep haunted by the specter of failure. The office felt like a battleground, every corner holding the potential for a surprise ambush of wit or strategy.

The tension between you grew more intense with each passing day, the air thick with the scent of competition and the lingering memory of your one night of passion. Yet, amidst the chaos, there was an undeniable thrill—a rush that came from knowing you were both fighting for the same prize.

You found yourself working alongside Heeseung, forced into an uneasy alliance as the project demanded your combined expertise. His every move was calculated, each word a carefully placed pawn in this corporate chess game. Yet, when no one else was around, you could see glimpses of the man behind the mask—the tenderness in his eyes, the way his hands moved with a grace that belied their strength.

The office was a minefield of unspoken desires and professional ambition. Every time you brushed against him, accidentally or otherwise, the electricity between you was undeniable. It was a dance of fire and ice, each step fraught with the potential to either melt away the barriers between you or set everything ablaze.

You were deep in thought, scrolling through the endless documents and emails, when Heeseung's shadow fell over your desk. His voice was low, the words a whispered challenge. "You know you can't ignore this forever." You looked up, meeting his gaze, the intensity in his eyes making your heart race.

"Leave me alone for now."You said.

He leaned in, his breath warm against your cheek. "But what if I don't want to?" His proximity was intoxicating, a reminder of the fire that had burned so brightly between you. You could feel the heat of his body, the tension coiled in every muscle. The room seemed to shrink around you, the air thick with unspoken words and unresolved desire.

You pushed your chair back, needing space. "We can't do this," you said, trying to keep the tremor from your voice. "We're colleagues, competitors. It's unprofessional."

But even as you spoke, you knew it was more than that. The line between love and hate had blurred, and you weren't sure which side you were on anymore. Heeseung's smile was a silent rebuttal, a promise of what could be if you'd only take the risk.

The days turned into a dance of evasion and temptation, each meeting a silent duel of glances and unspoken words. The project consumed your waking hours, but the memory of that night remained a constant, taunting presence.

In the hushed quiet of the office at midnight, as you pored over spreadsheets and contracts, you'd catch yourself thinking of his touch, the way his eyes had searched yours in the hotel room's dim light.

One evening, as you were about to leave the office, Heeseung called out to you from the shadows of the hallway.

The dimly lit corridor cast dramatic shadows on his face, making him look more like a mysterious stranger than your corporate rival. "I need to talk to you now," he said, his voice a seductive whisper that sent shivers down your spine.

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of your decision palpable in the air. The office was empty, the hum of the city outside a muted backdrop to the silent battle raging within you.

You knew you should leave, keep the boundaries firmly in place. But the allure of his presence was too strong to resist. You followed him into the conference room, the heavy door clicking shut behind you like the final scene of a soap opera.

Heeseung stood by the windows, the city lights reflecting off his sharp jawline as he studied the view below. He turned to face you, his eyes dark with something that could have been desire or determination—perhaps both.

"We can't go on like this," he said, his voice a soft rumble that seemed to echo in the cavernous space. "Like what?" you replied, feigning innocence, though you knew exactly what he meant.

He approached you, his steps deliberate and predatory. "Pretending like that night never happened." His hand reached out, brushing against your arm, sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

"It's a distraction we can't afford." You stepped back, trying to maintain the illusion of professionalism. "It's in the past," you said firmly, though your voice betrayed the lie. He chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Is it really?" He moved closer, his eyes holding yours captive. "Because every time I look at you, I see the woman who gave herself to me so completely." You swallowed hard, the room suddenly feeling much too small. "That was a mistake," you whispered, but even you didn't believe the words.

He stepped closer, his hand cupping your face, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. "Or was it destiny, forcing us together?" His voice was a siren's call, beckoning you into the storm.

You felt your resolve crumbling like sand beneath a relentless tide. "We're rivals," you murmured, the words sounding hollow even to your own ears. "Lovers can be rivals too," he said, his eyes searching yours. "The best kind of love is the one that challenges you, that makes you want to be better."

The silence stretched between you, the only sound the distant wail of a siren, a haunting reminder of the chaos that lay just beyond the glass walls. The room felt alive with the memory of your shared passion, the air thick with the promise of what could be.

You could feel the pull of his hand on your face, the warmth of his skin, the scent of his cologne—it was a sensory assault that you hadn't been prepared for.

Heeseung's gaze never left yours as he spoke, his voice a seductive purr that seemed to resonate through your very soul. "We could be unstoppable," he said, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.

"Together, we could conquer this city, this company, this world." His words were a heady cocktail of ambition and desire, and you found yourself leaning into the warmth of his touch despite your better judgment.

For a moment, the world outside the conference room faded away, leaving only the two of you suspended in the charged silence. The neon lights of the city played across his face, casting him in a soft, tantalizing glow.

It was easy to get lost in the fantasy, to imagine a future where your rivalry was a thing of the past, replaced by a passion that burned as brightly as the stars outside.

But the siren's call of reality was too strong to ignore. The company was on the line, your careers were at stake, and you had a responsibility to uphold the professional façade that had been your armor for so long.

You stepped away, breaking the spell of his touch. "We can't," you said, your voice firmer this time. "We have to focus on the merger."

Heeseung's eyes searched yours, a hint of disappointment flickering before the mask of ambition slammed back into place. "Fine," he said, his voice a cool, clipped agreement.

"But don't think this is over." With that, he turned and left the room, the door swinging shut with the finality of a gavel.

The weeks leading up to the merger were a whirlwind of late-night strategy sessions and tense negotiations. The air in the office crackled with the tension of unspoken words and unresolved desires.

Every time you and Heeseung were in the same room, you could feel the electricity arc between you, a silent reminder of what had transpired in that hotel room. Yet, you remained steadfast in your resolve, channeling the intensity of your emotions into your work.

But the more you resisted, the stronger the pull became. You found yourself lingering in his presence, seeking the warmth of his gaze, the reassurance of his touch.

His words echoed in your mind: "Lovers can be rivals too."

The thought of combining your strengths, both in the boardroom and the bedroom, grew increasingly tempting. You began to question whether you could truly ignore the connection that sizzled just beneath the surface.

One evening, as the office emptied and the last of the day's light bled from the sky, you found yourself in his office. The room was a testament to his success, the walls adorned with awards and diplomas, the desk a sleek monument to his power.

He looked up as you entered, his eyes gleaming with something you hadn't seen before—vulnerability.

You stepped closer, the air thick with the scent of his cologne and the memory of his touch. "We need to talk," you said, your voice a barely audible whisper.

He rose from his chair, closing the distance between you with the grace of a predator stalking its prey. His hands found your waist, pulling you to him as if you were a magnet and he, the inescapable force of gravity.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to melt into his embrace, the warmth of his body a balm to your weary soul. His eyes searched yours, the question in them unspoken but clear: are you ready to admit what we both know to be true? The struggle between your heart and your head had been waging war since that fateful night, but now, standing in the quiet of his office with his arms around you, the answer seemed so simple. You nodded, the barest of movements, but one that spoke volumes.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was both gentle and demanding. It was a declaration of intent, a silent promise that you were no longer just rivals—you were lovers entangled in a dance of power and passion.

The line between love and war had been forever blurred, and you had chosen a side. As the kiss deepened, your hands found their way into his hair, the soft strands slipping through your fingers like a silk scarf.

You broke away, panting, your heart racing. "What are we doing?" you whispered, the question more to yourself than to him. Heeseung's smile was a wicked curve of his lips. "We're playing with fire," he murmured, his hands sliding down to the small of your back, pressing you closer. "But isn't that what makes it so exciting?"

The words hung in the air, a challenge that resonated deep within you. You knew the risks, the potential for disaster, but the allure was too great to resist. With a tremble in your voice, you agreed to his terms—to explore this dangerous dance of desire and power.

The office had transformed into a private sanctum of passion, the sleek surfaces of the desks and chairs now instruments of your burgeoning love affair.

The papers and files were forgotten relics of a world that seemed so far away from the reality of your intertwined bodies. Heeseung's hands roamed over you with a hunger that was both thrilling and terrifying, as if he was reclaiming what he believed to be his.

He bent you over the cold, steel desk, his grip firm yet gentle on your hips. You felt his arousal pressing against your backside, the fabric of your skirt a mere barrier to the heat of his desire. In one swift motion, he lifted your skirt and tugged your panties aside, the cool air of the office brushing against your damp folds.

The anticipation was almost unbearable, the need to feel him inside you a siren's call that drowned out all rational thought. His hand found your center, his fingers teasing your clit, making you gasp. The desk was a stage for your passion, the leather chair a throne for his dominance.

With a swift motion, Heeseung unbuckled his belt, the sound echoing through the otherwise silent room like a gunshot in a library. The zipper of his pants followed, the metallic hiss sending a shiver down your spine. You felt his cock pressing against your backside, a blunt promise of what was to come.

He wasted no time, sliding into you with a swiftness that took your breath away. The initial shock of his entry was soon replaced by a deep, guttural groan as he filled you completely. You were stretched to your limits, your body struggling to adjust to his size, but the pleasure was undeniable.

Each thrust was a declaration of war against your restraint, a reminder of the fiery passion that had brought you to this point.

Heeseung's hands gripped your hips, his rhythm increasing as he claimed you over and over again. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, a primal symphony that seemed to resonate with the very core of the city outside.

Your moans were muffled by the fabric of your shirt, which you had hastily pulled over your face to stifle the noise. Yet, the desk beneath you groaned in protest, a silent witness to your illicit union.

With each thrust, the tension between your legs grew tauter, a coil wound so tight it threatened to snap. You bit down on the fabric, your eyes squeezed shut as you fought the urge to scream his name. The sensation was overwhelming, a maelstrom of pleasure that consumed you. You felt him hit your g-spot with a precision that spoke of his experience, his movements a masterful play of dominance and submission.

His cock was a thick, demanding presence, stretching you and filling you completely. The way he took you, so commandingly, was a stark contrast to the boardroom banter where you had always been equals. Here, in the throes of passion, there was no denying who was in charge. Yet, you didn't resist—instead, you reveled in the feeling of being claimed by him, the way his touch set every nerve in your body alight.

You turned to face him, your breaths ragged and eyes hooded with desire. The need to taste him, to feel the connection beyond the physical, was too great to ignore. You kissed him, your lips melding together in a fiery embrace that spoke of all the things you hadn't said in the cold light of day. His tongue slid against yours, a dance of dominance that mirrored your own internal struggle. The kiss was a promise, a vow that you would explore this tumultuous love affair, no matter the cost.

His cock, still hard and demanding, pressed against your belly. You reached down, wrapping your hand around his shaft, feeling the pulse of his desire. It felt so good—the heat of him, the velvety softness of his skin over the steel of his arousal. You stroked him, feeling his hips jerk in response, the tension in his body a testament to his need for you.

With each stroke, his pain grew more apparent. You could see it in the tight lines of his face, the way his eyes clenched shut, his teeth gritted. But instead of pulling away, you leaned in, whispering soothing words into his ear, promising to take care of him. Your touch grew more gentle, almost tender, as you worked to ease his discomfort.

You knew that his pain was a sign of his arousal, a physical manifestation of the desire that had been building between you for weeks. It was a power play, a silent acknowledgment of the depth of your connection. And as you watched him struggle against the wave of pleasure, you couldn't help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction—you had the power to soothe or intensify his agony.

With a smirk, you dropped to your knees, your eyes never leaving his. He looked down at you, his gaze a mix of surprise and lust. You took him in your mouth, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat with a soft gag.

He groaned, his hands finding your hair as he guided you in a rhythm that spoke of his need. You took him deeper, your tongue swirling around his shaft, savoring the salty taste of him.

The power dynamics of the office had shifted, and now, in this moment of intimate vulnerability, you were the one in control. His breathing grew ragged, his hips thrusting gently into your mouth as you sucked him with an expertise that surprised even you.

The sound of your mouth working him filled the air, a sweet symphony of desire that seemed to pulse with the neon lights of the city outside.

You felt his cock thicken, the veins pulsing against your tongue, and you knew he was close. The anticipation grew, the air thick with the scent of his arousal.

You pulled away, his cock glistening with your saliva, and looked up at him with a mischievous smile. "Does it feel better now?" you teased, your voice low and sultry. He groaned, his eyes dark with lust as he nodded.

Heeseung picked you up, setting you on the desk, and your legs wrapped around him instinctively. The cold steel sent a shiver through you, but the heat of his body quickly banished the chill. He kissed you again, his tongue invading your mouth, tasting himself on your lips. It was an act of possession, a silent declaration that you were his.

You felt his cock pressing against your dampness, the anticipation building to a crescendo. He slammed into you, his hips driving you against the unforgiving desk. The pain was exquisite, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You gripped his shoulders, digging your nails in as he filled you completely.

The world outside the office walls fell away, replaced by the rhythm of your bodies moving in perfect sync. Each stroke was a declaration of war against the boundaries you had tried to maintain. The desk beneath you creaked with every thrust, a mournful cry that mirrored the tumult of your emotions.

You could feel your orgasm building, the pressure coiling low in your belly. It was as if every part of you was tuned to his movements, his touch setting off a cascade of sensations that had you teetering on the edge of oblivion. His teeth grazed your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

"Fuck me harder," you moaned, the words a plea that seemed to ignite something primal within him. He obeyed, his thrusts growing more forceful, the sound of your bodies slapping together a testament to your unbridled passion.

He reached down, his thumb circling your clit with the same unyielding determination that he brought to the boardroom. The pleasure grew, a wildfire that spread through your veins, consuming you with its intensity.

The city was a silent witness to your clandestine affair, a backdrop to the symphony of your moans and his grunts.

With a final, powerful thrust, you felt the dam burst inside you. Your body tightened around him, muscles clenching as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you.

You screamed into his shoulder, the sound muffled by his shirt. He held you tight, his own release following swiftly, his cock pulsing inside you as he filled you with his warmth.

For a moment, you remained there, his weight pressing you into the desk, your breaths mingling in the quiet of the room. The city outside had gone on without you, the world had turned, but here, in this stolen moment, you had found something more than a fleeting escape.

It was a silent acknowledgment of the bond that had been forged in the fires of your rivalry.

Heeseung's arms tightened around you, and he kissed the top of your head, the tender gesture at odds with the raw passion of moments before. You felt a strange sense of peace, your body humming with satisfaction.

You pushed him away gently, your legs sliding from around his waist. "We can do this right?"

Heeseung's eyes searched yours, the intensity of his gaze leaving no doubt of his feelings. "We'll figure it out," he murmured, his voice a mix of assurance and challenge. "Together."

With trembling legs, you slid off the desk, straightening your clothes and trying to compose yourself.

The office felt too small, too confined, as the gravity of what had just occurred settled in. The papers and files around you seemed to whisper of the secrets you now shared, the room a silent sentinel of your forbidden union.

Heeseung watched you with a smoldering gaze, his chest still heaving from exertion. He reached for his tie, loosening it with a casual elegance that belied the tumultuous passion that had just unfolded. "We'll keep it between us," he said, his voice a low rumble. "We're both smart enough to handle this."

But you weren't so sure. The lines between love and rivalry had never been so blurred, and the weight of your secret was already pressing down on you. "What about the merger?" you asked, your voice laced with uncertainty. "What happens if we're found out?"

"We'll work it out. Even the CEO ships us." He smirked.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth. "That's not helping."

Heeseung chuckled, pulling you back into his arms. "I'm sorry, I know it's complicated. But we can handle this. We're both too good at keeping secrets." His words were a gentle caress against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

You nodded, knowing he was right. The office had seen countless power plays and clandestine meetings—what was one more secret between the two of you? "We have to be careful," you murmured, your voice still hoarse from your passionate outburst.

"We will be," Heeseung assured you, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. "Until then, we keep this between us. We're both too good at playing the game." "We'll reveal it on Friday."

The words hung in the air, a declaration that made your heart race. "Friday?" you repeated, the reality of your decision setting in. It was only a few days away, but the anticipation felt like an eternity. "It's the ANNUAL PARTY of the year of our office."

"Then we tell them," Heeseung said, his voice firm with determination. "We show them that love and ambition can coexist." His eyes held yours, the challenge unmistakable.

You swallowed hard, the reality of the situation setting in. Could you really keep this a secret for three more days? Could you stand by his side at the party, with everyone watching, and not give in to the temptation to kiss him? To touch him? To claim him as yours?

You stepped back, smoothing down your hair and straightening your skirt, trying to compose yourself. "Okay," you said, your voice a little too bright. "Friday it is." Heeseung's smile was smug, but it didn't reach his eyes. You knew he was feeling the same mix of excitement and fear that you were. "Trust me," he murmured, his voice a seductive purr. "It'll be worth the wait."

The days leading up to the party were a whirlwind of work and tension. You and Heeseung circled each other in the office, a silent dance of desire and rivalry. Every glance, every brush of your hands, was charged with the electricity of your secret. The whispers of the office grew louder, the speculation more rampant, but you both played your parts perfectly, giving nothing away.

On Friday evening, the office was transformed into a glittering wonderland of lights and music. You had chosen a dress that was both professional and alluring, a silent declaration of the woman you were—capable and desirable. Heeseung looked like a dark prince in his tailored suit, his eyes never leaving you for long. The tension between you was palpable, a secret thrumming in the air.

You mingled with colleagues, the small talk a stark contrast to the thoughts racing through your mind. You could feel his gaze on you, a physical presence that was almost as potent as his touch. Each time you caught his eye, a silent message passed between you, a promise of what was to come. The anticipation was a sweet torture, a delicious agony that had you biting your lower lip to keep from smiling too widely.

As the evening wore on, the whispers grew louder, the glances more pointed. You knew people were waiting for something to happen, for the tension between you to snap like a tightly drawn bow. The air was thick with the scent of cologne and perfume, the laughter and chatter a cacophony that seemed to grow louder with each passing moment.

Finally, Heeseung approached, a glass of champagne in hand. "Ready?" he asked, his voice low and intimate, a question that sent a thrill down your spine. You took the flute, the cool glass a stark contrast to the heat of your skin.

"Ready," you murmured, your eyes locking onto his. The crowd parted for you as you made your way to the makeshift stage, the spotlights blinding. The music grew softer, a hush descending over the room as everyone turned to face you. The CEO took the microphone, a knowing smile on his face.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, "I have a special surprise for you all tonight." He looked over at you and Heeseung, standing side by side. "Our two top employees, who have worked tirelessly on the merger, have something to share."

You took a deep breath, your hand trembling slightly as it hovered over the champagne glass. This was it—the moment of truth. Heeseung took the microphone from the CEO, his eyes never leaving yours. "Thank you, everyone, for your hard work," he began, his voice smooth and confident. "We have indeed achieved something amazing together."

He paused, the silence stretching out like a tightrope, and then, with a grin that could melt ice, he turned to you. "But what you don't know is that we've discovered something more than just synergy in the boardroom." He raised the glass in a toast, and you felt your cheeks heat up as his gaze traveled over you, leaving a trail of desire in its wake.

You took a deep breath, the weight of the moment pressing down on you like an invisible hand. You had agreed to this, but now, with everyone watching, it felt like a risk that could shatter your entire world. But as Heeseung's eyes met yours, you found the courage to speak.

"Yes," you said, your voice clear and strong. "We've discovered something incredible. Something that transcends our professional rivalry." You reached out, your hand finding his, and the warmth of his skin was a reassurance that you hadn't been wrong to take this leap of faith. "We're in love."

The room erupted in gasps and whispers, the shockwave rippling through the crowd like a tidal wave. You watched as your colleagues' expressions shifted from surprise to understanding, the realization of your relationship casting a new light on your dynamic. The tension that had always existed between you was now a shared secret, a bond that could no longer be denied.

Heeseung leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "You did it," he murmured, pride coloring his voice. "Now, let's show them what we're really made of." With a wink, he turned back to the audience, his hand still clutching yours.

You took a sip of champagne, the bubbles fizzing against your teeth. The liquid burned a path down your throat, a fitting metaphor for the fire that had been ignited in the office. "To our future," you toasted, your voice steady despite the tremor in your hand. The glass clinked against his, the sound a declaration of war against the expectations that had once governed your relationship.

And then, without another word, Heeseung leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was as fierce as it was tender. It was a kiss that held all the passion and power that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks. A kiss that said, "Fuck the world, we're doing this." A kiss that was a battle cry, a declaration of love, and a promise all rolled into one.

You melted into it, your body responding instinctively to his touch. The room faded away, the whispers and gasps of your colleagues becoming a distant hum as you lost yourself in the warmth of his mouth. His tongue swept against yours, a silent promise that this was just the beginning, that you would conquer the world together, one boardroom at a time.

.......

TAGLIST:-

@slutofpsh @laurenalpha123 @dreamiestay @amortenha @peonywon @mitmit01 @heeevangelizesme @gvni-eve @yourmomni @leov3rse @punchbug9-blog

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heartysworld · 6 months ago

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Match points and podiums // Lewis Hamilton

A/N: I literally got the idea for this while I was watching the Wimbledon finale. I feel like I rushed it a bit, but I couldn't wait to post it for you guys, so here it is! I might edit it later on and add some bits but for now I'm quite happy with the result. Hope you enjoy it!

W.C.: 4.5k

MASTERLIST

You remember the first time you met Lewis like it was yesterday. It was at a charity event organized by mutual friends in Monaco. You were there as part of a tennis exhibition, and Lewis was there as an honor guest, fresh off another Grand Prix win. The evening was filled with laughter, champagne, and the mingling of two very different worlds—tennis and racing.

You had just finished another match, bringing home yet another win, and were chatting with some guests when Lewis approached you. He had a warm smile that reached his eyes, and there was an undeniable charm about him.

"Hello, I'm Lewis, it is very nice to meet you" he said, extending his hand. "I caught some of your match earlier. You were incredible out there."

You shook his hand, feeling a spark of something indescribable as a light pinkish color made its way to your cheeks. "Thank you, Lewis. I'm a big fan of your work on the track. Congratulations on your recent win."

From that moment on, something snapped deep inside your chest, making it impossible to look at another man the same way you looked at Lewis. His eyes sparkled with an indescribable force that felt like a magnet pulling a part inside of you towards him. His presence was otherworldly, that of a man who knew what he wanted and how to achieve it without ever giving up.

As the months after the charity event passed you bonded over your shared dedication to your respective sports, your drive to be the best, and your love for adventure. Dates were often spontaneous, like a midnight drive along the coast or a quick flight to a secluded beach. Your love story was one of passion, mutual respect, and a deep connection that neither of you had ever felt before.

You began making appearances at each other’s’ sporting events, capturing the attention of both the media and the fans. Every time you had a free second, you were there to support Lewis- Bahrain, Silverstone, Singapore, and other locations thorough the Formula 1 season. Lewis respectively did the same, supporting you from the stands of your tennis tournaments. That was the beginning of your journey together.

One of your most cherished memories is from a summer evening in Spain. Lewis had taken you on vacation there during his summer break mid-season.

It wasn’t long before Lewis and you fell deeply in love. He admired your tenacity on the court, and you admired his precision on the track. You found comfort in each other’s presence, and soon, your lives began to intertwine even more. You met his closest friends and family members and were slowly eased into the Hamilton family dynamics. You passed the Roscoe approval test as Lewis’ mother Carmen liked to call it. The bulldog enjoyed your presence around the house whenever you were visiting, searching for you thorough the rooms of Lewis’ home whenever he heard your voice echoing from somewhere.

On your third night there, he surprised you with a candlelit dinner on the rooftop of your hotel, overlooking the city of Barcelona. The two of you talked for hours about your dreams, fears, and everything in between, the topic of your athletic careers long forgotten at that moment. Lewis had made it his priority to put his racing career on hold whenever he was with you. He refused to risk the possibility of losing one of the best things in life to his career that would end in the next couple of years. He loved racing, it’s been part of more than half his life, but you, he planned on keeping you forever.

"Do you ever think about the future?" Lewis asked, his eyes reflecting the twinkling city lights. The edges of his lips curved upwards as his eyes roamed over your features, taking note on every detail, every mole, freckle and dimple.

"All the time," you replied, reaching for his hand. "I want a family, a place to call home, and someone to share it all with. It has always been a dream of mine to become a mother. When I was a child I used to say that a family was the second thing, I desired the most after a Wimbledon trophy.’’ You said as you laughed at the last part, causing Lewis to smile even more at the thought of little you.

He smiled, squeezing your hand gently. "I want that too. And I want to make this come true with you by my side."

A year later, you and Lewis got married in a beautiful ceremony surrounded by family and friends. The wedding was a blend of elegance and simplicity, much like your relationship. You exchanged vows under a canopy of flowers, promising to support each other through every victory and defeat, every joy and challenge. The moment you exchanged your wedding vowels would forever remain engraved in your brain. You began first, holding a small piece of paper where your vows were written. You insisted on reading them as you feared your mind might betray you at the most important moment of your life.

As his fingers gently brushed against the skin of your wrist, a shiver of delight danced down your spine. It was a soft, almost ethereal caress, starting at the base of your neck and cascading downwards like a whisper of a breeze. The touch sent a warm, tingling sensation through your entire body, making your heart flutter and your breath hitch. It was as if his touch ignited tiny sparks of electricity, leaving a trail of warmth and anticipation in its wake. The connection between you felt electric, each shiver a testament to the depth of your feelings and the magic of the moment.

‘’Lewis, from the moment I met you I felt like I was being pulled towards a missing piece from myself. All my life I’ve been searching for a person who is willing to love and support me despite the hectic life I lead. I never thought I would ever meet someone as charming, loveable, and supportive as you. For the past three years you’ve done nothing but be by my side and hold my hand during the happy and sad moments I faced both in my personal and professional life. I promise to do the same for you, to be your biggest supporter in all aspects of life, to build a life with you, and make all of our dreams come true.’’

You were sobbing by the time you finished talking. As you looked at your husband-to-be you saw his eyes glistening with tears as he barely managed to hold them in. You mouthed a silent ‘’I love you’’ in his direction, receiving a gentle squeeze of your hand as a response.

Someone from the guests sobbed even louder, followed by the loud blow of their nose in a napkin, which caused everyone to laugh, including you and Lewis.

‘’My love, the light of my life, meeting you felt like finding the last missing piece of a puzzle I’ve been trying to complete ever since I took my first breath on this earth. I had lost all hope of finding the right person in this lifetime, but then I met you. Today, I vow to love you with the same passion and dedication that you bring to the court. I vow to support you through every challenge, to celebrate every victory, and to be the best husband and father I can be. Together, we will create a beautiful life, full of love, laughter, and shared dreams. Today, I give you my heart, my soul, and my forever."

Not long after, you found yourself pregnant with baby Amelia. It was a moment of pure joy and excitement. Lewis was over the moon, already envisioning the adventures you’d have as a family and remembering all the conversations you’d had regarding that special moment.

By the time he finished talking, you could see your and Lewis’ parents wiping tears from underneath their eyes. This was one of the most intimate and important moments of your life and you were happy that your families were there to share it with you two.

You continued to play tennis, balancing your passion for the sport with your growing family. Lewis was your rock, always there to support you, even when you had to stop playing mid-season due to your pregnancy. He held your hand through the morning sickness, the cravings, and the emotional rollercoaster, always reminding you of the incredible journey you were on together.

The years passed in a blur of sleepless nights, first steps, and family holidays. Amelia grew up surrounded by the world of sports, watching you on the tennis court and Lewis on the racetrack. She adored both of you and often tried to emulate your moves, whether it was swinging one of your rackets or pretending to drive a race car.

One summer afternoon, as you napped after a particularly exhausting day, Lewis and Amelia sat down to watch the Wimbledon final together. The living room was filled with the sounds of the match and Amelia’s excited chatter.

“Daddy, look at that serve! Do you think I can do that one day?” she asked, her eyes wide with admiration.

Lewis chuckled, pulling her close. “Of course, sweetheart. You can do anything you set your mind to. Remember, your mom is one of the best tennis players in the world. It’s in your blood.”

“I want to play tennis, Daddy. I want to see my name on the honor board at Wimbledon, just like mommy,” she declared with determination.

Lewis smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “That’s a wonderful dream, Amelia. But first, we have to wait for baby brother to arrive. Mommy needs to take care of him and then she can get back to playing.”

Amelia’s face lit up with excitement. “I can’t wait to watch with my brother! We’ll both cheer for mommy together.”

The scent of freshly popped popcorn lingered in the air, and you could hear the soft giggles of your daughter, Amelia, mingling with the excited commentary. You stretched, feeling the weight of pregnancy slowing you down, but a smile tugged at your lips as you realized Lewis and Amelia were watching Wimbledon together.

You quietly walked into the living room, leaning against the doorway as you watched them. Lewis was sitting on the couch, Amelia snuggled up next to him, both of them fully engrossed in the match. Amelia’s eyes are wide with admiration as she watches the players on the screen, and you can’t help but feel a swell of pride and love for your little family.

“And I’ll be so proud to have both of you cheering for me,” you said, your voice thick with emotion.

Lewis and Amelia turned to look at you, smiles spreading across their faces. Lewis stood up and walked over to you, wrapping his arms around you gently. “How was your nap, love?” he asked softly.

“It was good,” you reply, resting your head against his chest. “Hearing Amelia talk about her dreams made it even better.”

Amelia runs over and hugs your legs, looking up at you with bright eyes. “Mommy! Can we play tennis together when baby brother is here?”

You laugh softly, running your fingers through her curly hair. “Of course, sweetheart. We’ll play as much as you want.”

The match was intense, each point hard-fought, but the support of your family carried you through. You could see Lewis and Amelia in the stands, their faces filled with anticipation and pride. Next to them, your mother held Oliver, now two years old, who clapped enthusiastically every time you scored a point, your father right next to them, trying to entertain the toddler as much as possible.

Two years later, the atmosphere at Wimbledon was electric as you stepped onto the green court. You had worked tirelessly to get back into peak condition, driven by the dream of seeing your name on that honor board as Amelia had said before.

When you finally scored the last, winning point, the sound of the crowd’s cheers was deafening. Tears filled your eyes as you raised your racket in triumph, overwhelmed by the moment. You wasted no time running towards the stands and finding your family. Amelia was the first to latch onto your leg, screaming in happiness. Seconds later, you felt two strong arms envelop you in a familiar embrace you’d always recognize.

‘’ I did it Lew, I did it!’’ you sobbed as your hands cupped his face, bringing his lips towards yours in a rushed kiss, overwhelmed by all the emotions you were feeling at that moment.’’

‘’ You did it love! You fucking did it! I told you it would happen, I never lost hope in you!’’ your husband said as he pulled you against his chest. Moments later you felt everyone around you cheering and congratulating you.

During the post-match interview, a reporter asked, “How are you feeling right now, and what has it taken to get here?”

You took a deep breath, steadying your voice. “It’s hard to put into words how much this means to me. When I was little, I used to help my father build furniture to make enough money to support my passion for tennis. My parents’ unwavering support allowed me to pursue my dreams, and I couldn’t have done it without them. My husband, Lewis, and our children, Amelia and Oliver, have been my rock. Two years ago, I overheard Amelia telling Lewis that she wanted to see both our names on the honor board at Wimbledon. That moment has stayed with me and pushed me to keep going.”

BONUS

The crowd’s applause was thunderous as you finished speaking. You glanced up at Lewis, who was beaming with pride. Amelia was jumping up and down, her excitement infectious.

Later that year in Abu Dhabi, the atmosphere was tense. Lewis was on the verge of his eighth championship, and the entire world was watching. You were in the Ferrari garage with Amelia while baby Oliver stayed home in the company of both of his grandmothers. Your heart was pounding with every lap he completed.

Lewis needed to finish at least fourth to secure the championship, but you knew how much he wanted to win. The final laps were nail-biting, with Max pushing hard on the gas pedal behind your husband. But Lewis’s skill and determination shone through, and when he crossed the finish line in first place, the crowd erupted.

"Lewis Hamilton rounds the final corner, the crowd on their feet, the tension electric! And he crosses the line! Lewis Hamilton wins the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix and secures his eighth World Drivers' Championship! What a monumental achievement! History has been made here today in the most thrilling fashion!

Ladies and gentlemen, we have just witnessed one of the greatest moments in the history of motorsport. Lewis Hamilton, defying all odds, with determination, skill, and sheer brilliance, has etched his name in the annals of Formula 1 forever. Eight championships, surpassing the legends of our sport, and cementing his place as the most successful driver in F1 history.

This season has been a rollercoaster of emotions, challenges, and intense competition, but once again, Lewis has shown why he is the master of his craft. His relentless pursuit of excellence, his unwavering focus, and his incredible talent have brought him to this pinnacle moment.

Congratulations, Lewis! You are a true champion, an inspiration to millions, and a testament to what can be achieved with heart, determination, and belief. What a day, what a race, what a champion! Lewis Hamilton, the 2024 Formula 1 World Drivers' Champion!"

You could see his body shake as he stepped out of the car. His father, Anthony was the first to get to his, giving him the time he needed to process everything he was feeling, before embracing his son in much much-needed hug You pushed through the crowd, holding Amelia’s hand. When Lewis saw you, he rushed over, pulling the two of you into a tight embrace.

He kissed you deeply, not caring about the cameras or the crowd. “We did it,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

You couldn’t hold back your tears as you nodded, “Yes, we did.”

During the trophy ceremony, Lewis pointed his trophy towards you and your daughter, his father standing proudly beside you. He then placed his hand on his heart, looking at you with so much love that it took your breath away.

In the post-race interview, Lewis shared the news that shocked the racing world. “It’s been an incredible journey, and I’m grateful for every moment. But now, it’s time to focus on my family. I couldn’t have done any of this without their support, and I’m excited for this next chapter of our lives.”

As the crowd outside gave him a standing ovation, you knew that no matter where life took you next, you’d face it together, as a family.

Back home, life settled into a new rhythm. Without the constant travel and pressure of racing, Lewis threw himself into being a full-time dad and husband. You balanced your tennis career with family life, savoring every moment.

One evening, after putting the kids to bed, you and Lewis sat on the balcony of your Monaco apartment, watching the night sky. He held your hand, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your skin.

“I never imagined life could be this perfect,” he said softly. “Thank you for being my rock, my partner, and my best friend.”

You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder. “We’ve been through so much together, and I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world.”

Lewis turned to you, his eyes filled with love. “Here’s to the next adventure, whatever it may be.” You clinked your glasses together, knowing that no matter what the future held, you’d face it side by side, surrounded by the love of your family.

MASTERLIST

Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated

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coyote-with-a-keyboard · 7 months ago

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Past, present, future

a/n: well, writing creativity hits me at the worst times. Including when I have a concussion! This one is for my silly moot @fortheb0ys

Minors DNI

Phillip was stressed. If stressed was even the right word. He was tired, and bored, and yet constantly busy busy busy. It was starting to make his head swirl so damn much that he decided to toss off his work and jobs to his poor second in command and go back to his little home town in the middle of nowhere Texas

He wasn’t there to see family, hell no. He had put his parents in a retirement home in Dallas years and years ago. He was going just to fish where he used to fish and enjoy how little that town changes- as if time was slowed there. He pulled up to his hotel happy as a clam and practically running to the local bar, enjoying as many drinks as he wanted to calm down, until he saw you walk in. Oh fuck

he hadn’t seen you since high school, since he left the whole backwater town to try his luck in the military, and told you by note. By note! He really did regret that now, how he had probably shattered you. Sure you two never ‘dated’, his parents would have slaughtered him for something like dating a man- but you two sure did everything a couple could. Nights spent together hidden away in a camping tent, secret kisses and hickeys littering him in the morning… he had really felt like shit having the nerve to show up here now, feeling wheezy and sick to his stomach.

he sat nervously next to you at the bar, letting you look him up and down as he drank a shot of whiskey, then two, then three. And a conversation started between you, about how your lives had ended up and how you’d stayed in the little country town and definitely flourished- calloused hands and well built figure filling in where you once were younger and softer, and the more he drank the more comfortable he felt around you, chuckling at your jokes and leaning into you as if he was head over heals again.

Four shots, five shots, six,

he was feeling real sick now, he wasn’t a lightweight by any means. But he had definitely lost track and gone above any standard he usually had. He felt Ick all over, barely wanting to walk out the door let alone leave you and go to his hotel- not that he could walk that far in the state he was in. He needed you in more ways than one, so he begged you pathetically to carry you home. Your grip and warmth grounded him enough that he got a grip while you carried him, softly nuzzling into your chest and hoping you’d stay just a little longer and indulge him just a bit more.

he didn’t deserve you, he knew that. You were his a long time ago and he had royally fucked up- but he missed everything about you, every little detail was making his mind spin with old memories he had thought he had forgotten. He let you carry him into your house without a single protest- too in bliss and too drunk to bother you with the idea of carrying him back to his shitty hotel, especially when your house smelt of your cologne and safety.

he almost melted in your bed; whining and pulling you next to him before utterly dozing off, and clinging to you as if you would disappear if he let go

he woke up with an utterly pounding headache and a hangover worse then death himself- sitting up with a groan before remembering where he was, and that he was in your jacket from the bar… he has definitely made a fool of himself in front of you. But he supposed it was better then being alone in your apartment- he laid practically on top of you, feeling your even breathing as you slept. He had missed the feeling of being oh so close to you, but he still wanted to be closer- okay sure, it might be a bit wrong but he couldn’t help himself but kiss down your neck softly, his hands wondering and his body slipping down a bit, in no hurry to wake you up- just wanting to feel you.

he mouthed at your boxers a bit, shaking you awake enough to get a groan out of you and a tired nod as you tossed your head back on the pillow tiredly, still half asleep as he tugged your boxers down your legs and wrapped his pretty lips around your cock-head, taking you inch by inch slowly and choking a bit until he had every inch in his mouth, little gasps coming out of his stretched lips as he breathed you in, tears and spit dribbling down his face. He was focused on solely you, only little grinds of his hips against your leg giving himself physical pleasure

he hummed softly at the feeling of your hand grasping in his hair, before getting thrown off rhythm at a rough tug from you, pulling him off- a small drop of pre-cum and spit connecting his lips and your soaked member before you forced him back all the way down. You had gotten a lot rougher, and it felt so so good to be gasping as those big blue eyes of his poured with tears- looking like a mess. But he was your mess again. Yours.

he choked and gagged every so often, but worked you up until you were grasping his shoulders tight enough to bruise, painting his throat white as he swallowed every drop down, cumming in his own pants untouched before he pulled himself away and rolled beside you

“missed you, sugar.” Was all he could mutter as he caught his breath

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munsonsmixtapes · 3 months ago

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I Just Wanna Be Close Enough to Feel You

rockstar!Eddie x fem!reader

cw warning: hurt/comfort, mention of pregnancy, vomit, and alcohol

based on this post by @cremeve

summary: Eddie is paying too much attention to his rising fame that he completely forgets that you exist. Once he realizes his mistake, he tries his best to make it up to you before it’s too late.

You watched Eddie from the green room like always. If he had it his way, you would have been right there next to him during the interview, but you always declined. Always. Sure, you were the one who always encouraged him to go after his dreams, but you never wanted to be in the spotlight like he did.

You were perfectly content with cheering him on from the sidelines, grasping at your anonymity for as long as possible. As you stared down at the diamond on your finger, you realized that wasn’t going to last for very long.

He had proposed to you at one of his shows. It wasn’t exactly what you had wanted, but it was fine. It was what you had been used to over the last few months.

It seemed like all of a sudden, Eddie had forgotten who you were and for the most part, that you had even existed. Everything he had ever known about you seemed to disappear from his brain and was replaced with everything fame related.

Sorry babe, can’t go on our date like I promised, we have an awards show to go to.

Can’t eat the dinner that took you hours to make. I’m going out with the guys.

I’ll be home late after the show. Don’t wait up.

You loved Eddie. You loved him more than you could comprehend, but it seemed like you were slipping through his fingers and he didn’t even care. It almost seemed like he didn’t even remember that you existed sometimes.

It was little things at first. He forgot to order you a coffee when his assistant was making a run. Or he turned off your alarm that you had set for work because he had a late night.

But the worst was when he forgot to call you after one of his shows. He never forgot, the unknown numbers from the hotels signaling that it was him. So that night, you went to bed, the silence almost deafening as you waited just a little longer for the phone to ring. But it never did.

Until the next night from a bar or club or whatever. Eddie was so wasted that his words were intelligible, but you were just happy that he called. You were making excuses for him because you just didn’t want to admit that he had changed.

“That’s y/n,” Eddie told the interviewer and hearing your name pulled you out of your thoughts. Your head snapped to the TV and on the screen behind Eddie and the woman was a photo of the two of you leaving some sort of event. He was looking at you like you had hung the moon and you were beginning to miss that look. When was the last time you had seen it?

“That’s my girl,” he said with a dopey grin and the interviewer smiled in response.

“So, you proposed to her at Madison Square Garden a little over a month ago.” That statement was met with cheers and your stomach churned at the memory.

You had wanted a little proposal, just the two of you and Eddie had known that. Doing that big grand gesture had upset you not only because you had horrible stage fright, but also because it felt like he was just doing it all for show.

“I did,” Eddie nodded.

“I hear the ring is worth a lot of money,” the woman smiled and you were just glad that she was wrong. The ring was the one thing that Eddie had gotten right. It was his mother’s, something she had given to him before she passed away, making him promise that he would give it to the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

“It’s not,” Eddie laughed with a shake of his head. “It was my mother’s and I wanted y/n to have it because of how special she is to me.”

At that point, you weren’t sure if he was just saying that to make it seem like your relationship was fairy-tale like or if he genuinely meant it. Whichever one it was, it didn’t matter. He hadn’t shown you that he felt that way in a long time. When was the last time the two of you had even slept in the same bed? Maybe April?

It was October now and the more you watched him talk about the proposal, the more you were convinced that he had only done it to make you stay. And the audience was just to add to the manipulation.

You weren’t actually going to leave him and Eddie wouldn’t have been so cruel as to do something like that…right? Deep down, he was still the nerd from Hawkins, Indiana that loved to play Dungeons and Dragons and drive you around in his van while the two of you listened to his metal mixtapes. That guy was still in there somewhere. He had to be.

“Is she here?” The woman asked and you were seconds away from leaving. You couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Yeah, she’s backstage. She’s not really a big fan of all this. It’s too much for her.” The words were true, but the tone he was using was condescending, not at all like the Eddie you had grown to love. Whoever you were watching on the TV, you didn’t recognize him one bit.

With that, you grabbed your purse and headed out of the green room and down the hallway to where the two of you had been let in. It was suddenly really hot and you felt like you were going to throw up.

Before you could make your exit, though, you hurried to the nearest restroom and practically threw yourself into one of the stalls before emptying the contents of your stomach, trying to figure out when you her last thrown up.

Once you were done, you wiped your face with some toilet paper then went to wash your hands before fleeing the building. You need to get out of there. You needed to be alone.

But as soon as the door shut behind you, you heard someone calling after you. You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. That voice was ingrained in your brain.

“Where are you going, baby?”

“Home, Eddie.” Your words were stiff and he could just tell that something upset you but he wasn’t sure what.

“Why? What’s wrong?” That was your breaking point. You couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“Do you even know why I’m here?” You asked, your tone nothing but bitter.

“I invited you.”

“No, John, your manager invited me. You haven’t invited me to anything in months. Do you even love me anymore, Eddie?” You were getting choked up, feeling tears pricking your eyes.

“Of course I love you, baby,” he said, stepping forward and taking your hands in his. “That’s why I proposed to you.”

“Right, so you didn’t do it just to make yourself look good in front of a crowd? You knew how I wanted to be proposed to and you ignored it or forgot or whatever it was. But it seems like you always forget about me lately.”

“Baby-“

“No,” you cut him off and his eyes widened at how angry you sounded. “I’m not your baby anymore. Here’s your ring, because if this is the guy you’re going to be then I don’t want to marry you. I’m going to pack up my things tonight and stay with my parents for a while.”

That was like a stab the Eddie’s chest. He hadn’t even been aware of how badly he fucked up until he watched you walk to your car with the ring weighing heavily in his hands.

He went home alone after his interviews wrapped up. And just like you promised, boxes littered your (now just his) home, but you were nowhere to be found. Not surprising. He almost wanted to call your parents, but decided that it was best to leave you alone for now. He had already done enough.

Eddie grabbed a much needed beer from the fridge along with a container of whatever you had made for dinner the night before. As soon as he opened the lid, he saw that it was spaghetti, his favorite. He put some into a bowl before putting it into the microwave, leaning an against the counter behind him, sipping on his beer as he waited.

Once it was done, he moved to the kitchen table with his dinner and ate it, quickly realizing that it was still cold, but he decided that it was what he deserved. The entire time he ate in silence, thinking about nothing but how badly he had fucked up. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. You were supposed to be together forever and now he had the ring he had given sitting in his pocket because he just had to ruin the good thing you had.

And now he was going to have to tell everyone that you were no longer together and he wasn’t going to be able bear seeing the looks on their faces when he told them that it was his fault. As much as he wanted to throw a pity party for himself, he couldn’t help but think about how you felt. He made you feel like you were invisible, like you didn’t even exist and that almost made him not even want to finish his dinner.

At one time, you were the most important thing in his life and then he got one little taste of fame and suddenly, it was like you weren’t even there anymore. And the thing that made him the most sick was that he hadn’t even noticed. He hadn’t even noticed that you had been there all along, even when you were in the same room. The old Eddie would have had you on his lap, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you both were enveloped in your own little world.

He couldn’t even remember the last time the two of you had done that. It had definitely been months. He looked at the chair across from him and imagined you sitting there, eating your food in between sips of whatever drink you were having and you’d smile at him, telling him time and time again that you loved him. Because you did. More than he ever would have known and now he was alone, preparing to down his sorrows in a mixture of beer and his tears.

Once his bowl was empty and put in the dishwasher, Eddie moved to the room you two had shared, trying to think about the last time he had slept in it. He sat on the edge and looked around the room at all the boxes, feeling tears roll down his cheeks. He then pulled the ring out of his pocket and stared at it, thinking about how disappointed his mother would have been in him. How disappointed Wayne would have been in him. Maybe he should have given him a call. He would know exactly what the do. Before Eddie could stop himself, though, he dialed the all too familiar number and the line rang a few times before someone picked up.

“Well, as I live and breathe,” Wayne’s familiar voice rang through the phone and Eddie felt himself tearing up just by hearing it. “Thought you were too famous to call around here.”

“I’m never too famous for you, Wayne,” Eddie replied which was followed by a sigh. He should have known that Wayne could predict that he had wanted something. He could always read Eddie like a book and Eddie hated that.

“Alright, lay it on me, boy,” Wayne sighed once again and Eddie just furrowed his eyebrows, trying just best to play dumb since he hadn’t actually wanted to talk about it. Because if he talked about it, he’d have to admit what he had done and he wasn’t in the mood for a lecture.

“What?”

“Something’s bothering you, kid, now tell me what it is and I’ll see if I can help.”

“I-she left me, Wayne.” Eddie was choking back sobs and Wayne was able to tell even through the phone.

“Y/n wouldn’t leave you,” his uncle replied, his tone soft like always.

“Then why is all her stuff packed up in boxes?” He turned to look over his shoulder just to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming and sure enough, they were still there, his nightmare becoming a harsh reality.

“What did you do?” The tone wasn’t so much accusatory as it was genuine curiosity.

“What makes you think I did something?”

“Because I know my nephew and I know y/n. She cares too much to actually hurt you. Now what did you do? I thought you were engaged.” The fact that Wayne clocked his shit so quick made Eddie feel even more sick, even more guilty.

“We were. But I think that’s part of the problem, Wayne. She didn’t like it and only said yes because she felt like she had to.” Even Eddie knew that to be true, so he wasn’t so sure why he was surprised when you had given the ring back to him. Eddie had made it all about him just like always and didn’t even stop for a second to think about what you had wanted.

“Well, your first mistake was proposing in front of that many people. Even I know how she really wanted it to happen. But I feel like you’re not telling the whole story.” That was true and Eddie hated how Wayne knew him so well. That he was able to see through all of the bullshit just like you could. Everyone else seemed to be so blind to it.

“I let it all get to my head. I was so obsessed with the fame and the money and the attention that I forgot about what really mattered until it was too late. I fucked up.”

“When did all of this happen?”

“Months ago, Wayne. But she broke up with me this afternoon.”

“Then it’s not too late. You know where she is so go apologize. Give her what she really wants. Jesus, kid, for being really smart, you really don’t like to use your head, do you?”

“I can’t apologize-“ Wayne didn’t want to hear any excuses. Eddie didn’t want to apologize because he didn’t want to admit how wrong he was, how badly he had screwed up. But deep down, he knew that was all you wanted to hear.

“I do'n want to hear any of that. If you just own up to your mistakes, she’ll definitely forgive you. It’s like you don’t even know her anymore. Now I’ve got to head to work, but you tell me how it all ends, alright? You better have gotten the girl, kid.”

The line went dead and Eddie set the phone back in its cradle and sat for a moment, trying to come up with how he was going to apologize. This time, there would be no grand gesture, just him and his words that were coming from the heart.

Once he was done sulking, he wiped his tears and hurried to the bathroom to fix his hair and generally just make himself look more presentable. He raked his finger through his hair to make it look more presentable then let out a deep sigh as he looked in the mirror. He leaned forward to get a better look and shook his head as he realized that that was going to be the best it was going to get.

He then reached for some toiler paper and dabbed at his tears, not wanting to look like a pathetic mess in front of you. You deserved the best and that was definitely not it. Once he was finished, he went to throw away the toilet paper and was distracted but the box that was sticking out among the other trash. Without another thought, he reached for it, not even noticing that something had fallen out of it as he held the box up to read it.

“What?” He asked, his eyes widening as he read the words “pregnancy test” scrawled across the front in a giant font. He took the box and went to find his keys so he could head to your parents’ house but tripped on something on his way out of the bathroom. He stepped back and there was the test sitting on the floor. He picked it up and felt his heartbeat quicken as he saw the two lines where the results were supposed to be.

A baby? You were going to have a baby? He was going to be a father? Well, if he played his cards right he would be. Just as he was about to go hunt for his keys, though, the front door slammed shut.

Eddie fled the bathroom so fast that there was practically smoke behind him as he moved. Sure enough, as he got to the hallway, there you were, hanging your coat up on the rack, wiping your tears from your face. Eddie stood at the end of the hall, giving you your space and he was glad that he had considering the fact that you jumped at the sight of him.

“I-I thought you were out with the guys.”

“No,” he shook his head. “I wanted to chase after you, but you were already gone. And I was about to leave to find you because I wanted to talk to you about this,” he held up the test and you supposed you shouldn’t have left it in plain sight.

“What about it? I don’t need you, Eddie. We don’t need you,” you corrected as you raised your hands to your stomach. “If you’re willing to get your shit together and decide that you want to be a father then we can co-parent, but if not, then I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I don’t want to co-parent,” He said, stepping closer to you. “I have made a lot of mistakes in the past few months, y/n. And the biggest one was letting you walk out that door.” He was in front of you now and your stomach lurched as you took in him pink, tear-stained cheeks.

“I want us to get married and raise this baby together. I want to wake up next to you every morning no matter where I am because I can’t stand to be away from you. I’m sorry I fucked up and I’m sorry that you were in the receiving end of it. If you give me another chance, I promise I’ll make it right, baby. I swear. So if you’ll have me,” he lowered himself onto his knee as he held out his ring to you. “I would want nothing more than to be your husband.”

As you stared down at him, you could see the old Eddie coming back. That little glimmer of mischief in his eyes was there again and you could tell that he was serious as the tears rolled down his cheeks. Seeing him that distraught over losing you made you realize that he really didn’t want to lose you and that he had just made a mistake.

“Of course you can be my husband,” you responded, and Eddie was quick to put the ring on your finger before rising to his feet, pulling you in for a kiss. It was deep and passionate as the two of you poured out your feelings for each other that you hadn’t been able to express for months. You were the first to pull away, a bright smile on your face that Eddie had missed so much.

“Wanna help me unpack?” You asked before pressing another kiss to his lips.

“Honey, I thought you’d never ask.”

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