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aliceaou · 14 days ago

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I Fucking Hate You

Your crazy ex leaves another voicemail, but this one is not like the others, this time he means it.

TW: Threats, stalking, manipulation. Toxic relationship.

[Voicemail Transcript — 2:03 AM]

The beep clicks, followed by a breath that sounds shaky but eager, like he’s rehearsed this call a hundred times before dialing. You can hear the faint rasp in his throat, as if he hasn’t slept in days.

“Hey… uh, it’s me. Look, don’t freak out, alright? Just—just listen. I promise I won’t be weird this time. I just wanted to call and… I don’t know, say I’m good, actually, better. I’ve been… moving on, you know? Figured out som' stuff about myself, working out again, eating better. Even went out with some friends. You’d be proud of me."

He chuckles a little too loud, hollow, like he’s convincing himself. Then there’s a pause, and the silence hums with the low static of the receiver. The phone picks up the faint rhythm of footsteps, he’s pacing.

"Yeah… yeah, I don’t need you anymore. Not like before. That whole… uh, texting and calling at 3 a.m. is over. I mean, I'm technically leaving a message at 2 a.m., but this is different, this the last time, I swear."

A thin chuckle follows, more awkward than the other, too long. The laugh dies into silence and his breathing changes, lower at first, then heavier, dragging like he’s thinking too hard.

“But, uh… you know, it’s crazy, because even when I’m busy, I keep—fuck, okay, who am I kidding, I thought I could do this, I really thought I could call you and tell you how well I am without you... But shit, I can't. I can’t even get through a single hour without your face just… burning into my head. Like some goddamn watermark on everything. I’ll be laughing with people and suddenly—bam—it’s you. Always fucking you. And it’s stupid, right? It’s fucking stupid. I thought I was past it.”

His voice drops lower, more confessional now, almost whispering closer to the mic, like he’s confessing something shameful. The pacing stopped.

"I miss you, I really do. I know this is getting old by now but fuck, I miss you so much... even when you hated me, you still looked perfect. You still—God, you’re perfect. You know that, right? So perfect that it hurts... too perfect to be with someone like me, isn't?"

A sharp inhale through his teeth. He exhales with a shaky laugh, voice tilting upward into something more brittle. You can hear him shifting, his breath catching in his throat.

"I hate this, I hate it. I hate that you left me and I’m still stuck here, chained up like some fucking dog."

His breath hits the mic, sharp and uneven. He exhales hard through his nose, like he's trying to stay calm. Somewhere in the background, there’s the creak of a floorboard, then the snap of fingers, restless, inpatient, you remember him snapping his fingers when he was angry, memories you wanted to forget come rushing back. His voice rises suddenly, sharper, cracking at the edges.

"You fucking broke me, you threw me out like trash, and somehow you’re still the only thing that makes me feel alive. Do you understand what kind of sick joke that is? You’re the only person who can make me want to scream and cry and laugh and… die. All in the same fucking second. And I hate that—I hate you."

The line goes silent except for the sound of his breathing. Low, heavy, uneven, like he’s right in your ear. The phone scrapes against something as he adjusts it, muttering under his breath before his voice spikes again, hot, unfiltered.

"I saw you with him today, you know. Do you have any idea how that made me feel? Any fucking idea? Seeing that you're moving on, while I'm still here? I hate you for smiling without me, for laughing with him. With him. Do you know what that feels like? it makes my skin crawl. I picture his hands on you and it makes me want to tear my own fucking eyes out. Or his. His, preferably. You think he loves you like I do? He doesn’t. He can’t. He’s nothing. This shit makes me want to break something, break him. Break you.”

There's a dull thud—a kick, or maybe a punch, against the wall, hard, the sound makes you flinch even though you're not there. His breathing becomes more ragged, harsh, each word dragging through his lungs.

“I hate you so much, but I hate myself more—I hate myself 'cause I still fucking love you. Shit, I want to cut it out of me, this thing you put in me, this sickness. I can’t escape you. You left, but you’re still here, rotting inside my head. I hate you for that, I hate you so much I can barely breathe.”

The phone picks up the sound of pacing again, faster this time, frantic, like a caged animal. His words start spilling quicker, voice climbing and cracking, breath hitching between syllables.

"And you—you don’t even answer me anymore. Texts, calls, nothing. I try a new number but you always fucking block me. I sit there watching the screen, watching that little bubble never appear. Do you know what that does to me? Do you want me to lose it? Do you fucking get off on that?"

A sudden slam—something kicked across the room—and his breathing comes ragged, harsh against the receiver, like he’s burning through his chest. Then, just as suddenly, he drops his tone, almost whispering now, unsteady, words trembling as if his throat is closing.

"Huh? Do you know what it does to me? I fucking hate you. I hate you so much sometimes I wanna scream until my throat bleeds, I wanna wrap my hands around your neck until you feel what it's like to be breathless. But then I think about not having you at all, and it’s worse. It’s so much worse. Because I can’t—fuck—I can’t live without you.”

You hear a broken sob on the other end of the line, he was crying. But it wasn't soft, it wasn't sad, no, it’s raw, guttural, strangled through clenched teeth. Every sob rides the edge of a laugh, like grief and fury have blended into one.

"I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t breathe without choking on the thought of you with someone else. You think I don’t see? I know you. I know you, better than anyone. That new guy—you think I don’t notice the way you laugh different around him? That cheap fucking smile you give him, like he’s earned it? No. No, no, no. That smile was mine. It was always mine."

His tone drops, low and venomous, his breath scrapes against the receiver like static, uneven and fast, as if he’s grinning through his teeth. Every word pressed too close to the mic, distorted by spit and fury.

"I swear to God, if I ever see him—if I ever see that asshole with you again—I don’t care what happens. I’ll ruin his face. I’ll fucking kill him. I’ll make sure you never forget who you belong to."

Then a sudden, violent exhale, followed by a hoarse chuckle. Each word bursts like it’s been clawed out of him.

"You hear me? You’re mine. You can’t erase me. You can block my number, delete my photos, throw my shit in the street—I’ll still be there. Right there, because life without you doesn’t mean shit. I’d rather stop breathing than watch you walk away again. And if you do… maybe I’ll make sure you don’t walk anywhere at all."

Then a sudden laugh, sharp and ugly, tearing out of him like it hurts to let it go. He chuckles into the phone, the sound slipping into something maniacal, more unhinged. He exhales dramatically, as if he's just realized something life-changing. You can practically hear the smile on his lips.

"Yeah. Yeah, maybe that’s how this ends. You and me. Together. Nobody else. You’re the only thing that makes sense. The only reason I get out of bed. And if you think you can just leave me, just replace me—”

A long pause. The silence is jagged, filled only by his erratic breathing. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, colder, stripped of the earlier softness.

“—then you’re out of your fucking mind. Because I won’t let that happen. Do you hear me? I won’t. You’re mine. You always were. You always will be. And if I have to remind you of that, if I have to show you, then I will. I’ll come find you. I’ll come find you both. And when I do—”

There’s a pause, the sound of him breathing ragged, like he’s chewing back something ugly. Then his voice drops, almost pleading, almost gentle.

“Baby… don’t make me do this. Just call me back. Please, please. Just—say you love me. Say it once. That’s all I need. That’s all I—”

The line cuts off mid-sentence as you ended the voicemail.

The flat beep lingers in your ears long after the line cuts, you’re holding the phone tighter than you realize, your fingers stiff, trembling against the screen. His voice still rings in your ears, like it’s soaked into the air around you, sticky and heavy, impossible to shake off. You set the phone down on the table like it burned you, looking at it like it was your ex itself, the silence of your apartment swells around it, every creak of the building suddenly too loud. You know better—you know better—than to let him crawl under your skin again, but your chest still feels like it’s filling with ice water.

Your chest felt too small for your lungs, breaths coming shallow and shaky. You wanted to laugh, maybe, because of course he would leave a two a.m. voicemail like that. It was so him.

This wasn't the first one he'd left you, God, you lost count of how many of them filled your phone as the week went on. It had only gotten worse after the breakup. The endless texts, pages and pages of them. One minute he’d be begging you to come back, saying he couldn’t live without you, the next he’d call you a whore, a slut for playing with his feelings. You’d blocked him everywhere, but he always found a way back in. New numbers, fake accounts, and endless voicemails, mostly drunk ones.

You'd hear a few seconds of them at most, never letting more than one sentence come out of his mouth before you deleted it without a second thought. But why was this time different? Why this time did you actually listen to what he had to say? This time he actually sounded... normal. Was it because he said he was over it? No, it couldn't be, you knew better than to believe any word that came out of this fucker's mouth. So why?

Your chest is tight. Every breath feels shallow, like if you inhale too deep, he’ll hear it somehow. You don’t move, you don’t even want to blink, because in the silence that follows, it feels like he’s still there—like he’s right outside the door, grinning, waiting for you to come check. Fuck, not this again, you moved out because of that, he has no way of knowing where you live now, he can't.

You catch your own reflection in the black phone screen and it startles you, eyes wide and damp, and you hate that you look scared, that he made you feel this way again.

You think about deleting the voicemail, but your thumb hovers over the option, frozen. What if you need proof? What if someone doesn’t believe you? Then again, If you think you're going to have to use this voicemail as proof for something, it means you think he's going to do something. The thought makes your blood run cold. He wouldn't do that, would he? You want to believe it, you really do, but you can't.

Your stomach twisted when you replayed his words in your head. That new guy. Your hand flew to your mouth. He knew. He’d seen you. Somehow, somewhere, he’d been there. How does he know about your new boyfriend? Was he staking you? How does he know about that? How does he know where you were? Does he know where you live? How would he know? How? How? How?

Your pulse roared in your ears. Suddenly every corner of the apartment felt hostile. The windows—were the blinds closed? Had you locked the door? You moved, quick and clumsy, pulling each latch, tugging each curtain. You half-expected to see him standing there in the street, grinning up at your window like he’d been there all along.

"Fuck."

You grab the phone before you can talk yourself out of it and dial Alex number. Your thumb trembles against the glass as it rings, rings, and you hold your breath, each second dragging long enough to convince you that maybe—maybe your ex already did something. Maybe that was the last voicemail before everything went south. Was it a warning?

“Hello?” Alex’s voice is warm, groggy, a little confused. It cuts through the quiet like light under a locked door, and you feel like you can breathe again.

You don’t answer right away. Your lips part, but no sound comes out. He says your name, softer this time. “You okay?”

And just like that, the tears you didn’t know you were holding back sting the corners of your eyes. You force yourself to swallow, clear your throat, smooth the cracks from your voice before they can betray you.

“Yeah. Sorry. I—I didn’t mean to wake you.”

But it’s a lie. You did. You needed to. His voice is proof that nothing’s happened, that your ex’s threats are just noise, just another performance, like all the others. He used to do that, scare you on purpose. Whisper things he’d never follow through on, just to watch you flinch. Just to remind you how much power he had. He always thought he was charming when he was angry, like his rage meant passion instead of danger.

You remember the first time he did it. The two of you were still in his car, some summer night where the air stuck to your skin. He laughed while telling you what he’d do if you ever left him—ridiculous, horrible things—but then he kissed your hand right after, like it was all a joke. And you laughed, too. shit, you laughed, because you thought it was endearing when he said it, because that showed how much he loved you.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Alex asks again, and you realize you’ve been quiet too long.

“Yeah,” you say, maybe too quickly. You hear yourself trying to sound casual, normal, the way you always tried to sound when your ex cornered you with one of his monologues. Just keep the tone even. Don’t let him hear it. “Just… couldn’t sleep. Wanted to hear your voice.”

There’s a pause, and then Alex chuckles softly, not unkindly. “That’s all? You scared me for a second. Thought something happened.”

You can't tell him anything, should you? You can't think straight. He knew about your crazy ex, of course. You didn't want to hide anything from him, Alex was different. It was a messy breakup, that's all you said, because you didn't want to remember, you didn't want him to know this side of you, you didn't want him to know what you did. “Nothing’s wrong,” you lie again, quieter this time. “I just… missed you.”

You press the phone tighter to your ear, listening to Alex breathe on the other side, steady and safe, alive. "Well, i'm glad you miss me, but can't you do it tomorrow morning?" You hear him yawn on the other end of the line, and guilt creeps up on you.

"Right, right, sorry, I'll let you sleep now." You didn't really want to hang up, you wanted to keep hearing his voice, hearing his breathing... You were getting paranoid, and that was exactly what he wanted, for you to feel scared. You couldn't let him control your mind, not anymore. "Good night, Alex."

"Good night, beautiful." You could feel the smile behind his voice, and it made you smile too. "Love you." Alex says without hesitation, always, like he really means it, and it lands in your chest with a quiet warmth, steadying, grounding.

"Love you too." you murmur, barely above a whisper, as if the words themselves are a shield. He sighs, murmurs something about going back to bed, and the call ends with a small click, leaving you alone with the hum of silence.

Of course he didn’t do anything. That’s ridiculous. He’s always been all talk—big, dramatic threats meant to send you spinning, meant to keep you tethered to him through fear. He wouldn’t actually follow through. He wasn’t that crazy.

…Right?

You sink into the couch, clutching the phone like it might start ringing again. It’s easy to picture him pacing through his apartment, snapping his fingers, muttering to himself, winding himself up on a stage only he can see. You’ve seen it before.

The memory comes back sharp, unwanted. That night he showed up at your door after three days of silence, after a stupid fight you don't even remember anymore. His eyes were bloodshot, jaw tight, words tumbling too fast to make sense. He laughed, then shouted, then laughed again, like the switch was broken inside him. But then he cupped your cheek, whispered that he couldn’t live without you, that you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart. His thumb stroked your skin so tenderly you almost believed it.

He could be sweet when he wanted. Sweet enough to trick you into thinking the rest of it was just a phase, just a lapse of reason, just the storm before the calm, nothing more. Sweet enough to make you forget, for a little while, the bruises of his words.

You close your eyes and shake it off, you don't want to remember any more of this, you wanted to forget about the past, about him. That was then. He’s bluffing. He’s always bluffing.

This was just another one of his fucked up threats.

It has to be.

#toxic relationship #crazy ex bf #love hate relationship #but just from his pov #reader insert #x reader #male yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #obsessed ex #yandere scenarios #yandere ex

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ollievemsart · 2 days ago

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From me to myself.

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lolitaology · 9 months ago

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He said, ‘Behave yourself,’ with that smirk of his, and all I could think was, ‘Make me.’ Preferably over your knee, if we’re being honest.

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heistcunning · 9 hours ago

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@HeistCunning

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ninjacat-uchihaparrish · 2 days ago

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I fucking hate mechanisms of action right until the point they finally fucking click and then I love them 🫶

#me and mirtazapine r homies now #toxic relationship #personal

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ur-val3nt1ne · 3 days ago

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I need to lovingly bully someone

Come here you moron, you seriously can't do anything on your own. You pathetic worm, you should just give up and let me make decisions for you. Im just trying to help, im the only one capable of handling you

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pearlessance · 4 days ago

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STICKY

summary: Each time Tommy Miller calls you his girl, and the one time that it sticks.

pairing: possessive!Tommy Miller x maneater!f!Reader

warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI, porn without much plot, age gap(10yrs), infidelity but not against tommy or reader, toxic relationship dynamics, club culture, one use of the word daddy said as a joke, possessiveness, tbh reader is straight up mean to tommy but he's down bad and into it, protected & unprotected piv, dacryphilia, phone sex, f!masturbation, facefucking, facesitting, degradation, praise, choking, public sex, lots of dirty talk, pussy pronouns, jealousy, tommy uses another girl to get your attention but it backfires, creampie, overstimulation, modern/no outbreak au, no beta

note: you know those couples that fight in the middle of the baking aisle and then fuck it out in the car before they leave the parking lot? yeah that's these two.

» alexa, play toxic by brittany spears

wc: 12.08k

[masterlist] [AO3]

The first time you meet Tommy Miller, you’re twenty five and full of life in the way that sticks.

Creating memories that you’ll talk about when you’re seventy, going to every bar and club within a hundred mile radius. Making such a reputation for yourself that even the bouncers know you by name. Smile big and sigh heavy every time they see you as if to say, ‘Ah, shit. There she is. Here we go again.’

It was at a nightclub in Dallas where you first bumped into Tommy. Well, bumped into would be putting it lightly.

He’s standing outside with a pretty blonde girl, sharing a Marlboro Red and whispering sweet nothings.

And you’re shouting. Laughing, too, slung over the shoulder of a security guard, being kicked out for being disruptive. Whatever the fuck that meant.

For what it’s worth, he sits you back on your feet gentler than you deserve. “Oh, so bitches don’t know how to say excuse me and somehow it’s my fault? It’s fuckin’ bullshit, Dennis, and you know it!”

“Not my call, kid,” Dennis explains with a shrug. “Sorry. See you next weekend.” And without another word, the suited man disappears back into the nightclub, leaving you, and the blonde, and one Tommy fucking Miller.

You’d be embarrassed, if it weren’t for the six shots coursing through your bloodstream.

They stare. Both of them, but in different ways. Her gaze is concerned, maybe a little frightened. But Tommy’s is dark. Excited. Filled with lust, but you hadn’t known that yet.

“What? You never seen someone get kicked out before?”

“Sorry,” the blonde says quickly. “You okay?”

Nice. She was nice. That’s about all you remember. She helps you fix your too-tight dress and goes back inside. Tommy promises to follow her in a minute, once he finishes his cigarette.

But that doesn’t happen.

Instead, he sweet talks you in the way he’s always been good at. Makes you feel real special. Puts his mouth to your ear and makes obscene jokes, the heat of his breath sending goosebumps down your spine.

He touches you softly at first. A simple brush of his knuckles across your cheekbone. He flashes that killer smile and his hand finds a home on your waist. Drifting lower and lower and before you realize it, he’s slipping it up the back of your dress.

In hindsight, that first night should’ve been the red flag to end all red flags. He’d been at the nightclub with someone else, and somehow you’d wound up in the back seat of his truck with his cock buried deep inside you.

No one had ever gotten you to the finish line before that night. A couple of boyfriends had tried, but mostly, you’d had to ignore their rhythm and circle your clit yourself just to get there.

But Tommy isn’t like that. Not even a little. Seems to know the way around your body better than you yourself do. Lifts you off of him and replaces his cock with his fingers halfway through, and moves them just right until you soak him, only to slide right back in with a deep groan and that prideful grin on his face.

He likes to talk real nasty in your ear. That much never changed. That first night, as the condom swells inside you, he looks right into your eyes and says, “Damn, baby. You’ve got the kinda pussy that’ll make a man go fuckin’ crazy.”

If his girlfriend hadn’t been the red flag, you think that should’ve been.

But you were young and dumb and Tommy was older and exciting and delicious.

So, you give him your number when he asks for it.

Rookie mistake.

Two weeks later, you get a text on Friday night.

Going to Club Orchid with some friends tonight. Could use a back seat girl.

Back seat girl.

It makes you so fucking mad, so irritated that you complain about it to your roommates all day. And they all agree that it was a shitty thing to say.

Sure, Tommy was attractive. Tall and broad and rugged with that big Texas belt buckle that deep Texas drawl and those curls and the fucking mustache.

But he wasn’t God’s gift to the Earth. And when you and your friends find your way to Club Orchid that night, you seek him out to tell him just that.

And you do. Give him a glare sharp enough to cut and call him an asshole in front of all his friends. You remind him that his access to you is a privilege because it is, and warn that you’ll end up in his dad’s backseat if he’s not careful.

But Tommy takes your insults and threats with ease. Smirks the whole time like you’re putting on his favorite show. Leans back with an elbow against the bar and a glass bottle in hand. Licks his lips when you’re done and says, “You’re fuckin’ sexy when you’re all worked up. You know that?”

You roll your eyes and blow him a kiss with your middle finger before setting out to find someone else to dance with.

And you do. Some pretty boy from out of town who’s all too happy to let you grind on him in the middle of the dance floor. He buys you and your friends drinks all night and runs his soft hands up your thighs with no fear in him. The kind of boy you’d normally take home. Closer to your age. Nice, but not too nice.

You can feel Tommy’s eyes on you from across the room, though. Catch his gaze every couple songs, hot and lingering. You like the way it felt to have his attention. Like that he could have any girl in the room but he stares only at you.

A little after midnight, you step outside for some fresh air. And you can see him leave the bar from the corner of your eye, fully aware he’s following you and trying to ignore the way your skin prickles in excitement.

You don’t even make it to the backseat that night. Tommy shoves your dress up and your panties down and takes you right on the hood of his truck. Presses your face to the black chrome paint and fucks you hard. Tangles his hand in your hair and says, “Pretty girl got her feelings hurt, did she? S’alright, baby. You got me back good. Lettin’ that little boy touch you all night right in front of me. But pussy this good needs a fuckin’ man, don’t it?”

No one on Earth has ever irritated you more. But no one else has made you feel that good, either.

Tommy likes it deep. Gives you those fast, punishing strokes that have your eyes watery and your head all fuzzy. He brushes his rough fingers over your clit with expert precision, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you with ease. Like it’s his fucking day job.

He kissed you afterwards. Rights your dress, squeezes your cheeks between his fingers and presses his lips to yours with such intensity it steals the breath from your lungs. He hadn’t done it the first time, and it leaves you a little confused.

Enough that you consult the group chat the next morning. Half of the responses conclude that you’ve gotten the man pussydrunk, while the other half insist on blocking his number.

But you don’t, of course. Just chang his contact name to Tommy Miller - DNI.

You ignore his messages for a while and avoid the clubs and bars you know he frequents.

But it does little to change the course you’re on.

The next time you see him is at your favorite takeout place. You’ve already ordered and are waiting on the other side of the counter, wearing your comfiest pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt. A far cry from your best look, but it didn’t seem to bother Tommy in the slightest.

He bypasses the woman behind the counter entirely, coming up to your side instead. He towers over you in a way that’s a whole lot clearer in the daylight. So tall you have to crane your head up to watch him speak. “Nice seein’ you here,” he says. “Best barbecue in Austin. Shame only the locals know about it.”

“I prefer it that way,” you admit, nose upturned, a cold edge in your voice. “Keeps away unwanted advances.”

He smirks at that. “Unwanted, huh? S’that what it was?” His eyes flicker down, right between your thighs. “Didn’t seem that way when she was cryin’ for me.”

You roll your eyes and bite your tongue, hoping he’ll take the hint and leave you be.

But Tommy only doubles down. Leans in close and says the most obscene thing you’ve ever heard in your life up until that point. “You know, some people would call it cruel, keepin’ a little girl from her daddy.”

“Jesus Christ,” you scoff. “You’re disgusting.”

Tommy smiles real wide. Presses a chaste kiss to the top of your head and says, “I’ll see you later, baby.”

He would not see you later, in fact. You’d make damn sure of it.

When he returns to the cashier, he tells her the name on his pickup order and you try to drown out the sound of his voice and the way he smiles at the girl behind the counter. Try to ignore the way she smiles back, and slides him a piece of paper with a phone number scribbled on it.

But when your order’s finished, and you pull out your debit card to pay, she informs you that it’s already paid for in full.

You try not to let it get to you. Try not to convince yourself paying for your food means anything. You didn’t ask for him to buy your dinner, and so you don’t owe him a thank you or the last thirty dollars in your account.

But you have a weird feeling he’ll try to hold it against you. Which is why you open that one sided text thread and send a message, half hoping he’ll leave you on read.

Thanks for buying my food. Didn’t have to do that, but I appreciate it.

His response is immediate.

Yeah I did. I always take care of my girl.

His girl. It makes your stomach flip. Makes you feel equally nauseous and elated.

Not your girl.

Those typing bubbles pop up, disappear, and then pop up again. He’s hesitating.

Could be, though.

The hesitation is enough for you to make a decision. Tommy Miller doesn’t seem much the settling down type. You know guys like him. Take pride in seeing right through their facade and turning their own tricks back on them.

And, truthfully, you’re weren’t ready for anything exclusive or serious, anyway. You had no interest in being his girl. No interest in him at all.

You don’t respond.

But you see him. That weekend at Club Orchid, the following weekend at Frank’s Bar. It seems that no matter where you go, he’s always there. And you try to keep your distance.

Truly, you do. But it’s like Tommy Miller’s this beacon of light and you’re a brainless little moth. Sometimes he shows up in these too tight t-shirts that barely fit his strong biceps, sometimes he wears this cologne that’s sweet and musky and masculine and mouth watering, and you just can’t help yourself.

You always know he’s around when you walk in some place and you’re given a Jack and Coke before you even make it to the bar. It becomes a running joke between you and your friends. Like it’s his little way of saying ‘hey, baby. be seein’ you later.’

And god damnit, you do.

You christen every god forsaken inch of his truck, the backseat of your friend’s Camry, both the restrooms at Club Orchid, the alley behind Frank’s. He makes you feel like a horny teenager, never satisfied, always hungry.

And it goes on for months. Longer than any other casual hookup you’ve ever had before him.

Tommy has no problem keeping up with you. Even though you always poke fun at him for his age, sometimes offering a viagra when you share a cigarette and ask for round two before you even make it back inside to the thrall of the party.

He says, “I’m thirty five, girl. Not seventy five. Bend the fuck over.”

Each time it’s a little more dirty and a little more depraved. He gets to know you, to really know you. Can hear the difference between a moan that says, that’s good and one that says, Jesus Christ, right fucking there.

And you come to know him, too. Know just how hard to squeeze his cock to make his breath hitch, know when to suck and when to lick, know that if you look up at him with innocent eyes while he’s halfway down your throat it sends him careening off the precipice of release.

Tommy likes it when you’re sweet to him. He likes when you beg for it, likes when you say please. But you also know he likes the chase.

Convincing you is half the battle, and if you didn’t know any better you’d assume he enjoyed it more than the sex. He doesn’t embarrass easily, and you find that the meaner you are to him before he spreads your thighs, the harder he is when his cock finds home.

But on one particularly bad Friday, you find yourself at Frank’s alone. Your friends are busy and your roommates bailed last second. Not their fault—food poisoning happens to the best of us.

It’s not bad because you’re alone. It’s bad because you’d been laid off that afternoon and now were in a frantic search for a new job. Something temporary until you made it through the screening process at someplace that paid decently.

You’re drowning your sorrows when Tommy finds you. Ordering doubles all night and charging it to your credit card even knowing you shouldn’t.

He sits beside you at the bar. Doesn't say a word. Just exists with you in the silence and orders a drink for you both.

You hate to admit it, but you think it might just be one of the nicest things anyone’s ever done for you. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong, doesn’t offer to fix it, doesn’t urge you to sneak off to the back to have a quickie. He’s just…he’s just there.

And, after last call, he gently tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear and says, “C’mon.”

You don’t know why, but you do as he says. End up sitting in the corner of the couch in his apartment, your dress in a pile on his bathroom floor, wearing a well loved Def Leppard t-shirt from his closet. He makes two cups of microwave noodles, sits beside you, and asks, “You like Pawn Stars?”

All you give is a shrug in response. Have never given a shit about reality television shows, really. But somehow, it’s exactly what you need.

Tommy sits there with you, arm draped around your shoulders, and watches reruns until you fall asleep. Doesn’t press you for answers or ask you for anything. He just…he takes care of you. In a way you’ve never been taken care of before. He’s kind and gentle and good.

He kisses your forehead when he turns the television off and retires to his bedroom alone. But, before he goes, your sleepy voice cuts through the silence. “Tommy?”

His heavy steps pause on the hardwood. “Yeah, baby?”

“Thank you.”

A soft smile curls at the corners of his lips. It’s the first time you see it; the love in his eyes. Not love in the typical way of the word. There’s no expectation tied to it, no hidden intention. It’s just good, simple, pure adoration. Given to you freely from a man who has a good heart but isn’t quite ready to give it away.

You wake up before the sun with a splitting headache and a clearer head. Even fully aware that it’s kind of a shitty thing to do, you slip out of Tommy’s apartment before he wakes. Send him a quick text that just says thanks again, and walk back to your car parked in Frank’s parking lot with your shoes in hand.

A little after you turn twenty six, James takes you by surprise. You meet him at a houseparty in Houston and hit it off quicker than you anticipate. He’s the sort of guy you’d bring home to your parents. And when he surprises you at your new office job with a dozen roses in hand just to ask you on a date, you can’t help but say yes.

He opens every door for you, gives you his jacket in the rain, walks on the outside of the sidewalk. Your friends like him, he’s funny, and he never once gives you any mixed signals. Even admits early on that he wants to take things slow because he’s dating not for fun but with the intent of eventual marriage.

James is a good guy. A really, really good guy. And you like him. Truly.

Which is why, several weeks into your relationship, you think it’ll be fine if you accompany your friends to Club Orchid on his arm.

You should’ve known better.

And you know it’ll be bad when that Jack and Coke is presented to you by a waiter before you’re four feet inside the door.

Your friends give you worried glances, but you try to shake it off. It’s just a drink. It doesn’t mean anything. And so you simply thank the waiter and sip slowly from the glass and go about your business.

The heavy weight of his stare prickles at the back of your neck. James asks to dance and you say yes, trying to convince yourself you’re not doing it just to get a good look around the room. To find him.

It takes a couple of songs. Club Orchid is busy, bustling with bodies and spilled liquor and the scent of cigarette smoke. But you do find him.

Sitting at a table near the back, feet extended, arms crossed over his chest and that fucking smirk on his face. He’s got on battered cowboy boots and an old pair of wranglers and that fucking Def Leppard t-shirt. The same one you’d slept in on his couch.

You’re not a cheater. Would never slip off to the parking lot while James waits for you inside, oblivious that you’re getting your back blown out thirty feet away.

And yet, the image in your brain gets stuck. Roots in deep. Makes a home inside.

But you’re not like that. You’re not.

When you tell James you’re going to run to the restroom for a second, he can sense your unease. He asks if everything’s okay, asks if there’s anything you need. His concern only makes the obscenities that haunt you feel that much more depraved.

You promise James that you’re okay, that you just need a second to yourself.

But you can feel Tommy’s familiar warmth at your back the moment you step through the door.

The restrooms are dimly lit, dark walls covered in graffiti. There’s a couple making out near the sinks and a young woman beside them fixing her lipstick in the mirror.

You don’t turn to face him. Not until you’re inside of the stall at the end, and he closes the door and latches it behind himself. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Could ask you the same thing, sweetheart,” he says. As if he has any right to.

“I already told you. I’m not your fucking girl.”

Tommy laughs. A deep rumble in his chest. “Mhm. Sure. Keep tellin’ yourself that.” He steps forward, crowding you. And when you take a step back to create much needed space, he just keeps coming until your back is pressed against the painted concrete wall. “You're his girl now, s’that it?”

“Yes,” you tell him. But your voice shakes when you say it.

Tommy catches it. Hears your hesitance. “Fine,” he says with a playful smirk. “I’ll bite. Just answer one question.”

A crease forms between your brows. You cross your arms over your chest and find that your heart is beating so fast you can feel it hammering against your sternum. “What?”

Tommy gently takes hold of your wrists, unfolding your arms. He stares you right in the eye, his gaze filled with so much intensity and darkness it chokes you. He takes your hand in his and presses it against the bulge in his jeans, and asks with a syrupy voice, “He fuck you like I do?”

Though you try not to react, your muscles deflate and a quiet whimper slips past your lips. You know if you lie he’ll taste it like smoke in the air. So, you say nothing instead. Keep your lips sealed firmly shut.

But your silence is answer enough. Tommy smiles wide and presses a kiss to your hairline. He rests his cheek against the top of your head—such a rare, affectionate caress that you almost don’t notice his free hand begin to gather the fabric of your dress at your hip.

He keeps the other held firmly against his cock, puppeteering your fingers, stroking the hardness there just how you know he likes.

“Don’t know why I asked. Already knew the answer,” he mutters, fingertips dancing over the elastic band of your panties. He slides them from your hip to that spot just below your navel—back and forth, back and forth, feeling the smooth fabric. “He know about that special spot, baby? Hm? He get as deep as I can? He keep up with you?”

No, no, and no. “It’s better with him.” Lie. “He’s nice to me.” True.

Tommy snorts. “You don’t like it nice,” he says. And then he slides his hand between your legs, middle finger pressed against your slit through the fabric of your panties. “Tell me the truth. Tell me what you want.”

His hand stays there, caressing you, sliding against your clit over and over and over. You can’t think like this. Can’t move, can’t breathe. Your hips tilt against his hand and you can feel his smile as he presses another loving kiss to the top of your head.

Corrupted.

You’re totally, completely corrupted.

Fucked in the head because you’re going to let him do whatever he wants to you in this dirty bathroom stall while your boyfriend’s alone on the dance floor.

And then Tommy steps away, leaving you cold and wanting and soaked.

Clarity comes trickling in and your stomach twists. But there’s a part of you, too, that wishes you’d been bolder. A part that regrets not saying yes faster.

“S’alright,” he says. “If you want to be with some fuckin’ asshole who doesn’t know his way around that sweet pussy of yours then fine. Be my guest. Suit yourself. But don’t let me see him touch you again, cause I’ll bash his fuckin’ head in.”

The words sound so unbelievable in your ears that you laugh. “You’re insane,” you say through your giggles. “Like, actually fucking crazy.”

He grabs your face, gentle enough not to hurt, firm enough that your laughter dies in your throat. “Do what you want, but I don’t want to fucking see it.”

It’s only then that it becomes clear to you. Behind his anger, there’s injury. You’re hurting him.

And you’d feel bad if you had a reason to. But Tommy’s not good to you. Doesn’t ask to take you on dates, doesn’t make the effort to get to know you, doesn’t even typically kiss you goodbye after he spreads your legs.

You deserve better and you know it. You deserve someone more like James.

He leaves you alone in that bathroom stall and you fight off the tears that well in the corners of your eyes.

When you regain your composure, you find James at the bar. He asks again if you’re okay and you admit that you’re not. Tell him you’re just not feeling it, that you’d rather spend the night tucked into bed with him.

And he’s all too happy to take you up on the offer. He makes you popcorn and rents that new romcom starring your celebrity crush. He gets ice cream delivered at midnight just because you say it sounds good.

You try not to think about Tommy. But that dull, thrumming ache between your thighs persists. As if your traitorous libido had been promised sweet, sweet relief, only to be let down.

And you try with James. Really, you do. You tell him what feels good and he goes down on you for half an hour with no complaints. But he’s…he’s kind. And you can only take so much trying before you’re just tired. You know faking it doesn’t benefit either one of you, but you don’t want to hurt his feelings, either. Because he’s so good in every other aspect and you’re terrified of scaring him off.

And it’s not that big of a deal, right? It’s not like the sex is bad. It’s just not what you’re used to. Different can be good, can’t it?

After he finishes he’s kissing you and saying goodnight and he’s dead asleep in ten minutes flat. It’s fine if you slink off to the bathroom after he’s started snoring to take care of the ache yourself.

It wouldn’t be the first time and you know it probably won’t be the last.

Except…it doesn’t happen.

You try every trick in the book. Even let your mind wander to places it shouldn’t, but you just can’t get there.

Ten minutes go by. Fifteen. Twenty. Forty.

Your desire lingers, hot and heavy and suffocating. The entire night has got you so frustrated and worked up that you could cry.

And you won’t be able to sleep, not with the pent up arousal that demands attention. So, you make a decision.

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard on your phone. Unsure and yet still determined. You type out the classic you up? text, only to delete it.

You settle on a different phrasing. Still no better, but at least it doesn’t make you cringe as hard.

Are you awake?

Tommy’s response is instant. Like it always is.

Call if you’re serious.

It makes you roll your eyes and sigh in frustration, but you do it anyway. Move to the couch in James’s living room instead, further away from the bedroom to ensure he won’t hear you.

And then you call Tommy Miller for the first time in your life.

He picks up on the second ring. “I’ll admit, I didn’t think you had it in you, baby,” is his greeting. Voice dark and sultry as he taunts you, the word baby sliding through you all soft and sweet and buttery.

It has your stomach fluttering, warmth slithering through your center. But irritation follows it. “Shut the fuck up,” you bite back. Mean.

Tommy just laughs and you can hear the amusement in his voice when he speaks. “Don’t think you called to tell me that,” he says. “Can I guess?”

His voice. Just his fucking voice.

Your heart rate kicks up, that familiar pressure forms between your legs, painful at this point. And you know it’s wrong but you don’t care. You just need relief.

Tommy continues to speak, even though you offer nothing in the way of an answer. Says, “I think I was right on the nose, huh? He might be nice, but he can’t fuck you right. S’why you’re callin’ me, ain’t it? Got that uppity, rich asshole wrapped around your finger, though. An’ it’s no surprise, really. So goddamn pretty in those little dresses.”

You put him on speaker and lower the volume as low as it’ll go, placing your cellphone on the back of the couch. Freeing up your hands so you can lift your t-shirt with one and slide the other beneath the waist band of your pajama shorts.

He continues, oblivious. “Got those sweet, innocent eyes an’ that smart ass mouth that looks like it was made to fit a cock like mine.”

Your head falls back, sighing as you circle your clit with the perfect pressure, the perfect speed. Pleasure shoots through you, building low in your belly.

“You let him fuck your pretty mouth, baby? Hm? Tell me. You swallow him down easy? Or do you cry on it like mine? Get all teary eyed and messy?”

His voice is so dark, so deep. But he’s looking for an answer and you don’t have the patience for it, you just want to get there. So in the silence all you can think to say is, “Keep talking.”

Tommy hears it, the breathlessness in your words. The need, the desperation. “Oh, shit,” he hisses. But then he chuckles, low and quiet. “You touchin’ yourself right now, darlin’?”

You don’t answer, too ashamed. But you pick up the pace, press a little harder against the sensitive nerves, and you try to swallow a moan. It comes out as a breathy sound instead, stuck in the back of your throat.

Somehow, the cadence in which he speaks grows darker. Sinister, even. ”Dirty fuckin’ girl. Bet you just had him inside you, huh? He in the other room? Tell me.”

“No,” you say. But it’s so unconvincing that Tommy laughs.

“Ain’t gotta lie to me. S’okay, though. I know how you get with that little attitude of yours. Too bad your boyfriend don’t know that all it takes to fix it is to get all up in your guts. Ain’t that right, darlin’?”

“You’re so—hmm—so fucking annoying.” You don’t mean it. Not really.

It doesn’t phase him. “You got your fingers inside yet, baby? Or are you still touchin’ her all sweet and soft?”

“Not…God—not yet,” you breathe out, trying to ignore the way your voice sounds so desperate in your ears. The pleasure coiling around your spine is already better than it was before, heightened just because he’s there.

Tommy clicks his tongue. “Got two hands, don’t you? Go on, now. Just one, greedy girl. Gotta pace yourself. Make it last, make it good.”

Even though you know he can’t see you, you follow his instructions to the letter. Use your free hand to slide a single finger inside—the middle one, pressing hard in just the right spot.

Your breath stutters the moment it happens, and you can feel your walls clench and shiver around the digit at the sound of that liquid smooth laugh of his.

“Got no fuckin’ clue how hard I am,” he whispers, voice smokey. “Got my dick leakin’ just thinkin’ about ya. From hearin’ all those pretty noises you make.”

You roll your fingers over your clit faster, chasing relief. Somehow it’s both too much and not enough, and before long you find yourself begging. The way you always do when that thick Texas drawl floods your ears. “Oh—fuck. Fuck, please, Tommy—”

His breath hitches on the other side of the phone. There’s a long, shaky exhale—and you know you’re getting to him. Can feel the sudden shift, can hear the strain in his words. “Christ. Slutty little thing. Sayin’ my name while he’s in the other room.”

The shame of it all makes you whimper, but it only spurs him on.

“S’alright, pretty girl. Ain’t gonna tell. Slide another finger in, baby. Ya earned it. Let me hear you,” he says.

And though your immediate compliance stirs something angry and irritating inside, you do as he says. Tell yourself it’s not because you have to, but because you want to. Would do it right at this moment even without his words.

The stretch is sweet and aching, fingertips finding home with practiced ease, warmth pooling low in your belly. Quiet, breathy sounds leave your lips, refusing to remain behind your teeth.

“Ohh, that’s it, ain’t it? This all you needed? Wanted me to talk ya through it. You cum for him like you’re about to cum for me?”

It’s right there, right there—your eyes squeezed tight, thighs trembling, breath getting stuck at the top of your lungs.

And then he laughs. A low, baritone sound that sends shivers down your spine. He says, “Nah. ‘Course not. That pretty little pussy ain’t his, is it, baby? My fucking girl. Not his. Mine.”

The way he says it—possessive, controlling, certain—sends you over the edge, diving headfirst into bliss.

You have to turn your head and press your mouth against your shoulder, fighting back the noises threatening to spill out, trying to keep quiet but failing miserably.

“Sound so pretty right now,” Tommy mutters. “Wish I was there with you, watchin’ you make a mess of yourself. Fuck, baby. That’s it.”

The sensation sticks. Lasts and lasts and lasts until you’re fighting for air, until your thighs clamp down tight around your hands between them.

And even after, as your orgasm slowly fizzles out and your muscles loosen considerably, your skin still tingles. You let your head roll back, falling limp into the couch cushions, trying to catch your breath.

Tommy says nothing for several seconds, but you can still hear him on the other end of the line. Can feel him. The tension changes. Not awkward, exactly. Reluctant. As if he wants to speak but is afraid to.

You’re the one who decidedly ends the silence. “Uhm…thanks. By the way.”

Whatever Tommy had wanted to say gets lost. Tucked away someplace else for a different time. “Ain’t gotta thank me for doin’ my job, darlin’. Told you, I always take care of my girl.”

With a scoff, you roll your eyes and pick your phone back up. Press it to your ear and deny his words, even though something about the way you say them feels like a lie. “Not your girl, Miller. Goodnight.”

You don’t let him get another word in before ending the call. But just before you hang up you can hear him laughing.

Not long after, you break up with James. Give the classic, it’s not you, it’s me speech and pick up a box of your belongings from his rental a week later.

It surprises you how relieved you feel afterwards. How little you care about his absence. Because while, yes, James is kind and honest and good—you realize you’ve gotten bored. Have begun to miss the excitement without realizing it. The push and the pull and the heady desire in the middle of a dance floor.

That first weekend, your roommates insist on going out. Say it’s their way of getting you ‘back out on the playing field,’ which you know is just an excuse to drink too much.

Still, you go. Decide on one of those nightclubs in the college part of town. Too expensive and too crowded and too loud, but somehow it’s exactly what you need.

And it’s the first night in months you spend just for yourself. You dance with your friends and even though your roommate's boyfriend lingers, the energy is good. Youthful and relaxed and healing, the way all girls' nights are.

You don’t see Tommy’s text message that night until several hours after he sends it.

Hey. Can we talk?

It makes your stomach turn. Because it feels like one of those messages. The ones you receive right before you block a phone number, insisting they need more from you. More time, more attention, more.

And you’re not ready to give Tommy up before you even go back to him. Not just yet.

Don’t want to be tied down after just cutting yourself loose, but you don’t want to lose him at the price of freedom, either.

Because he might be annoying and frustrating and too damn full of himself, but you like him. Like the things he does to you, anyway.

You’d never admit that, though. Not to his face. At least not now.

So, you wait until morning to text him back. Hope that time has given him some clarity. He asks to take you out for breakfast, and it only stirs up that anxiety once again.

Because you’ve been here before. Already know exactly what the conversation will entail.

If it were anyone else—anyone at all—you would’ve cut your losses by now and added his number to the graveyard at the bottom of your contact list.

But…his dick curves upwards. He eats you like a man starved for it and grabs you by the jaw and looks you right in the eye while he whispers that perverse filth, all while buried deep inside you.

You agree to coffee. Not breakfast.

Tommy’s already at the local shop when you get there. Leaning against the brick wall outside the door, silver belt buckle catching the light of the morning sun, one brown leather boot crossed over the other, cigarette hanging loosely in his hand.

He smiles when he sees you. A big, toothy grin. Laughs when you’re close enough to hear and says, “Jesus. Would you fuckin’ relax? Stop lookin’ at me like I’m holdin’ a loaded gun in my back pocket.”

“Stop looking at me like you’d let me point one right between your eyes,” you chide, hoping to set the tone before it spirals.

But Tommy doesn’t care. He never has. Just holds open the door and lets himself shamelessly ogle you as you walk over the threshold.

You order first, listing off the specifics of your favorite drink. The one you use as both a hangover cure and a pick me up on those days that like to drag on. You say please and thank you when the interaction permits and try not to feel the way Tommy crowds you, his warmth seeping through the fabric of your jacket.

He orders a simple black coffee. No cream, no sugar. When the young woman with blue hair behind the counter asks if he’s sure, he says, “Definitely. I like ‘em when they bite back.”

Mortification comes fast. “Oh my god, ignore him,” you interrupt. “I’m so sorry. How much?”

Tommy pays. Insists on it. And even though he tips the barista on his card, you take the stray bills at the bottom of your purse and stick them in the tip jar on the counter, too.

Instead of sitting in the cafe, you decide to go on a drive. Tommy’s truck is clean and smells like old leather and the faint scent of pine coming from the tree shaped air freshener hung around the rearview mirror.

“You know, I don’t…” he shakes his head, eyes focused on the road ahead. There’s no traffic and the city is still wet with morning dew. “I don’t normally do stuff like this, so I’m gonna get right to the point.”

You sit there, silently sipping your latte from the passenger seat, feeling more awkward than you ever have in your life.

“I know we…we’ve got a good thing goin’, you an’ I. And I didn’t expect to want more but I like you. Think about you every damn day. Waitin’ by my phone, hopin’ you’ll text.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, completely oblivious to the way your insides begin to twist and turn uncomfortably.

He glances away from the road for a second, letting himself savor the sight of your profile and the way the rising sun paints the sky orange and pink behind you.

You watch his jaw feather, teeth clenched. He’s nervous, you realize.

“I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is I’d like to…I don’t know. Try somethin’ else, if you’re down for that. Take you out on a real date. See you more than just to get off. S’that…s’that somethin’ you’re interested in? With me?”

Even knowing it’s your turn to speak, the words refuse to form in your mouth. Get lodged in the back of your throat, sitting heavy like a stone. You find yourself wishing you would’ve called this off. Told him you were busy today and tonight and every day going forward for the rest of your life.

Tommy laughs. “Relax, sweetheart,” he says. “Assumin’ lookin’ like you’re about to hurl is the answer. I get it.”

You let out a long breath. “Tommy, I’m sorry. I like…” you stop. The word you doesn’t pass easily. Instead, you amend the phrase, saying, “I like what we have now. And I’m just not ready for anything serious so soon.”

“So you did break up with him, then?” He turns to you, a wicked smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Looking less like he’d just gotten rejected and more like he’d just found out the most satisfying news of his life.

The smug look only serves to irritate you. With a scoff you ask, “Are you saying you thought I still had a boyfriend and asked me out anyway?”

“Wouldn’t exactly call him competition,” he says, eyes narrowed in amusement. “You only liked him ‘cause he was sweet to you. F’ya want flowers and love notes, I can make it happen. The difference between me an’ him is that I can do all that and fuck you right, too.”

“God. Do you hear yourself when you speak?”

“Only thing I wanna hear right now is you moanin’ my name,” Tommy says.

At first, you think he means it as a joke. Says it to get under your skin in the way he’s always been good at.

But then his eyes turn molten as he looks over at you, one hand clenched tight around the leather steering wheel, the other laying loosely on the center console that separates you. His gaze drags down your body; over your neck, lingering on the curve of your chest, over your soft thighs. “Why don’t you go’head an’ take those off for me.”

And god fucking damnit, you do. Try to quiet your breathing as he drives, speed increasing with each inch of skin you expose as you roll your leggings down.

He starts off slow. Calloused fingers kneading the inside of your thighs, creeping ever higher. By the time he presses his hand hard against your aching center, over the lace fabric of your panties (that you promise yourself you didn’t wear in anticipation for this very moment), you’re already so wet that he laughs as your slick soaks through.

Tommy teases you for so long that you’re breathless and whimpering before he even slides the fabric aside and dips his fingers through your sticky folds.

As much as you try to fight it off, he gets his wish. Has you moaning and crying out his name in minutes, fingers buried deep inside you, making a mess on his leather seat.

The worst part, you think, is that he doesn’t even ask for you to touch him back. Just gets you off while he drives in the fast lane, as if he’s satisfied with just that. You can see the bulge in his jeans, pressing hard against the denim, but he doesn’t acknowledge it in the slightest.

And once your head falls back against the headrest and you use a handful of napkins he’s got stored in the glove box to clean the wetness between your thighs, Tommy drops you off near your car in the cafe parking lot.

You don’t really know what to say. Goodbye feels weird and formal. See you feels like you’re promising to see him again, even knowing you need to cut him off entirely before this gets too complicated.

So instead, you say, “Thanks for the coffee,” and try to slip out of his truck without another word.

But Tommy doesn’t let it happen. Grabs you by the back of the neck, pulls you close until you can feel his breath against your cheeks. Smirks in that annoying, confident way of his and says, “Don’t let me see you step out with another man.”

The words are said quietly, like a threat. You curse your body for tightening up at the sound of them in his mouth, muscles tensing, needy in a way you try and fail to fight off. “Then I suggest you stay the fuck home.”

His eyes flicker to your mouth. Attention fixed on the curve of your lips, your cupids bow, the glisten of your lipgloss.

But Tommy doesn’t kiss you. He rarely does. Instead, he licks the corner of your mouth and moans like it’s his favorite taste. “You try an’ get with someone else an’ I’ll ruin it,” he whispers. “Promise.”

The way he says it, like his unwanted possession is a form of devotion has you rolling your eyes and shoving his shoulder. “Go fuck yourself, Tommy.”

With an arrogant raise of his eyebrows, he leans over the center console as you climb out of his truck. “Oh, trust me, baby. I definitely will be. An’ I’ll be thinkin’ of you and that sweet fuckin’ pussy you’ve got the whole time.”

You slam the door in his face and return home both satisfied and angry with yourself.

And the worst part is that when you see him that weekend at Club Orchid, there’s a pretty girl sitting in his lap.

She’s got her arms around his neck and her mouth pressed up against his ear, miniskirt riding high on her thighs, his big hands tracing the cobalt colored edge.

You try not to react.

Really, you do.

But how is that fair? Promising to ruin every relationship for you just because he didn’t get his way, only to taunt you like this so soon after?

Your friends, God bless them, do their best to distract you. Buy shot after shot and pull you to the dancefloor. Tell you to ignore him, that you deserve better. Say that he’s an asshole and he’s always been. Encourage you to move on.

Tommy doesn’t look at you, and somehow it feels worse than if he had. Because if he touched the girl on his lap but gave you his attention, you’d know he was doing it on purpose. Goading for a reaction. You would know that he still cared.

But he doesn’t. Just tucks the girl’s hair behind her ear and kisses her knuckles and his hand sneaks higher and higher on her thigh.

It makes your stomach turn.

Even knowing you rejected him and you have no right to be…jealousy is rarely coupled with sensibility.

You try to convince yourself it’s better this way. Better that he find someone else to twist up. To confuse. Tell yourself you shouldn’t feel jealous, you should feel sorry for the girl.

When you slip away from your friends for some fresh air just before last call, you freeze when you see Tommy standing outside the front door. Cigarette held loosely between his fingers, smoke curling around his face.

Painfully handsome, even in the low light of the street lamp. He stares with his mouth curved at the corners, unmoving, like he’d been waiting for you.

He doesn’t speak, and neither do you. He just waits. To see who breaks first, to see who opens up the path to all that emotion you’ve both been fighting off. His posture is casual, relaxed, but his eyes are anything but. Sparkling with challenge, with temptation, with invitation.

It would be effortless, you know. To fly off the handle, to be mean the way you want to be. Call him easy, ask him if she could taste you on his tongue, to quote his previous taunts and say, ‘Does she swallow you down easy? Or does she choke on it like I do, crying for it just the way you like?’

But you don’t.

You look right fucking past him.

Find the group of guys just a little further from the door. Slide into their little circle with no resistance, give the tallest one your sweetest smile and ask if you can share a cigarette.

You’re not sure how long Tommy waits before leaving the club entirely to find his truck in the parking lot. Not sure if he hears you introduce yourself to all three men and giggle when they compliment you on your peach colored nail polish.

The next morning, you wake up to a lengthy text message.

An apology. An explanation.

Tommy admits he has feelings for you. Plain and true and honest. Says he was only trying to make you jealous, to make you want him the way he wants you, that he never even kissed her. Couldn’t fathom tasting anyone but you.

He recognizes that the way he went about it was wrong and says this whole thing is new to him, that he’s never wanted to hold on to someone like this. Even confesses that your apathy had hurt him.

With the anger still fresh in your mind, your response is cruel.

Yeah I’m not reading all that.

He doesn’t respond.

And for months, you stay clear of Tommy fucking Miller.

Focus on yourself. Your career, your health. You start taking vitamins and drinking less and cooking more at home. Get a promotion and a pay raise, and you’re doing good.

Until one fateful Friday night when you go to pick up your order at your favorite take out place.

He’s sitting there at one one of the tables, leaning back, arms folded over his chest, long legs extended and crossed at the ankles. There’s a black suede cowboy hat on his head and he’s wearing a leather jacket with silver hardware that matches the pointed boots on his feet. Starched blue jeans and that belt buckle, looking all big and Texas and devastating.

Like always, he smiles when he sees you. It’s less playful this time, though. Feels more like genuine affection instead of that teasing smirk he always wears.

You try to ignore him.

But the brown paper bag sitting on the table in front of him has your name on it.

You try to grab for it, to be quick and get it from him so you can leave without speaking.

That doesn’t happen, though. Tommy’s hand flies out to grab your wrist. Not hard, just enough to give you pause. “Please,” he says, a desperation in his voice that you’ve never heard before.

A crease forms between your brows as you assess him, watching the way his jaw flexes, the way his throat bobs as he swallows hard.

“I can’t get you out of my fucking head,” he says. “Please. Just…sit. Have lunch with me.”

You know you shouldn’t.

But you do.

Sink slowly down into the chair across from him and wait patiently as he pulls your food out of the bag. He sets it in front of you just as the woman behind the counter delivers him a separate order, as if he’d planned this.

And you think maybe he did, because his words are gentle when he speaks. Cautious. “Look, I’m…I’m sorry. I don’t know how to do this.”

“You mean how to treat a woman like she has feelings?”

You can see the smart remark on the tip of his tongue. But for what it’s worth, Tommy swallows it down. “I should have been better to you from the start,” he admits. “Should’ve done this whole thing the right way, but I didn’t know at the time that I would feel the way I do.”

Unsure of his intentions, you say nothing.

Tommy continues. “The last time we talked, I know you weren’t ready for anything serious. But I…I’ve never felt like this for anyone. And if you could try an’ give me another chance, I swear I’ll be better. Try to be what you deserve. An’ if you still don’t want anything serious, I’ll take whatever you wanna give me. Just friends, if you want. Or we can go back to the way things were before. Whatever you decide, I’ll take it. ‘Cause, Christ, sweetheart. I fuckin’ miss you somethin’ fierce.”

“You just miss the sex. You hardly know me, Tommy,” you say.

“But I want to,” he replies. “An’ you’re wrong. It’s about more than that. F’you want, give me a real chance. Take you out on a few dates. Walk you to your doorstep and bring you those flowers an’ love notes you want. Won’t even kiss you ‘til you say so. Promise.”

There’s so much conviction in his words. So much sincerity. But you know men like Tommy. Know they’re real good at saying exactly what you want to hear and even better at convincing you they’ve changed when really, they’ve just gotten better at lying.

Careful. You have to be so, so careful.

“Let’s just see how lunch goes,” you say.

And much to your surprise, it feels…good. You learn more about him in a single hour than you have in the almost two years that you’ve known him. Learn that his best friend is his brother and that he has a niece named Sarah who his entire life revolves around.

It’s sort of endearing, the way he talks about her and how proud he was when she won her soccer tournament last week.

But he asks about you, too. About your family and your friends and your job, listening intently as you speak.

By the time you finish your meal, he hasn’t got you convinced exactly, but there’s a little softness around the edges now. He asks if you’d like to go see a movie with him next weekend, and you agree.

Your roommate knows something’s up the moment you walk through the door. And when she pulls the information out of you and the word Tommy falls from your tongue, she’s groaning before the second syllable.

Still, you go see that movie. He takes you to dinner afterwards, too. And you return home with plans for coffee in the morning and a fresh bouquet of roses in your hands.

It starts to trickle in slowly; the want. The desire. The need for him to touch you.

He takes you to a baseball game and splays his big hand on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd, keeping you safe, touch warm and inviting and possessive in the way that only he can be.

Tommy doesn’t make any moves. But sometimes you can see it in his eyes when you’re talking and he’s watching your mouth, breath hitching in his throat, gaze dark and wanting.

When he takes you out late one night for ice cream, he swipes vanilla cream from your bottom lip with his thumb and sucks the sugar off his finger. Moans quietly at the taste, but doesn’t make the dirty comment you can see swirling in his head.

He starts to text you more often. Sweet, short messages that say good morning, pretty girl and hope you’re having a good day and need anything from the store?

Once, he texts you in the afternoon.

Thinking of you.

And you don’t respond. Not right away. Instead, you wait until the sun sets. Wait until you’re tucked into bed beneath your sheets, thighs pressed tightly together, warmth gathering low in your belly in a way that’s impossible to ignore.

Thinking of you, too. Wanna come over?

He hesitates with his response, the typing bubbles disappearing three different times before an answer finally comes through.

I’ll bring you breakfast in the morning. Take care of her for me, my needy girl.

You’re not sure if you’re disappointed or satisfied with his response. The offer hadn’t been given with an expectation yet still, it softens you up just a little more.

You drag it out for weeks.

And not even once does Tommy complain.

Things change, though, the night you’re laying in the bed of his truck on top of a mountain of pillows and blankets, trying to see the supposed meteor shower that’s twenty minutes away. You turn on your side and ask, “Are you seeing anyone else? Be honest. I won’t be mad either way.”

You steel yourself in anticipation for his answer.

“Truth?”

You nod.

Tommy licks his lips. “I haven’t been with anyone else since I met you.”

It makes you laugh. You don’t mean to, but the amusement bubbles out of you anyway. “Jesus. You’re fucking lying to my face.”

“I’m not,” he insists. Doesn’t say it with any urgency or frustration, and the can tone gives you pause.

You try to search his face. To see an ounce of dishonesty in his eyes. But you come up empty, and Tommy just stares at you. The energy between you turns heavy. Meaningful in a way you’re not used to. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” he says. “You’ve been stuck in my head since that first night. I think about it sometimes.” He chuckles, as if the information is amusing and not the most surprising thing you’ve ever heard.. “I remember that pretty dress you wore an’ the way you’d been screamin’ at the bouncer carryin’ you over his shoulder. Causin’ all kinds of trouble. Stole my heart right then and there.”

“Stole your heart, huh?” You say it with thick sarcasm, but you can’t wipe the grin off your face if you tried.

The realization hits you hard. Sharp and swift.

You want more, too.

More than these nights together. More than sweet gestures and breakfast in the morning and dinner on the weekends. You want to kiss him. You want to hold his hand and sleep in his bed.

You want to be his fucking girl.

Tommy laughs, shakes his head, and playfully shoves your shoulder. “Yeah, stole my damn heart. Fuckin’一thief…s’what you are. Don’t let it go to your pretty head. Forehead’s big enough already,” he teases.

But it’s too late. And you’re moving before you can think better of it, swinging your leg over him, straddling his hips, skin buzzing with anticipation. You take him by the jaw, delighting in the way his eyes darken and the air gets caught in his throat. “You love my big forehead,” you say.

An assumption. A risk.

One that pays off.

Tommy turns his head and presses an open mouthed kiss to your palm. “Fuck yeah I do,” he muses, lips curved at the corners in that way of his, the way that’s always made you weak. “Now c’mere. Let me taste you.”

You lean forward to kiss him, and the intensity skyrockets the moment your tongue touches his bottom lip.

Tommy rests his hand on your throat一not squeezing, just caressing. Feeling your pulse beneath his long fingers. He licks into your mouth, tongue gliding against yours, not just tasting but savoring.

When you start to roll your hips over his, he moans against your lips and his fingers twitch around your neck. “Goddamn, baby. We gotta…fuck. Gotta stop. Wanna do this right. Rose一hm一rose petals an’ shit. Champagne and一”

“I hate champagne,” you whisper, kissing a trail down his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. You slide your hands beneath the soft cotton of his t-shirt and drag your nails gently down his skin, feeling the softness turn to hard muscle, flexing beneath your touch. “But I like you.”

You shove the fabric up, exposing his sunkissed skin, and your lips immediately find it. He tastes warm. Ambery and masculine, like sweat and soap. Your mouth waters, leaving a trail of wetness down his chest, over his belly. When you kiss the left side of his hip, you suck a purplish mark there.

Claiming, without the need for words.

Shifting lower, you settle between his spread thighs and look up at him through your lashes as you stick out your tongue and lick his bulge through his jeans.

Tommy’s hands fly to your head, twisting in your hair, pulling you back. “Jesus Christ,” he hisses, breathless. “Do you mean that? You fuckin’...you like me?”

“Truth?”

He nods.

You smile. Can’t help it. “Yeah,” you answer. “I mean it.”

Tommy’s answering grin is full of elation and has you giggling. “My fuckin’ girl,” he states, and you can see the smug look in his eye. Can’t even really be mad at him for it, because there’s satisfaction in the words, too. Happiness.

With practiced ease, you unbuckle his belt and pull the zipper of his jeans down with your teeth. His cock is already hard and aching when you reach beneath his boxers to pull it free.

You start slow一kissing the tip, sliding your tongue over the veins on the underside of his cock. He pulses beneath your touch, his hands in your hair gentler now. Stroking the side of your head softly.

But that softness ends the moment you take him in your mouth and suck. You take him down as far as you can, fighting the pressure at the back of your throat. Wrap your lips tightly around him and watch the way his head falls back and his eyes squeeze shut.

“Shit, baby,” he sighs. “Been dreamin’ about that sweet mouth.” His hand finds the back of your head, pushing you further down.

Your eyes water and you struggle to suck in oxygen, but stay right where he wants you.

“Look so fuckin’ pretty like that, mouth all full’a me.” With his free hand, he swipes away the stray tear that leaks down your cheek with his thumb. “Doin’ so fuckin good.”

When you start to choke, Tommy lets up. Pulls you off of him, hand still in your hair, smiling wide as thick stands of saliva keep you tethered together. Spit coats your chin and your eyes are bleary, but the moment you catch your breath he’s guiding your mouth back to him, his hips bucking, forcing his cock to reach just a little further down your throat.

“Yeah, there you go. That’s it. Slutty little thing. An’ all mine,” he says. “Cryin’ for it. Bet you’re real wet, too. Lettin’ me fuck your mouth like a whore. Takin’ it like one.” You can hear his breath stutter, his grip in your hair tightening. Know he’s close before he even pulls you away again. “Lift up your dress, baby.”

You do just as he says, like you always have. Grab the ends of the flowing fabric and pull it up over your head until you’re sitting there in his truck bed, wearing nothing but honey colored panties, your favorite black bra, and the tears on your cheeks.

This time, you hadn’t anticipated it. Hadn’t anticipated him.

Tommy reaches behind your back and unclasps your bra with deft fingers, pulling the straps down your shoulders. When he traces the elastic band over your waist, he murmurs, “Cute. These, too, pretty girl.”

As soon as you shimmy your panties down your legs and toss them to the side, Tommy’s tugging you up his torso, hands firm on your hips.

“Bring that ass here,” he orders, sinking further down into the blankets beneath you. He pulls you up until your thighs bracket his head, hovering over him. Tommy stares up at you like you’re the most magnificent thing he’s ever laid eyes on, the intensity of it sending a shiver down your spine.

And he doesn’t break stride; holding that eye contact even when his tongue splits you open, flicking over your clit. “Oh, God.”

You can feel him smile against you, stubble scratching lightly against the inside of your thighs. He licks and sucks and leaves no inch of you untouched, tongue circling, your nerve endings spit slick and pulsing beneath his ministrations.

Though you try to hover, to give him room to breathe, Tommy won’t have it. His arms wrap around your thighs and he pulls you down, pressing you against his face, moaning when you shift your hips and grind yourself against the flat of his tongue. Hot and wet and desperate. “Just like that,” you tell him, your own voice foreign in your ears. “Fuck, yes, Tommy, please一”

He groans and you can feel the rumble vibrate between your legs. His tongue makes obscene sounds beneath you, soft and delicate against your most sensitive parts. He takes your clit gently between his lips and sucks, and you can feel that familiar warmth begin to quickly build.

Tommy’s always known just how to touch you. Has your pleasure down to a science. So it’s not surprising when you thread your hands through his dark hair, silky between your fingers, and your head falls back. “I’m gonna cum一fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m一ohmygod一”

It hits you hard. Your thighs shake around his head and your vision gets all spotty. Your spine bends, arching against his mouth, seeking the friction that Tommy’s all too happy to give. He just sucks your clit harder, tongue swirling, until the overstimulation becomes too much to bear and you’re pushing yourself up on your knees.

He chases you. Leaning forward to press one last open mouthed kiss to your wet heat. “Fuck, baby,” he mutters, lips glossy with your arousal. “Look so goddamn pretty when you cum for me.”

And even though you can still feel the aftershocks of your orgasm, thighs still twitching, you find yourself insatiable for him. “Tommy,” you breathe. “Please, I need…”

“Tell me,” he urges. “Tell me what you need an’ I'll give it to you.”

“Want you inside me,” you say. “Please.”

You can see the flicker of disquiet as it crosses his face. Not disappointment, exactly, but…something despairing. “M’sorry,” he says. “I didn’t think we were doin’ this tonight. I didn’t bring anything with me. Here一why don’t you lay back. I’ll fill her up with my fingers, baby. Give that pretty little pussy what it needs.”

“It’s okay,” you insist. “I’m…I’m on birth control. If you want we can…” You’re not sure why the suggestion makes you feel shy all of a sudden. You’ve never done this, not with anyone. But you want it with him. With Tommy fucking Miller.

That smug smirk finds its way back to his lips. “You want me to fuck you raw, baby?”

When you nod in response, you swear you can see something shift inside him. As if he wasn’t head over heels for you already, he certainly is now.

“‘Course you do,” he says, tone full of adoration. “Christ, girl. C’mere.”

You straddle him again, sliding his cock through your slick folds, the head nudging your clit in a way that has you panting. You roll yourself over him once, twice一and then you’re tilting your hips at a different angle and he slips right in.

He lets out a groan and pulls you forward, arms wrapped tightly around your middle, chests pressed together. Tommy kisses you hard and begins to move underneath you, cock splitting you open, thick and punishing. “Best fuckin’ pussy I ever had, squeezin’ tight like it wants more. Greedy thing, just like you,” he mutters between kisses, fucking up into you. “So wet for me. No one else can fuck you like this, baby. Can they? Huh? Speak, girl.”

The words don’t come easy, all sense emptied from your brain and replaced with the way he makes you feel. Smothering, everywhere all at once. His heavy hands on your waist, his tongue against your skin, licking up the salty tears on your cheeks, his cock buried so deep inside you you can feel him in your belly.

You shake your head, dragging up the energy to cry out, “No, no one else一just you, Tommy just you一God一!”

“Yeah, that’s right,” he says. “Pussy fuckin’ belongs to me. Not even yours anymore, is it? S’all mine. Gonna fill her up, pretty girl. Fuck you full’a my cum till she’s all cute and sticky.”

That warmth builds again. Slower this time, but searing. Burning like a red-hot coil, curling up your spine. The perversion he speaks only heightens your desire, lewd sounds emitting from between your legs.

His thrusts grow sloppy. Harder, bruising. “S’like you were made to take my cock,” Tommy says. “Shit, baby. M’so close. You’re doin’ so good.”

Tommy doesn’t slow, even though you’re a moaning, writhing mess on top of him. His hold on you stays firm and his pace stays steady.

He grabs you by the throat, forcing you to look at him, squeezing just enough to make your head all fuzzy. “Say it. Tell me what I wanna hear. Tell me you’re mine.”

“I am,” you whimper, the truth burning like hot coals in your mouth. You think maybe you have been for some time, but only now are you able to admit it. “M’yours—fuck, feels so—so good. Your girl, Tommy—I’m your girl—” Your words are clipped, forced out in your haze, panting.

You can feel him pulse inside you, can feel the sudden increase in pressure as he empties himself with his cock buried to the hilt. “That’s right, sweetheart,” he praises, pressing his mouth to yours, moaning against your tongue, capturing your lips in an all consuming kiss that makes you feel robbed.

When you begin to pull away, trying to shift off of him, Tommy stops you with a firm hand at your hip.

“Nuh-uh,” he says. “Not finished ‘til you cum again. Wanna fuckin’ feel it.”

“But you—”

“Still hard, isn’t it?”

You blink, a little startled.

But Tommy just moves his hand around your neck down your chest, pushing lightly, giving him access to slide his fingers between your legs to press them gently against your clit. “Go on,” he urges. “Take it. S’all yours. Fuck yourself on my cock, baby.”

His words are filthy and depraved and make your clit pulse beneath his thumb. One tentative, experimental roll of your hips has him tensing—but Tommy moans low and thrusts up in tandem, giving you what you need, giving you everything.

It’s euphoric—the way he opens himself up to you, letting you take and take and take, letting you be selfish. Encouraging it.

All yours.

You find a good rhythm, his cock hitting the perfect spot inside you, buried deep. And with his fingers working between your legs it doesn’t take long before shocks of bliss shoot through you.

Short bursts at first, chasing it, chasing release—

And then he looks you in the eye and says, “Cum for me, baby.”

It barrels into you without warning—unrelenting, strong, intense the way Tommy has always been. The way you’ve always needed.

He fucks you through it, hips slamming against the back of your trembling thighs, thumb continuing to circle your clit. The breath leaves your lungs completely and the only sounds you’re able to form are helpless whimpers.

Tommy takes it in stride. Holds you upright when you fall forward, muttering all the while with his lips against your ear. “Yeah, that’s it. Fuckin’ take it, pretty girl. Shit—she’s squeezin’ me so tight. You like that? Hm? Cummin’ on my cock like the good girl you are. So damn cute when you get fucked all stupid.”

When you begin to come down, he slows his pace until he’s barely moving—just reverent, rocking movements beneath you. Tommy holds you close, arms wrapped around your waist, his embrace warm and safe and good.

He kisses your cheek, your temple, the top of your head. The touches are careful, gentle, a stark contrast to the way he was only seconds ago. You find just enough energy to roll off of him, but Tommy doesn’t let you get far. Helps you tug your dress back over your head, tucks himself back into his jeans, and then pulls you back to his side.

The silence feels weighted, but not uncomfortable. Just…different. You lay your head on his chest, heaving with every breath, and his fingers gently trail over the curve of your spine, pressing into the tender muscle and tracing soothing patterns

And then quietly, he admits, “You’re stuck with me now. You know that, right? Gonna piss you off forever.”

It makes you smile. A wide spread grin, paired with a sudden flush that creeps up your cheeks. And even though no one has ever been able to get under your skin quite the way Tommy has, you find yourself with only one thought at the idea of being well and truly stuck with him.

You tilt your head up, press a chaste kiss to his stubbled jaw and say, “Good.”

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neuvilette-tea-party · 4 months ago

Text

✶The shine of the Crown

Yandere! Elf Prince x Unlucky survivor F!reader — MDNI! TW: Fantasy setting, elf!yandere, power imbalance, royalty and servant, explicit torture, murder, one sided affection, non con, cunnilingus, fingering, P in V, breeding kink, forced creampie (multiple)

Everything is perfect.

He planned absolutely everything for you, you’re the only one missing now.

Prince Aodh takes a look around his large quarters in the Palace. He measures his chances. He truly does. He knows meeting his one and only is something that only happens to the most lucky, so many people live and die without ever meeting their true other half. So, for Him to have had the chance to meet you, He considers himself extremely lucky!

And soon, He intends to honor you like you deserve to be.

Prince Aodh ordered a lot of new pillows everywhere to create nests for you to lie down and relax.

He will lay you down in all of them and take you tenderly all night long.

He added a lot of new surfaces in his quarters. If you're freaky enough, He will gladly take you on them too. Anything to amuse you.

He is quite excited and a bit nervous, actually. This is his first rut with a partner. Nobody in his kingdom ever caught his eye, not even his betrothed, so he took his brother’s remedy to suppress his rut all his life to keep them at bay. He got through life watching couples flourishing and getting at it passionately when the rut came. To him, it was always more of an annoyance and disturbance in his work. Try to keep an army focused when their instincts are screaming at them to take their partners to bed! A real challenge. Thanks to the Forest God, the Crown passed an edict forcing each general and minister to take suppressants, now calm and peace came back in the ranks, and he could speak to level-headed adults and not toddlers in armor consistently on the verge of implosion. Honestly, this aspect of the Elven species is such a burden! What a shame to be reduced to a rabid animal when you are civilized like them! For those reasons, he always hated that part of himself, what a relief he felt when his twin brother offered him that burgundy remedy to calm down his ardors when He developed his first pulsions. The sensation of freshness and renewed control he felt when he gulped down that mixture for the first time… Truly a blessing!

If there is something He absolutely despises, it’s the loss of control.

Prince Aodh knew of the pleasure of the flesh, but he never met someone worth enduring the rut with! Not even his betrothed.

But then,

He met you.

Perfect you.

Adorable you.

How could He have predicted you? So far away from your people and civilization, in an empire of elves, how could He have predicted meeting his perfect match? The first time he saw you, lost and wounded in the black forest, He knew. He knew God created you for him and him only. You were dirty and bleeding, disheveled and starving, on the verge of death in your torn clothes.

A frail, lost human woman...

Did he find you beautiful?

No idea.

You just immediately caught his eyes, like a firefly is tempted by light He was drawn to you by a force beyond his understanding. He stopped his horse, completely ditching his twin brother, who kept hunting ahead of him, and got down to greet you, fearing you were just a mirage of his imagination.

You lost consciousness right in front of him. The Prince just had the time to catch you before you hit the ground. He lifted your limp body up and carried you on his noble steed right back to the Secret Palace, a place so sacred no uninvited human could ever come across it.

He ordered his physicians to immediately take you in charge and look over you every hour of the day and night, no matter if they were exhausted! The idea of seeing you die was unthinkable to him!

You were only a meager human, so why was he acting so erratic at the idea of your death? Others, and he wondered.

He only had to watch over you at night, listen to your feeble breath, and feel your fragile hands squeeze his large hand in a survival reflex for him to know.

His

You were his.

And he were yours.

You were mates, destined by the Gods.

Your pheromones make his head spin so deliciously, He only has to dive his nose in the crook of your neck to get high off your scent, delectable vertigos seizing him like he was flying high in the sky.

He felt like He was struck by lightning when He first heard your chuckle at one of his dry-humored responses to a fool of an apothecary in charge of healing you, and that was the sweetest sound He ever heard in his life!

Sweeter even than the songs of the She-elves sung under the moonlight for the celebration of the Light. And you are so intelligent… He has the greatest pleasure discussing with you about everything!

He already fantasized about inviting you into his Tactical room to strategize together. Or just have you sit cutely on his large lap while he orders his generals...

The Crown would never allow it... For now

He would find a way to make it bend the knee.

Prince Aodh also has to deal with his betrothed asking why he is worrying about a meager human life. They were supposed to wed soon, and he was spending more time with you than preparing himself for her. He had to suppress a growl.

He never had any interest in her as a future partner or even just a friend. Why would he? It is a purely political marriage; he just has to ensure she gets pregnant, and his job will be done. He has no intention to waste more energy than necessary with her.

She never understood him, she won’t start now. He can give her a baby to keep her occupied, and run back to your embrace and love you as it pleases him.

But before dealing with his unsufferable fiance, he had more pressing problems

Right after leaving the infirmary, you started to make heart eyes at one of his lieutenants!

And apparently He was not the only elf with scandalous taste around here because his lieutenant was flirting back...

That fool had no education or class, why were you making doe eyes at him in the first place?

How?

Why?

He could not tolerate it, He felt love for the very first time. He was not going to let you fly away from him that easily, especially for a mere elf such as him!

So He started to take action. He kept his Lieutenant constantly away from the Secret Palace, giving him dangerous missions after dangerous missions, hoping he would get killed.

But the cockroach always came back!

When it was clear you were healed, the Crown asked you to return to your human lands and never come back. The Prince proposed to keep you here and teach you the Elven ways and language to send you back as a messenger and a diplomat between the two races!

Humans and Elves’ diplomatic ties were now so tenuous now the two former allies were growing more and more hostile towards each other century by century until the former glory days of the Alliance would be no more than forgotten legends in the minds of men, and War broke out.

Sending an envoy to your people could change the course of History.

And he could keep you at his side.

The Crown abided by his whims after long and numerous arguments between them.

You were not exactly comfortable here, but living among the Elves is a privilege and an honor! And despite the little sparkle of fear in your eyes, He could see you were excited by the adventure. He gave you teachers and a servant to ease your everyday life and ‘hired’ you as his aide, keeping you close to him every day.

Like a dream...

And a away from that damn Lieutenant!

He kept giving you conflicting agendas to make it hard for you to see each other. He made sure to humiliate his rival as much as possible with a stern expression and impossible questions when you three met, hoping your opinion about his rival would get tarnished, slowly but surely, for you to lose interest and distance yourself from him.

During that time, He worked to place himself in your life as a friend, a comforting presence, and a shoulder to put your head on. He let you see parts of him he never revealed to anybody, not even His brother. You spent so many sleepless nights chatting together in his office around a glass of wine, he truly felt your relationship growing more intimate and purposeful. You had full access to his office for you to take care of his baby phoenix together, you who learned to love it so much! He kept showering you with privileges and special moments with him.

Privileges he never even gave to his fiancée.

He chuckles, thinking back about them! He thought he was in love with them back then, but clearly he did not know anything about love.

He loves you now, and this is the purest thing he has ever felt through the long centuries of his life.

And he thinks... NO, he is SURE you feel the same toward him!

How would it be any different? He is an elven Prince after all! You should feel honored that He even laid his eyes on you once!

And he wants so much more than just to lay his eyes on you!

Everything was slowly falling into place, as the Prince wished.

Or so he thought.

One night, leaving his office, he wanted to stroll in the rose garden and pick a flower for you to discover on your pillow when you woke up. You lock your bedroom like any sane woman would, but you are not as sane as you imagine if you think a lock can keep him away from you!

He saw you two

Embrassing each other

Kissing each other

Exchanging sweet words discreetly

That wretched peasant...!

You were clearly under a curse or a spell! Why else would you still have an interest in that poor fool either way? Elf magic is powerful, and human minds are weak; it would not take much for you to fall into a trap.

He felt his blood boil and his soul cry for you

His beloved

His darling

Stuck between the claws of a wicked elf!

He had to save you!

He had to intervene drastically.

It was quite simple: a hunting trip, a quick shot at the back of the head, dumping the body in the nearest river, and returning home, abandoning the corpse to the unchained elements.

Oh, you were devastated, in tears for days. Days he offered his shoulder for you to cry on, hugging you tightly to appease your pain and relieve you. He cradled you for days, slowly reclaiming his place in your heart.

He knows the kind of cold and imposing aura He gives off as the Heir of the Crown, so He took care to be as tender and soft as possible, giving you glimpses of his loving, intimate side.

But you were in terrible shape, your mood and body seemed to decay day after day... He kept coming to you every day, in the hope of seeing you smile his way, running to him to hug him tight and declare him your endless love now that the curse was lifted.

But you never did, and each day you seemed closer and closer to dying of malnourishment.

Was the curse still in place?

He was walking to his brother to ask him for advice on how to lift a strong curse, as magic was more his brother’s passion than his. He had just the time to see you both enter your bedroom and lock yourself up

He was frozen in place

...

His brother

His twin

The closest being in his life until you...

He was going behind his back...?!

He was abusing his face, similar to his, to gain access to your bed!?

The surprise dissolved in his veins to make place for the bitter taste of betrayal and the heat of the flames of ire and hate.

Prince Aodh watched you both exit your bedroom, hidden behind a marble statue, as his brother caressed your cheek tenderly while you nodded, wiping a tear off your cheek with a tight smile.

He clawed the column, leaving fissures in the stone in his rage.

That same night, He entered his oh so dear brother’s room in silence, pinning a charm of silence and secrecy to the door for nobody to hear them. He remained standing, watching his brother sleep peacefully in the large bed.

Fooling around with humans is not exactly forbidden, but his brother always notoriously looked at the practice with disdain and some disgust.

And what’s the first thing this traitor did once Prince Aodh brought his human mate home...?!

He could not help the serpentine hiss escaping his lips as He grabbed his brother’s throat, feeling the blood and the air flowing in and out.

For a minute, He fantasized about squeezing this white throat until He strangled this traitor!

But instead, He took out a bottle from his pocket and slowly opened the lid. He dramatically lifted the bottle over his brother’s face and poured down everything.

Immediately, the acid started devouring his brother’s flesh with a disgusting sizzling sound.

His brother immediately awoke, screaming in pain as Prince Aodh admired the flesh swelling up with bubbles and reddening with all the blood seeping out of the gushing pores.

It was... Fascinating to witness this face, the same as his, getting disfigured under his eyes, how the flesh swells like a fruit too ripe and bursts open, wounding his brother beyond repair.

His brother fell to the ground, screaming at the top of his lungs, trying to tear his painful skin off for a modicum of relief, digging his nails into the gushing, bleeding flesh. He was wriggling on the ground pathetically when He pressed his foot down his ribcage to immobilize his brother, observing his result like he would a painting.

The once handsome face is now a grotesque mask of swollen flesh falling off with fumes and visible bones.

Maybe it will even kill his brother... He was losing strength by the second, and soon would lose consciousness, and maybe dive into the dark waves of death for good.

Before he fainted, He lowered himself to press his lips to what he supposed to be an ear before and whispered.

“You will never approach her again... Never.Again...”

His brother was discovered unmoving the next morning by a now traumatized Help and transported to the infirmary promptly. To this day, he has not woken up. Prince Aodh forbade you to enter the chamber under the pretense that he was afflicted by an illness that would be fatal for a human.

So you obeyed.

Like a cute little darling.

He was in heaven!

Finally!

He had you for himself!

No other pesky rival was standing between you two!

It was finally time to formally profess your love for each other and mate together for life. Of course, humans are a mateless species, but that is nothing a little bit of magic cannot fix!

It will feel like a chain at first for you, but you will not mind since you will be bound to him.

He cannot wait!

Which brings us to today.

He never forced himself on you, but that doesn’t mean He can’t initiate actions, so He will seduce you out of your mind and take you to bed this week, and He will taste the pleasure of the rut for the first time in his life. He will indulge so much! Keeping you in bed for a full month, breeding you over and over, authorizing you to leave the nests only for the most basic of human necessities, and grabbing you back in the sheets immediately.

He will get you addicted to him, to his cock. Absolutely ruining any other male for you. He will make sure you become pregnant, locking you with him forever. You are not a cruel woman to deny your child a father, no matter how horrible He might be.

But He doesn’t have to be horrible to you…

If you stay with him, He will be the most gentle, tender lover you’ve ever met, satisfying you beyond measure.

If you ever look at another person, however… You will taste his wrath and learn your mistake in pain. But He does it for you both, He knows what’s truly good for you!

Him

Solely him.

What better for a human’s happiness than a willing, devoted elven prince anyway?

You need no one else in your life. Not even your former family. You will forget them rapidly when He will be plaguing your mind 24/7. Just as you do to him.

He absent-mindedly caresses a pillow of one of the nests. Younger him never knew why Elves’ bedrooms were so large and had so many pillows in them.

For the nests obviously.

It is quite common for couples to prefer a nest of pillows, furs, and plushies to their bed. And for the first time in his life, He understands why.

Oh, He cannot wait…

Embracing you in those soft, fluffy nests and taking you languorously until you cry out of love and exhaustion, while He keeps thrusting deep into you. Your cute face in tears and forced into the furs while you squirt violently around his cock.

He caresses his lips with a deviant smile, oh He’s going to enjoy it so much… Having you completely cock drunk, a babbling mess while He towers over you in full control. Oh, that is going to be so sweet…

And you will become pregnant! Let’s not forget that delicious fact.

He cannot wait to see you round with his child, maybe his twins or triplets. He will give you so many children! Elves have very large families, He is no exception; his instincts scream at him to procreate as much as possible with you.

He wants to meet his children now, having them running around you both all day long… He will be the most dotting father ever and love them all day long, spoiling them rotten, maybe even to your dismay

He chuckles at himself. He is already fantasizing about your future children without even having tasted your lips yet!

Silly him!

But he cannot help it, you are his little birdie he desperately wants to cage.

Sometimes he even doubts you love him with how little attention you give him or how uninterested you appear in his conversation, some days.

But you do love him.

He knows you do.

And you better do.

He has nothing against using chains and gags, but He would like you to be happy at his side, not just a captive! But once pregnant, you will do the only respectable thing to do and accept to bond with him.

It will be your only way to remain alive after the offense of seducing the Crown’s Heir.

Then you will be with him forever.

Living happily together, surrounded by your numerous heirs.

He also prepared for that; he modified his diet, intensified his training routine, and started to take remedies the royal apothecary promised him would boost his fertility every day. One day, you came into his office, and you asked him what those berries were that he was swallowing with such a large smile. He lied to you, pretending it was only his favorite treat. It was too soon to reveal he was already planning your future pregnancies so early in your secret love affair, and you would have been scared, and He doesn’t want to scare you, only to back you into a corner.

You are two different species after all, He cannot let those things go to the hazard.

One week ago, when He felt the first symptoms of the rut, He gulped down twice the dosage, just to be sure…

Prince Aodh used to hate those symptoms, those heat waves and sore muscles, but today He welcomes them with so much pleasure. He also felt growing territorial and possessive. He always tolerated you having friends among his people, He is not a complete monster, but those last few days? They realized how terrifying He could be with a single glance in their direction. They didn’t even have to speak with you; only standing in your vicinity was enough to send him into a boiling rage! Especially the males! He would appear from out of nowhere, his aura murderous and shooting them with his red gaze and dump them with even more chores and duties, especially on the other side of the Palace, far away from you, his darling.

One had the nerve to hug you, and He ordered his servants to wash and scrub your body for a full hour despite your complaints to get rid of his disgusting scent. He couldn’t help it, it was making him gag to smell another male on you.

You didn’t see that friend from then on…

The sun rises, signaling to him it is time to head to the Grand room where He organized a session with all his advisors to treat the State’s latest affairs. You’ll be here, obviously, as his devoted, cute little aide. He will gorge himself on your scent and presence, boosting him for the rest of the day.

No, for the whole month!

He walks peacefully towards the board room, back straight and head high, when He starts to feel a heat wave approaching. Oh well, he will take a bath later.

He turns a corner and smiles.

You are here, notebook in hand, as the cutest little human aide you are. You never wait for him, too visible, and he likes his privacy, so you took the habit of getting ahead of him for him to meet you midway.

Clever you, you know he cannot reveal your love affair to the Crown yet, so you take action without him even asking!

Such an intelligent mate. You can hold entire conversations just looking into each other’s eyes. You are truly made for one another.

He doesn’t slow down as he reaches you, his heart sprinting as your hands graze for a split second.

“Good morning, Your Highness .” You greet.

“Good morning, (Y/n).”

“You seem tense. Are you all right?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.

Oh, sweet, adorable you, you know him so well… And you always take care of him, noticing in one glance that something changed in him, not that He tried to hide it from you. You can see those parts of him, you are allowed.

And those heatwaves are not really comfortable…

“Am I?” Prince Aodh asks with a lopsided grin, “Quite the contrary, I feel full of energy.”

“Really? Good.” You nodded. “We will need it for today.”

You think about the politics and warfare, He thinks about the bed.

“I am sure it will be a productive day.” He slowly nods, approvingly.

Your scent comes to brush his nose, and He deeply inhales, inviting it deep into his lungs. It sets his nerves on fire, electrifying him to his core. He feels his horns tingling deliciously.

That feels so good…

You reach the Tactical room where everyone else is waiting and take your place. He opens the Map of the Empire, and the session can start.

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

Everything was going so well.

Prince Aodh was fully focused, mind set on his strategies, listening to his subordinates when it struck him like lightning. All his muscles suddenly violently contracted, chasing all the air out of his lungs. His usually so well-organized mind completely froze like stunted. It was so violent that He almost lost his balance and collapsed. But He held on, standing firm on his feet.

And now there is only one thing he cares about.

You.

“Everyone… Out.” He says so coldly, a shudder spreads through the audience.

“Your Highness? Did we do-” One starts to speak to understand this sudden shift of behavior.

“Out!” He shouts, slamming his fist on the table.

Everyone scurries outside, it’s the very first time they ever heard him raise his voice in a meeting, and they don’t intend to hear more!

“(Y/n), you stay.” He orders harshly.

He feels his cock gorging itself with blood, getting warmer and constricted in his tight pants.

So this is how it truly feels… The sudden craving, hunger for flesh, that urge commanding all his senses and priorities. A desire so powerful that his only thought is to breed you immediately, right here and there, like an animal.

You remain still, worried. You look at him, hugging your notebook against your breast, well hidden under that stupid tunic. He wants to tear it all apart, destroying it completely to discover your sweet naked body at last

His hard gaze is on those incompetents who still haven’t evacuated the room. He turns towards the young helpers who are absolutely terrified, pressing themself at the door to leave as quickly as possible.

If they don’t go away He will take you in front of them without any shame!

They must have felt his black gaze on them because they suddenly managed to pass through the door and disappear away from him.

The doors are shut.

And He now turns towards you.

You are now completely alone with a pissed-off Elven Prince.

You are terrified beyond measure. He never raised his voice. Ever. He looks at you with a dark glare, like He could eat you up in one bite.

You gulp.

He skirts the large table, dark eyes fixed on you, frowning terribly. You press your notebook closer against you in a soothing manner. Did you do something? Said something? Angered him in some way?

“Your Highness? Is something wrong?” You ask with tremors in your voice.

You hope talking to him would snap him out of it, but He keeps walking towards you like a carnivore having cornered its prey.

“Sir…” You call again.

In complete silence, He seizes your notebook out of your grasp and just tears it in half like it’s nothing before tossing it aside. You gasp, shocked.

“Sir! If I did-”

You have no time to finish your sentence, his large hand comes to grasp your throat and pushes you against the wall, where He captures your lips in a demanding kiss.

What the fuck is going on?!

What’s wrong with the Prince?!

Since day one, he looked at you in a weird fashion, and you consistently felt his breath on the back of your neck! Sometimes you were even sure to feel a presence in your room at night! You remained friendly and nice and polite, fearing he might explode all of a sudden.

And right now, he is exploding. You are so shocked and terrified that you do not know how to react to his aggression, and you feel yourself frozen in fear.

He presses his large body against yours, more petite in comparison. He squeezes your throat to force you to open your lips to let his tongue enter your mouth. He groans in the kiss like a pissed-off dragon as his tongue meets and hugs yours.

You feel his erection against your pelvis, He brushes your groins together, leaving no doubt in your mind about what’s going to happen next. You moan pitifully, feeling yourself going limp.

He suddenly grabs the back of your neck and pushes you unceremoniously against the wooden table, bending you over as your breath is cut. You have no time to register what He just did, He is behind you, towering over your figure and gripping the fabric of your pants, and violently tearing them off.

“Sir?!” You beg, at loss for words.

The Prince pulls on your sweet undergarments

He cheekily hoped you would not be wearing any like a naughty girl, but opening you like a present is also nice.

You try to rise up, but are immediately pushed back down with his hand on the back of your neck.

“Do. Not. Move.” He orders with a chilling tone, inviting zero resistance.

So you remain bent over, immobile, feeling the cold air hitting your exposed pussy. You gulp, throat dry, devoured by anxiety.

You suddenly feel his wet tongue parting your folds. You grip the wood for dear life as He starts eating you out voraciously, like a starved animal.

“Oh my gods, Sir…!” You gasp, out of your mind.

He locates your clit and starts teasing it with sweet laps, circling it, gliding across it. He moans loudly to excite you further and you start feeling something wet leaking out of your pussy to roll on your thighs. He takes your clit in his mouth and sucks on it avidly, like a lollipop, making it roll between his lips and titillating it with the tip of his warm tongue.

He just acts on instincts right now and they are telling him to devour your sweet pussy first.

You press your hand to your mouth and immediately feel him bite the tender flesh of your thigh.

“I forbid you to remain silent.”

And to prove his point he takes a big, sloppy lap with the flat of his tongue from your clit to your perineum. You can’t help but moan in response, your legs starting to tremble under his care.

“You are getting so wet. Good.” He praises you, but the tone is dark and… dangerous.

He parts your pussylips with two fingers and probs your entrance with his tongue, drinking your slick loudly.

“Ah! Yo-Your Majesty…” You choke on your words.

“What is it, my darling? No male ever honored you this way? Such a shame.” He tuts.

He grabs your butt with his two hands and penetrates you with his long, warm tongue. You can feel it waves inside you, grazing your sweet spot so deliciously, he circles it and glides across it with the tip of his tongue.

Gosh, he wants to take you right now, but you could never take his size without any preparation. And he has always been curious about your pussy’s taste, and despite his urges it seemed like a good choice to him. His instincts are always right.

He is always right.

And your sweet gasps go straight to his cock, he is getting so painfully hard just hearing and tasting you. This is so addictive. He suddenly understands all those couples he used to look at with disdain.

This is nothing like just sex, this is much more addicting and thrilling!

This is just so… Right!

He is not eating you out gently, but like a starved animal who just found a juicy piece of meat. He growls and purrs, satisfied by your tremors and quivers under his touch. This is how you should be with him all the time, a good girl for him to play all day long, a little bit fearful and dripping wet.

He expertly opens his trousers to free his erection and starts pumping it in rhythm with your sweet mewls. You are like a little bird who sang the sweetest melodies for him.

He has no idea if you ever squirted in your life but this is now his mission, you are not leaving his embrace until you squirted for him, no matter how many tries it takes, how many hours he will have to fuck you, you’re going to do it.

For him.

For his pleasure.

He slurps down your essence loudly, satisfied with your taste. This is quite savory, you’re about to become his new favorite treat!

“How does it feel?” He teases between sips, “Do you like it?”

You, on your end, just cannot respond. The only sounds passing your lips right now are desperate moans as he eats you out conscientiously. Your brain is frozen in a fight-or-flight response.

“My little bird does not wish to sing to me?” He growls.

And he slaps your pussy. You shake with a groan of pain and pleasure, to your utmost distress.

“Ah! It… I’ve never done that…” You confess, panting, praying he will take pity on you

He smiles as he devours you

Good.

Your pussy will only know his lips and no one else. Only he will make you feel this good.

“Vocalize your pleasure louder. I want the whole Palace to know who’s making you feel this good.”

He laughs at himself internally. He who took care of hiding your love affair from anyone else is ready to throw everything through the window if it means everyone knows you belong to him and him only right now!

The rut is truly something else.

“Ah S-Sir...!” You call for him when he resumes tonguefucking you.

But he can’t help it, you just taste so good. He will eat you out every morning from now on. Who cares if someone hears you through the wall of his bed chamber?

Not him, not anymore.

You’ll be mated anyway, so it is only normal that he fulfills his duty and takes care of his charming darling every day!

You gasp as a wave of pleasure crashes upon you suddenly, so much you feel your pussy spurting something in his face with great force. Was that... An orgasm?

You gulp, your first orgasm... At the hand of that creepy prince, white like a ghost and dead white eyes... You tried to remain on his good side by humoring him with conversations, but you did not foresee the trap you stepped into...

He darkly chuckles, having reached his goal. You delivered splendidly! He licks his lips clean of your essence, feeling it beading from his chin. That was even better than he anticipated, the little jump his heart did when you squirted in his mouth as if he were a young child being offered a sweet!

You try to catch your breath, still bent over the console, shaken by that orgasm and your fear, feeling your throat dry like the desert.

You froze, hearing the sound of a belt behind you.

“Oh sweet thing, this is only the beginning...” He rasps, already thinking about this month of rut ahead of you two...

So delicious.

You feel his erection pressed against your spasming pussy, coating his shaft with your release. He feels… Large. Really large. Not that you are really surprised given his size, of course his penis would be as large as him. What you cannot determine, however, is his length.

You bite your lips in anticipation and dread.

You feel his tip probing your entrance, before feeling him pushing it inside.

Oh dear Gods! He is so massive! Your inner muscles work to welcome his size inside of you, but you feel him splitting you in two.

Your mouth opens in a perfect O, trying to accommodate his size, that’s a real challenge!

“Your little pussy struggles to take me, and I am not halfway through.” He sadistically notes.

He’s not halfway through?!

No way! How are you…? How could you…?

“Stop struggling.” He orders, “I feel you clenching all around my cock, if you do not want me ramming into you immediately it is best you relax.”

“I’m... I just...!” You choke, digging your nails in the wood of the table, hanging on for dear life.

How are you supposed to survive this...?

He keeps pushing inside, filling you more and more, reaching depths you didn’t even know you had.

“Relax, Darling. Breath.” He talks you through it with a softer tone, like he is pitying you. “We are almost there.”

You feel his ridges brushing your inner walls, you feel his cocks having some sort of scales made of somewhat hard flesh but they caress your soft flesh so deliciously… You gasp, breathless, when you feel his tip brushing your cervix deep inside you.

You feel his hips brushing your butt, he is fully in.

And that’s a feat!

“You squeeze me so much, my darling.” He says in a gasp, “You were tailor made for my cock.”

“I-I feel so stuffed!” You manage to let out while you try to breathe through your nose.

Having his complete length inside you just chased all the air out of your lungs and your little pussy stretched to its maximum. If you were on your back and not your stomach, you would see a bulge, that’s for sure.

“Well, thank you, my darling.” He licks his lips, “And this is all for you. Only for you. Now relax.”

And without leaving you any time to adjust to his size, He starts thrusting inside you. Deep, hard thrusts punching the air out of our lungs each time. You feel his hips hitting your pussy harshly like a bull, assaulting your poor body.

“Oh Maker! Sir, slow down! Please!” You choke on your own words.

He rocks you so hard you almost bite your tongue at each back-and-forth movement. He fucks you roughly, without regard for your comfort on that sturdy table. You feel your poor pussy trying to take him ramming his whole length into you. Your release helps him slip inside easily, but doesn’t help his massive size problem.

It also doesn’t help how uncomfortable and... soiled you started to feel.

“I will not slow down.” He announces, deaf to your cries, “You can take it, I know it. You can take anything I give.”

He grips your arms and holds them firmly with one hand on your back while the other holds your hip, preventing you from falling forward.

Prince Aodh fucks you as voraciously as He ate you out, gluttonously and harshly. He keeps his merciless pace as you try desperately to keep some dignity as you feel him fucking your brain out. You feel your pleasure growing, not softly and nicely, but like a furious wave growing like a tsunami under his brutal rhythm. So much that a bit of drool starts dripping out of your mouth.

His tip hits your cervix relentlessly and his ridges scratch the inside of your pussy savagely, scratching every sweet spot at once and making you see hyperspace behind your eyelids.

“Fuck!” You shout.

“What foul language, my darling. Should I also fuck your mouth to teach you manners?”

His hand holding your hip sneaks under your stomach to reach your nervous clit, pulsating with your heartbeat. He starts rolling it between his fingers while he rams into you like an animal. He pounds into you like it is his last day alive, and you can’t do anything but take it, like a toy for him to play with. You can do so little, you are barely more than a fuckdoll for him.

He is torn on his end.

On one hand, this is so pleasurable, so fantastic, it sends him into such spirals of pleasure and heightens all his senses in such fashion! He gorges himself on your scent, of your pathetic moans of the wet sounds of your little pussy…It drives him so crazy, he wonders if he could ever slip out of you.

He would surely die if he ever did that.

And on the other end, he hoped to take you nicely and languorously for hours on end for days, helping you reach new heights of pleasure and taking care of you romantically, not take you like a monster. Him who used to treat you so tenderly in each and every fashion like the fragile porcelain doll you are…

But this rut…

This is something so strong, so unstoppable and unfightable.

It took him by complete surprise, robbing him of his control.

But for once in his life He decides that is not so bad…

He gasps as he feels your small pussy clenching around his large girth. You strangle him so, so well, just the right size for him to enter and squeeze him deliciously. You truly are made for him and his cock.

And absolutely no one else!

He hopes you would be able to forgive him for fucking you in such a way! You deserve to be worshiped and idolized like a goddess all night long, and he had the firm attention to pamper and venerate you like his personal Goddess... He will make it up to you! He will spend the next hours adoring you for you to pardon him for his transgression!

You feel your pussy clenching more and more under the growing waves spreading in your veins, setting fire to each nerve ending until you scream His name out loud.

It was completely unprompted; it escaped you while you tried to gasp for air, but your orgasm crashed on you so suddenly it took you by surprise. The tsunami reached the shore and devastated everything in its wake.

“Keep screaming, My Darling. I want everyone to know who is fucking you this good.”

You convulsing around him pushes him beyond pleasure, and He comes inside you without your consent after three more deep thrusts. He buries himself deep, spurting his seed in your most secret place. He feels your entire body tensing, then slumping, like all your strength escaped your organism with a “oof.”

He gently caresses the cheeks of your butt with his large warm hands as he catches his breath, still deep inside. He slips his disheveled strands of long hair back on his head and opens his leather straps to get rid of his plate armor and his now-sweaty tunic.

This is a really nice physical exercise! Far more enjoyable than his dry and boring warrior training. It could become his new routine! He always has been more than serious with his training, but he would look up to this new exercise each day, and he would partake with so much enthusiasm!

You surely would not object! He would give you so much pleasure each and every day…

He slips out of you and makes you roll on your back. You are still catching your breath while he has already recovered. Humans are no match for Elves’ stamina after all. He growls as he sees his semen oozing out of you.

You are already wasting it!

He collects it with his fingers and pushes it back inside, penetrating your sex with his slender digits. He sees you shaking with this simple touch, you are still so sensitive after all… He cleans you with his fingers, fingering it back inside your greedy womb that tries to retain him inside. He grins lightly. Your body doesn’t seem satisfied with two orgasms and seems to already call for him and his talents again.

You, on the other hand, seem exhausted.

He enters you again, localizing your G-spot easily, and starts brushing it eagerly. You mewl tiredly in response but your body’s answer is undeniably positive, your pussy stretches enthusiastically, dripping wet, and your legs spasm each time he scratches your spot with the pad of his fingers.

“Sir…” You try to call, your hand lazily raising to grab his arm and stop him.

But you have no energy left, and let your hand fall back to your side. He keeps fingering you, enjoying the ungodly wet noises of your pussy, stuffed with his white cum.

One won’t be enough. You need to do it again. Over and over again, until your cute tummy is completely bloated with his semen.

Then, and only then, he will consider that he did a sufficient job.

He pushes a third finger inside, and you whimper, like sweet music. Prince Aodh scissors you thoroughly, admiring your entrance gaping around his fingers. He can’t believe such a little pussy could take him so well, He actually thought you would not and break under him. But you did. And quite well, considering it.

You gave him so much pleasure already, choking his shaft so lusciously, hugging his form so perfectly He felt like he could mold your insides for his specific shape, ensuring that any potential rival is terribly disappointing to you.

But there will be no potential rival. In any shape or form.

“Your... Higness…” You pitifully call again, your chest rising up and down as you breathe.

“Is there a problem, my Darling? Are you in pain?” He investigates, just to be sure.

He is not a monster after all.

“No… No but-” You throw your head back with pleasure as He accelerates his ministrations. “Ah!”

You’re in no pain, that’s all He wanted to know.

“Let it happen, my darling. There is no use fighting it, let me take care of everything.” He charms you with his enthralling, deep, melodious voice.

He circles and crosses your G-spot, rubbing it roughly while adding pressure with a hand on your Venus mound, earning sobs and moans from your part. He adds pressure on your clit with his thumb, gliding across it and flicking it, feeling you dripping off his hand as He hooks you from inside. He accelerates his care, stretching your pussy well as you tremble under his hand, knuckles deep, curling and spreading them, making his fingers twirl to caress any inner surfaces of your pussy. He then resumes fingering you mercilessly until you cry your eyes out, big tears rolling down as your pussy spasms around his soaked digits.

You come again, shuddering dramatically. While you try to catch your breath again, He lowers himself to the level of your pussy to make sure all of his potent semen was inside, where it should be. He traces your pussylips with his fingers, utterly fascinated by that jewel of nature.

He kisses your slit with reverence and raises back on his feet.

He looms over you and pulls your tunic over your chemise. He takes out his blade and cuts it open, revealing your breast to his eyes. He feels his own eyes rounding up as He discovers them in plain sight, your nipples standing up to attention as the cold bites them.

Your boobs are just to his taste, just how he likes them.

He grabs them in his large hand and kneads them well, rolling your nipples between his fingers. He leans forward and takes one in his mouth, sucking on it.

Soon, when he does that again, He will taste your milk. He will drink from your tits when they get heavy with milk. He cannot wait…

He kisses it and takes the other one in his mouth, licking across the soft skin, peppering it with soft kisses as you sob, cheeks soaked, your hand coming to caress his hair.

He stands back straight, slicking his long hair back, letting sweat roll on his gorgeous body, his skin glistening with sweat. His white eyes shine hungrily in the low light of the room, fixated on your form under him.

He pumps his cock one or two times, hardening already again and pushes it back inside, your essence acting up as lube. He watches fascinated how his penis disappears inside your body, a creamy O at his base.

The bulge is consequent, and He can’t help a dark snicker. You are going to be gorgeous, all round with his child…

He resumes his hard thrusting, gripping your hips harshly, digging his nails into your soft flesh to keep you in place. He watches your boobs bobbing up and down, hypnotized. You whimper, tears rolling down your cheeks, as all of this is way too much for you. You’re oversensitive, and He keeps the pleasure rolling longer and farther, teasing your nerves until you break down completely.

But He wants more.

He broke down your sentiments, but He wants to break down your mind, utterly destroying it. He wants you dumb and cockdrunk, stuffed with his seed like the good girl he knows you are. So He keeps burying his girth deep in you, brushing your G-spot with the edges of his ridges

He needs to give you more loads or you’ll never get pregnant!

What if the remedies He took were not enough? He worries in the back of his mind. What if nothing was enough and you’ll never get pregnant? What if your two species are ultimately incompatible?

Prince Aodh pushes these thoughts back.

Of course, He’s going to get you pregnant. He is The Prince, a warrior, an Elf. Nothing is impossible to him.

He would not allow any other results.

He rocks his hips into yours, reveling in the pleasure you are giving him. He undulates his body with delight, meeting your dripping sex, the sounds of flesh hitting flesh echoing in the large room. He chases both of your releases while you fully tremble underneath him, He seizes your thighs with his large hands and spreads them wide open, throwing your legs on his shoulders, allowing him to deepen his thrusts.

Oh that is just so good…

He hoped his first time with you would have been romantic and sweet. He still has a heart full of love and devotion after all, He thought that after a date at a gallery, He would have treated you to a nice dinner before carrying you to bed and honoring you all night long. But instead, He is ramming into you like a beast, in the middle of his boardroom on his ship for all his crew to hear, trying to break you into a million pieces under him.

You truly never know what life has in store for you!

In all honesty, He didn’t know it would go so well. He feared entering you for the first time would have him come undone right here and there, and it almost happened! He had to collect all his will to not explode inside just by entering you. His honor would have never recovered if He had come before satisfying his darling first!

What kind of elf would he be then? One that only chases his own pleasure like a self-centered jerk? He likes to think of himself as above that.

Granted, you are in this situation because he couldn’t help but chase his own release, but that is completely beside the point!

He circles his hips to vary the sensations, and you bite your lips to blood in response.

“What did I say about silencing yourself?” He scolds you, growling.

He seizes your jaw, pressing your cheeks like a fish, and leans forward dangerously, shooting you with his feverish gaze. You look so silly like that.

“This is the last time I warn you, understood?” He demands with a dark tone.

You can only nod with your silly expression, eyes round with surprise and submission. That looks good on you. He leans further to lick your cheek as He rocks his hips, realizing you soiled it with your drool, smeared all over your jaw. Did you lose all control? He wonders, snickering.

He captures your lips for a messy kiss, tongue dancing, and drool exchanging. You whine, having your air robbed out of you, and He accentuates his thrusts to have you reach higher notes. The Prince lies fully on you, taking you in his arms to hug you tight, his thrusts are still mean and hard, hurting your pelvis with his raw strength.

“Focus on kissing me, sweet thing.” He orders, between little kisses all over your jaw.

He feels you drooling on yourself as your lips meet again, and that amuses him tremendously. He moans in the kisses, burying himself to the hilt as your pussy swallows him whole as it should.

His heart is singing. Is it what true bliss feels like? Being one with your other half…

He licks your lips as you roll your eyes inside your skull, too lost in the pleasure and utter fear he gives you. He keeps bullying his length into you, embracing you with his long arms. He sneaks his hand under your tunic on your back and buries his nose in the crook of your neck to inhale your musk. His heart flutters, pumping his blood at 100 miles per hour. It has been so long since he felt excitement like that, such pure joy, having you close like that, sharing such an intimate and vulnerable moment with you. He brushes the tip of his nose on your neck, purring deeply while you keep whimpering in his ears, arms circled around his large form and legs circled around his waist, keeping him deep buried in your puffy pussy.

You long stopped trying to formulate sentences, your brain is too fried for you to speak proper Elvish, instead just letting broken mewls escape you. But that is as good for him, that is a testimony of the overwhelming pleasure he is giving you, and He revels in it with pride.

Your inner walls are all gorged with blood, fluffy and soft for his cock, your pussy is clenching painfully around him and your clit is pulsating furiously, begging for attention. You snake one hand between your two bodies to caress it, and maybe ease your painful muscles, prompting him to look down at what you are doing.

“Sorry, my darling. You invaded all of my mind, and I lost track of things.”He apologizes.

One of his large hands follows yours and starts to tease your bundle of nerves instead of your more petite hand.

What kind of idiot is He? How dare He lose himself so much to stop paying attention to your needs? He chastises himself.

Prince Aodh thoroughly rolls and presses your clit between his fingers as He undulates his hips with the energy of a beast. He resumes kissing you, feeling so light, like all his pressure and problems just vanished in your presence. He hugs your tongue with his, dancing with it, robbing you of your breath.

You feel the waves of pleasure spreading through your veins and your pussy, making it convulsing ferociously and you come for the fourth time, screaming the Prince’s name.

Once again, your orgasm pushes his and He comes deep inside your womb for a second time.

This time you notice.

“You came inside?” You ask breathlessly, visibly worried,

“Oh my.” He responds with a lopsided grin, caressing the bulge made by his shaft with his warm hand, “Then we will have no other choice but to take care of a little one.”

Abortion is out of the question. For you? With his child? Out of the question. He will not even entertain the idea.

“Wha-What? … But Your Higness!?” You blabber, your voice completely broken between your tears.

“I will take my responsibilities with you and the kid, do not worry about anything.” He puts his forehead against yours, shiny white eyes buried in yours. “I will not disappear and leave you alone. Everything will be alright. We will be together.” He embraces you tightly. “You need not worry.”

He cradles you gently, hearing your shallow, rapid breaths. He sighs, satisfied.

Well, not completely. Two is still not enough. He starts a back and forth movement again, but this time slow, gentle, loving, languorous…

"A... Again?” You sob incredulously, at the end of your own rope

He brushes his nose with yours.

“I told you earlier I was full of energy today… I know you are tired, my darling, but you do not need to cry like that. Let me do the work. Easy, easy... ”

He holds your cheeks in his hands, forehead against forehead, purring gently and deeply.

This.

This is true bliss. True happiness. You and him, locked together forever. Legacies tied in reputation and now blood.

“What will I do if I get pregnant?” Your tears keep rolling down your cheeks as your shoulders shake, “Your fiance will hunt me down, the Crown, your Parents will hang me for the offence, I... I am going to die!.” You start panicking

Aodh growls at such a childish display, making you freeze. Why won’t you drop the subject? Or better yet, why don’t you see it as the absolutely marvelous good news for your couple as he does?

Now that you’ve mated together, no need to hide the affair, no need to refer to each other as simple ‘friends’ as you did until now! You will be able to live your love under the sun!

“You will not lose anything. I will keep you at my side, whatever might happen. No one will even touch a single strand of your hair on that splendid head of yours.. Like I said…” He looks into your eyes with the most serious expression you have ever seen on his face and… Some underlying hunger and jealousy, “... Do not worry about anything.”

☆☆Taglist☆☆

#yanblr #yandere #reader insert #yandere oc #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x female reader #yandere elf #elf oc #unhealthy relationships #toxic relationship #yandere nsft #fem reader #yandere smut #smut #fanfiction #neuvilette tea party #Prince Aodh

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