#was thinking about taking one tonight but like…… no

[pucksandpower]

Enjoy the Butterflies

Daniel Ricciardo x crazy rich!Reader

Summary: in which Daniel gets dropped by his team and picked up by an heiress with a penchant for taking in strays

The heavy bass of the club still hums in your bones as you step out onto the pavement, the humid Singapore night wrapping around you like a second skin. The neon lights from Zouk, one of the city’s most exclusive nightclubs, pulse in rhythm with your heartbeat, and for a second, you stand still, relishing the quiet that follows hours of dancing, laughter, and too many cocktails.

The sounds of the party still echo behind you, a muffled roar of privilege and extravagance, but out here, it’s just you and the night.

Or so you think.

Your attention is pulled toward a commotion just a few meters away. You blink, trying to make sense of the scene. There’s a man — definitely not local, tall, and a little scruffy compared to the sharp-dressed crowd you’re used to — being unceremoniously escorted out by one of the bouncers. His head hangs low, and his shoulders are slumped in a way that screams defeat.

It’s not the dramatic, messy kind of exit where someone’s too drunk to stand, or too proud to admit they’ve done something wrong. No, this is different. This guy isn’t even trying to fight back.

“Get lost,” the bouncer grunts, shoving the man one last time before turning to head back inside.

You can’t help it — you freeze, your gaze lingering on him. He doesn’t move, just leans against the wall like he’s considering sinking to the ground. His posture is pitiful in a way that tugs at something inside you, that soft part of you that your family says is too soft. The part that’s always drawn to the broken, the hopeless, the ones who don’t quite fit.

He lets out a long, dramatic sigh, his eyes flicking up to the club entrance, like maybe if he stares long enough, he’ll magically be allowed back in. He’s pathetic. There’s no other word for it. But he’s also kind of endearing, in a weird way.

“Pathetic,” you mutter under your breath, half-amused.

You could leave him there, you know that. This isn’t your problem. He’ll figure something out. Or not. It’s not like you owe him anything, but …

"Are you just going to stand there?” You hear yourself saying, your feet already moving toward him before you can stop them.

His head snaps up, clearly not expecting anyone to address him. His eyes — big, brown, and confused — lock onto yours. He’s a little scruffy, but there’s something boyishly charming about him.

“I — uh,” he stammers, straightening up slightly but still looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. “No. I mean, yeah, I guess?”

You roll your eyes. “That’s not an answer.”

He shrugs helplessly. “Well, I don’t really have one. Kinda got kicked out of the only place I planned on being tonight.”

You narrow your eyes. “What did you do?”

“I, uh …” He scratches the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “I don’t know, honestly. Might’ve been a little too loud, or maybe I was blocking someone important from getting their drinks. These places, man, they don’t like it when you’re … disruptive.”

You cross your arms, glancing at him up and down. He doesn’t look dangerous, just out of place. “You sound like you deserved it.”

He winces. “Probably did.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you’re still standing there, wondering why you’re wasting your time. Then, before you know it, you’re sighing. Your family would shake their heads at you, calling you too kind for your own good.

“Come on,” you say, jerking your head toward the curb. “Let’s go.”

He blinks. “What?”

You nod toward the curb, where your Rolls Royce waits, engine quietly idling. The chauffeur stands by, staring straight ahead like this is the most normal thing in the world, like this isn’t some insane act of kindness you’re pulling out of nowhere.

“I’m not leaving you out here,” you say, already heading toward the car. “Get in.”

“Uh — wait, seriously?” He hurries to catch up, still clearly not processing what’s happening. “You don’t even know me.”

You shrug, throwing a look over your shoulder. “Do I need to?”

“Usually, yeah,” he says, jogging slightly to keep pace with you. “I mean, what if I’m like, a complete psycho or something?”

“If you were, I doubt you’d be sitting against a wall feeling sorry for yourself,” you shoot back, opening the car door. “Now get in before I change my mind.”

There’s a brief moment of hesitation, like he’s weighing his options, but then he shakes his head, muttering something under his breath, and slides into the backseat beside you. The leather is cool against your skin, the scent of luxury and privilege permeating the air, and for a second, it’s quiet as the door closes behind you both.

The driver pulls away from the curb smoothly, not asking questions.

“So … you do this often?” The man asks, still clearly bewildered. “Pick up random guys outside clubs?”

You snort, turning to face him. “Definitely not.”

“Then why me?”

You shrug. “You looked pathetic.”

His eyebrows shoot up, and for a second, you think you’ve offended him, but then he laughs — loud, unabashed, and surprising. “Wow. Okay. Well, thanks, I guess?”

You smile despite yourself. “Don’t mention it.”

He leans back in the seat, still grinning. “I’m Daniel, by the way. Ricciardo. Not sure if that means anything to you.”

You narrow your eyes, the name clicking into place. “The F1 driver?”

He looks a little sheepish but nods. “Yeah, that’s me.”

You stare at him for a moment, processing that. It’s not like you keep up with racing, but you’ve definitely heard of him. Seen him in ads, maybe, or on TV. It’s a little weird, thinking about it now. The same guy who’s smiling at you, a little bashfully, is famous in his own right.

“I didn’t recognize you,” you say, somewhat apologetic.

He shrugs again, more relaxed now. “Don’t worry about it. Happens more often than you think. Usually, I’m not getting kicked out of places, though.”

You smirk. “Good to know.”

There’s a comfortable silence after that, the two of you settling into the soft hum of the car as it glides through the streets. You steal a glance at him, watching as he stares out the window, looking slightly more at peace now that he’s not sitting on the pavement outside of a nightclub. He catches you looking, raising an eyebrow.

“So, you’re just gonna take me home, drop me off like a stray cat?” He teases, flashing you that boyish grin again.

You tilt your head, pretending to think about it. “Depends. Do stray cats usually get rides in Rolls Royces?”

“Only the ones that get kicked out of clubs,” he fires back, and you can’t help but laugh.

This was definitely not how you expected your night to go.

***

You lean back in your seat, letting the smooth hum of the Rolls Royce fill the silence for a moment. Daniel seems more relaxed now, but there’s still something hanging in the air, something that makes you look at him again, curiosity getting the better of you.

"So," you say, turning your head slightly to study him, "where am I dropping you off? What hotel are you staying at?"

Daniel blinks, the question catching him off guard. He looks at you, then at the ceiling of the car like the answer might be written somewhere above his head. “Uh … yeah, about that …”

You narrow your eyes. “You don’t know, do you?”

He winces, running a hand through his tousled hair. “Not exactly. I mean, I know I checked into a place, obviously, but I can’t remember the name right now.”

“You can’t remember what hotel you’re staying at?” Your tone is somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

Daniel shrugs, unbothered. “It’s been a long day. Plus, there’s like, a million hotels in Singapore. They all start to blur together.”

You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. “Okay, genius. So how were you planning on getting back?”

“Hadn’t thought that far ahead,” he admits, grinning lazily. Then, the grin fades, and something shifts in his expression — something a little sadder, more raw. “Honestly, even if I did know, I don’t really want to go back there.”

You frown. “Why not?”

He hesitates, eyes flicking to the window as if he can avoid answering by watching the city lights whiz by. After a long pause, he sighs and leans back against the seat, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I got dropped,” he mutters, almost too quietly for you to hear.

“Dropped?” You repeat, confused. “From what?”

“From my team,” he clarifies, his voice a little hoarse. “VCARB. They, uh, decided they didn’t want me around anymore.”

You blink, the realization hitting you like a sudden cold wave. “Oh.”

Daniel doesn’t say anything for a moment, the silence growing heavy. You can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitch slightly as he picks at an invisible thread on his jeans.

“I mean,” he finally continues, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “I kinda saw it coming. Just didn’t think it’d happen this fast, y’know?”

The lightheartedness from earlier is completely gone now, replaced by something darker, something heavier. You can feel the weight of it pressing down on him, the frustration and sadness barely concealed behind his crooked grin.

“I thought I had more time,” he says softly, his voice raw with vulnerability. “But I guess that’s how it goes. One day you’re on top of the world, and the next … well, you’re getting kicked out of nightclubs.”

You stay quiet, unsure of what to say. You weren’t expecting to find yourself in this situation tonight — sitting in the back of a Rolls Royce with a famous F1 driver who just lost his job. And yet, here you are, listening to him spill his heart out in the middle of the night, somewhere between Zouk and wherever he was supposed to go next.

“I just don’t want to be around them right now,” he continues, voice thick. “The team, the people … they’re all pretending to be nice, like it’s just business, but it’s not. It’s my life. My career.”

He shakes his head, letting out a soft, bitter laugh. “And now it’s over. Just like that.”

You let out a sigh, long and heavy. “So, you don’t want to go back to your hotel?”

“Not really,” Daniel mutters, slumping back in his seat.

You stare at him for a second, weighing your options. Your chauffeur is driving aimlessly through the city, waiting for your instructions, and Daniel is sitting here, lost in his own world of disappointment. He looks tired, drained, and you’re not cruel enough to leave him like this.

“Well,” you say, after a beat of silence, “I guess you’re coming with me then.”

Daniel’s head snaps up, his brows furrowing. “Wait, what?”

You glance at him, your voice firm. “You heard me. You can’t remember your hotel, you don’t want to go back even if you could, and I’m not about to leave you wandering around Singapore. So, you’re coming to my place.”

He stares at you, eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and disbelief. “Are you serious?”

You roll your eyes. “Would I say it if I wasn’t?”

For a moment, he looks like he’s about to argue, but then he slumps back in his seat again, exhaling a long, tired breath. “Alright. If you’re sure.”

You nod, already turning to the front of the car. “Take us home,” you tell your chauffeur, who acknowledges the instruction with a curt nod before the car smoothly shifts direction.

Daniel leans his head against the window, eyes heavy. “Thanks,” he mumbles, his voice barely audible. “You really didn’t have to do this.”

You wave it off. “I know.”

A few minutes pass in silence, the soft sound of the tires against the road lulling both of you into a calm quiet. You glance over at Daniel again, noticing how his eyelids are drooping more and more, his head bobbing slightly as he fights to stay awake.

“You look like you’re about to pass out,” you comment, amused.

“M’not,” he protests, but his words are already slurred. “Just … resting my eyes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Sure.”

It doesn’t take long before his breathing evens out, and his head tips to the side, fully succumbing to sleep. You shake your head, watching him for a moment. He looks peaceful like this, the weight of whatever he’s been carrying lifted, if only temporarily.

“Of course,” you mutter to yourself, leaning back in your seat, “this is how my night ends.”

The car pulls up in front of your building — a sleek, modern tower in one of the city’s most exclusive neighborhoods. Your chauffeur steps out first, coming around to open the door for you. You step out gracefully, smoothing your dress, but when you look back into the car, Daniel is still out cold, slumped awkwardly in the seat.

You sigh. “This is not happening.”

Your chauffeur, ever professional, stands at attention, waiting for your next move. You consider your options for a second before glancing at him. “Help me get him inside, will you?”

The chauffeur doesn’t hesitate, nodding curtly. He moves to the other side of the car and carefully opens the door. Together, you manage to maneuver Daniel out of the backseat, his arm draped over the chauffeur’s shoulder as he leans heavily against him. Daniel stirs slightly but doesn’t wake, too deep in sleep to even register what’s happening.

The doorman, recognizing you immediately, rushes over to assist. “Miss Y/L/N,” he says, eyes flicking from you to the unconscious Daniel, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “Is everything alright?”

“It’s fine,” you say quickly, giving him a tight smile. “Just … had a long night.”

The doorman nods, not pressing further, and helps the chauffeur guide Daniel through the lobby and into the elevator. You follow behind, feeling a little ridiculous but knowing there’s no turning back now.

The elevator ride is quiet, save for Daniel’s soft breathing as he leans against the wall, still fast asleep. You glance at him, half-amused, half-exasperated. What a night.

When you finally reach your penthouse, the door slides open smoothly, and the chauffeur and doorman gently ease Daniel onto your plush couch. He sprawls out, looking even more out of place among the sleek, expensive furniture, but you can’t help but chuckle at the sight.

“Thanks,” you tell the men, who nod before excusing themselves quietly, leaving you alone with your unexpected guest.

You stand there for a moment, looking at Daniel as he sleeps soundly on your couch. His shoes are still on, one arm hanging off the side, and his mouth slightly open in a way that’s almost comical. Shaking your head, you grab a blanket from a nearby chair and drape it over him.

“Well, this is definitely not how I thought my night would go,” you mutter to yourself, standing back and crossing your arms as you look at him one last time.

With a sigh, you turn and head toward your bedroom, already mentally preparing for the chaos tomorrow is likely to bring.

***

You’re in the middle of a dream when you hear it — the unmistakable sound of your mother’s voice. Loud, sharp, and utterly out of place in the peaceful silence of your penthouse. Your eyes snap open, heart pounding in your chest as you try to piece together why in the world she would be here, at this ungodly hour.

And then you hear it. A scream.

“Who is this man?”

Your stomach drops, the reality of last night hitting you like a freight train. Daniel. He’s still here. Passed out on your couch. And now, your very traditional mother is standing in your living room, probably about to have a heart attack.

You scramble out of bed, nearly tripping over yourself as you rush toward the living room. You can already hear her ranting, a mix of shock and outrage in her voice, and you don’t even have time to think before you’re standing in front of her, trying to calm the situation down.

“Mum!” You blurt out, trying to sound casual, like this isn’t the absolute disaster it clearly is. “What are you doing here?”

Your mother’s eyes are wide, her perfectly manicured hand pressed dramatically against her chest as she stares down at Daniel, who’s still blissfully unconscious, mouth slightly open, one arm dangling off the edge of the couch.

“I could ask you the same thing!” She snaps, her voice rising with every word. “Why is there a man sleeping in your living room? And why-” she leans in, eyes narrowing, “does he look like he’s been out drinking all night?”

Your mind races, panic bubbling up as you try to figure out what to say, what kind of excuse would possibly explain this. And then, without even thinking, the words tumble out of your mouth.

“He’s … he’s my boyfriend.”

The second the lie leaves your lips, you know it’s a terrible idea. But it’s too late now. Your mother freezes, her eyes narrowing suspiciously as she looks between you and Daniel. “Your … boyfriend?” She repeats, her tone incredulous.

You nod, forcing a tight smile, praying that Daniel stays asleep long enough for you to get through this. “Yes. My boyfriend.”

Your mother looks like she’s about to faint. “And you didn’t tell me? You-”

“I was going to!” you interrupt quickly. “But it’s … it’s new. Very new. I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure.”

She crosses her arms, still clearly not buying it. “And this is how you introduce him to your mother? Drunk and passed out in your living room?”

“He’s not drunk,” you say quickly, even though that’s obviously a lie. “He’s … uh, just really tired. He’s been going through a lot lately.”

At that moment, you hear a groan from the couch. You glance over, heart sinking as Daniel stirs, slowly blinking awake. His face is pale, and the second he opens his eyes, you can see the hangover written all over him.

“Wh-” Daniel starts, voice groggy as he sits up, rubbing a hand over his face. “Where …”

Your mother’s eyes widen, and she turns to you, her expression one of absolute horror. “This is him?” She whispers, like you’ve just committed some kind of unspeakable crime.

You give her a weak smile. “Yes. Mum, this is Daniel.”

Daniel’s head snaps up at the sound of his name, his bleary eyes trying to make sense of the situation. He looks at you, confused, and you give him a pointed look, willing him to just go along with it.

"Daniel," you say through gritted teeth, “this is my mother. Remember? I told you she might stop by.”

Daniel blinks at you, his brow furrowed in confusion. It takes a second, but you can practically see the gears turning in his brain as he tries to process what’s happening. Finally, he nods slowly, trying to catch up. “Right. Your mum. Uh, hi.”

Your mother stares at him, unimpressed. “Are you alright?” She asks, her voice cold and judgmental.

Daniel, still clearly half-asleep and in the throes of a wicked hangover, gives her a shaky smile. “Yeah, just … didn’t sleep great,” he mumbles, leaning back into the couch.

You wince internally, but keep up the act. “He’s been working so hard lately,” you say quickly, hoping to smooth things over. “With his job and everything.”

Your mother’s eyes narrow further. “And what does he do, exactly?”

Daniel glances at you, panic flickering in his eyes, clearly not prepared for this interrogation. You jump in before he can make things worse.

“He’s … in sports,” you say vaguely. “He’s an athlete.”

Your mother’s gaze doesn’t soften in the slightest. “What kind of athlete?”

You feel Daniel’s eyes on you, pleading silently for help. “Formula 1,” you say quickly. “He’s a Formula 1 driver.”

Your mother blinks, taken aback by this revelation. “A race car driver?” She repeats, like it’s the most absurd thing she’s ever heard. “That’s … interesting.”

You can tell she’s not impressed, but at least it’s bought you a little time. You just need to get through this without her prying too much further.

“I promise, Mum, Daniel’s a good guy,” you say, trying to sound convincing. “He just … had a rough night. That’s all.”

Your mother’s gaze flicks between you and Daniel, suspicion still heavy in her eyes. “And where did he sleep?”

You freeze. “Uh …”

Daniel, finally catching on to what’s happening, sits up a little straighter. “I slept here,” he says quickly, gesturing to the couch. “On the couch. I didn’t … you know …”

He trails off, looking at your mother awkwardly, but the message is clear.

Your mother’s eyebrows shoot up, surprised by his admission. “You didn’t share a bed?”

You shake your head vigorously. “No, Mum. We didn’t share a bed. We’re not married, remember?”

For the first time since she walked in, your mother seems to relax a little, her rigid posture softening just a bit. “Well,” she says, sounding somewhat mollified, “at least he has some morals.”

You breathe a silent sigh of relief, nodding along. “Exactly. Daniel’s … very respectful.”

Daniel gives a small, awkward smile, clearly still trying to wrap his head around the situation. “Uh, yeah. Very … respectful.”

Your mother studies him for a moment longer, then nods, satisfied. “Well, I suppose it could be worse.”

You almost laugh at that but manage to keep a straight face. “Right.”

There’s a brief pause as your mother smooths down her dress, glancing around the penthouse like she’s looking for something to criticize. Then, her eyes land back on you, and she smiles — one of those deceptively sweet smiles that always makes you nervous.

“Well,” she says brightly, “since I’m here, I’d love to get to know Daniel a bit better. Why don’t you two join me for dinner tonight?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Dinner? Tonight?”

Your mother nods, clearly not taking no for an answer. “Yes. I think it’s high time I meet this boyfriend of yours properly.”

You glance at Daniel, who’s looking at you with wide, slightly panicked eyes. You can tell he’s regretting every decision that led him to this moment, but there’s no way out now. You’re both trapped.

“Uh, sure,” you say weakly. “We’d love to.”

Your mother beams, clearly pleased with herself. “Wonderful! I’ll have my assistant call to make the reservation. Seven o’clock sharp. You know where. Don’t be late.”

Before you can respond, she’s already turning on her heel, heading toward the door with a satisfied smile on her face. “I’ll see you both tonight,” she calls over her shoulder as she exits, leaving you standing there in stunned silence.

The door clicks shut, and the room is suddenly, blissfully quiet.

You turn to Daniel, who’s staring at you, still half-dazed from sleep and now fully confused about what just happened.

“Boyfriend?” He croaks, his voice rough from the hangover.

You let out a long, exasperated sigh, rubbing your temples. “I panicked.”

He groans, flopping back onto the couch. “Dinner with your mum? Really?”

“Yes. And if you don’t play along, I’m pretty sure she’ll disown me.”

Daniel chuckles weakly, rubbing his temples. “Great. Just great.”

You stare at him for a moment, then flop down next to him on the couch, letting your head fall back against the cushions. “This is a disaster.”

“Eh,” Daniel mutters, eyes closed. “Could be worse.”

You shoot him a look. “How?”

He cracks one eye open, grinning. “At least I didn’t throw up on her.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “That’s not funny.”

But when you look up, you can’t help but laugh, because as ridiculous as this entire situation is, somehow, in the madness of it all, you know tonight is going to be even worse.

***

Dinner is already awkward. You can feel the tension every time your mother glances at Daniel, her polite smile not quite reaching her eyes. It’s a small, exclusive restaurant, the kind of place where the waiters wear gloves, and the courses are tiny but outrageously expensive. The chef is renowned for his traditional yet experimental take on Singaporean cuisine, which is perfect because your mother insists on a display of sophistication when it comes to hosting. Unfortunately, that also means the pressure on Daniel is palpable.

Daniel sits across from you, trying to look comfortable, though his hand is constantly fiddling with his napkin under the table. Your mother, seated beside him, is maintaining her usual air of grace, but you can see she’s sizing him up, scrutinizing every bite, every word. And you … you’re just trying to survive.

“So, Daniel,” your mother begins, swirling her wine like a seasoned critic, “what are your long-term plans? With your career, I mean.”

Daniel freezes with his fork halfway to his mouth, the question clearly catching him off guard. He clears his throat, scrambling to find an answer that sounds impressive. “Well, uh, things are a bit … in flux right now,” he says, offering a weak smile. “But I’m working on it.”

Your mother arches an eyebrow. “In flux? That doesn’t sound very … stable.”

You kick Daniel lightly under the table, silently willing him to come up with something better than “in flux.” He glances at you for help, but you just widen your eyes, urging him to recover.

“Yeah, well,” Daniel says, trying to salvage the conversation, “I’ve been racing for a while, you know? Formula 1. It’s a pretty high-pressure job, so … I’m considering my next move carefully.”

Your mother makes a noncommittal hum, clearly unimpressed. “I see.”

You want to sink into the floor.

“I’m going to excuse myself for a moment,” you say quickly, standing from the table. “I’ll be right back.”

Daniel gives you a look that screams *don’t leave me alone with her*, but there’s no way around it. You shoot him an apologetic smile before making your way toward the restroom, leaving him to fend for himself.

As soon as you’re gone, the silence at the table becomes almost deafening. Daniel shifts uncomfortably in his seat, glancing around the room as if he’s suddenly forgotten how to act normal. He’s about to reach for his water glass when he notices your mother watching him closely.

“So,” she says, her tone unnervingly calm, “Daniel.”

He straightens up, unsure if he should be relieved or terrified that she’s addressing him directly. “Yes, ma’am?”

“I think we should speak candidly, don’t you?” She says, her voice as smooth as silk but with an edge that makes Daniel’s skin crawl. She reaches into her handbag, and Daniel feels his stomach lurch with nerves. What’s she going to pull out? A contract? Some kind of questionnaire?

What she pulls out, however, is much worse.

It’s a small, velvet box. A ring box.

Daniel’s heart stops. His eyes widen as he stares at the box, his mind spinning, trying to make sense of what’s happening.

Your mother places the box delicately in front of him, her expression serene, like she’s offering him a cup of tea rather than a proposal-sized bombshell. “I’ve been waiting for Y/N to bring home a boy for quite some time,” she says, her voice soft but pointed. “And now that she has … well, I can’t let this moment pass.”

Daniel opens and closes his mouth, but no words come out. He’s too stunned to respond, completely blindsided by this sudden turn of events.

Your mother’s eyes gleam, and she leans in slightly, lowering her voice as if she’s sharing a secret. “Of course, I would have preferred if you were Singaporean,” she continues, her tone just a touch sharper, “but I’m not getting any younger, and I want grandchildren. So, we can’t be picky, can we?”

Daniel’s mind goes blank. He tries to form a coherent thought, a response, anything, but all that comes out is a strangled, “I … uh …”

Your mother regards him with the same calm, calculating gaze she’s had since the start of dinner, as though this entire interaction is completely normal. “You’ll do,” she says simply, and there’s a finality in her tone that makes it clear this isn’t up for debate.

Daniel stares at the ring box, his brain short-circuiting. Is this really happening? He glances around the restaurant, half-expecting someone to jump out and tell him it’s all some elaborate prank. But no one does. It’s just him, your mother, and the heavy weight of that velvet box sitting between them.

He’s completely out of his depth. He can’t even think of how to respond to your mother’s words, let alone the fact that she’s just essentially handed him an engagement ring.

“I-” he starts again, but his throat is dry, and nothing coherent follows.

“Daniel,” she interrupts smoothly, her gaze sharpening. “You’re a good man, I can tell. And you’re very … respectful.” The word drips with meaning, making Daniel shift in his seat.

Before he can stammer out anything in return, the restroom door swings open, and you reappear, walking back toward the table, blissfully unaware of the bomb that’s just been dropped.

Daniel panics. His mind races as you approach, and without thinking, he snatches the ring box off the table, slipping it into his jacket pocket in one swift movement. His heart is racing, his palms suddenly sweaty, but he tries to keep his expression neutral.

“Everything alright?” You ask, sliding back into your seat, oblivious to the tension radiating from both Daniel and your mother.

Daniel clears his throat, forcing a tight smile. “Yep. All good.”

Your mother smiles pleasantly, folding her hands in her lap. “Oh, we were just having a lovely little chat.”

You look between them suspiciously, but there’s no sign of the chaos that just occurred. Daniel’s poker face is impressive, but you can sense something is off. You raise an eyebrow at him, and he just gives you a strained smile in return.

The rest of dinner is a blur. You try to focus on the conversation, but your mother seems to be on her best behavior, keeping things light and superficial. Daniel is unusually quiet, nodding along and making polite comments when necessary, but there’s something distant about him, like he’s somewhere else entirely.

By the time dessert arrives, you can’t shake the feeling that something happened while you were gone. But Daniel isn’t saying a word, and your mother’s serene expression betrays nothing.

As the waiter clears the last of the plates, your mother dabs at her mouth with her napkin, looking between the two of you with an air of satisfaction. “Well,” she says, standing from the table, “this has been lovely. I’m so glad we could all spend this time together.”

You force a smile, standing as well. “Yes, of course. It was … lovely.”

Daniel stands too, his movements a little stiffer than usual, like he’s trying to keep his hands from shaking. “Thank you for dinner, Mrs. Y/L/N,” he says politely, though his voice is a bit strained.

Your mother gives him one last, long look, then smiles warmly. “Oh, Daniel, you’re always welcome. Anytime.”

With that, she gathers her things and heads for the door, leaving you and Daniel standing there in stunned silence. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, turning to Daniel.

“Well, that wasn’t too bad, was it?” You ask, trying to lighten the mood.

Daniel gives a weak chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah … not too bad.”

You narrow your eyes at him, picking up on the odd tone in his voice. “Are you sure? You’ve been acting weird since I got back to the table.”

He blinks, his hand instinctively brushing the pocket where the ring box is hidden. “Uh, yeah. I’m fine. Just … full. Really full.”

You raise an eyebrow, not entirely convinced, but decide to let it slide for now. “Alright. If you say so.”

As you both head for the door, Daniel’s mind is still racing, the weight of the ring box burning a hole in his pocket. He has no idea what to do with it, or what your mother expects from him, but one thing is for sure — he’s in way over his head.

And he’s not sure how much longer he can keep pretending.

***

Back at your penthouse, the atmosphere feels … tense. Not the sort of charged tension from earlier, but something more fragile, awkward. The kind that makes everything feel a bit too quiet, like the air is too thick with things unsaid. You and Daniel are sitting on opposite ends of the plush couch in your living room. It’s not that big of a couch, but the distance feels enormous.

Daniel is fidgeting, running a hand through his hair, tapping his fingers on his knee. You’re sitting with your arms crossed, staring at him, waiting. But waiting for what, exactly? Neither of you knows. The silence stretches between you both, and it’s unbearable. Every breath feels louder than it should.

“Uh …” Daniel finally starts, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly trying to find something — anything — to say. But nothing seems right, so he just ends up staring back at you, eyes darting around like he’s looking for a way out.

You, on the other hand, are unusually still, your eyes narrowed at him. It’s like you’re waiting for him to make the first move, but he’s not catching on. Not yet.

Daniel swallows hard, and after a moment of hesitation, his hand moves toward his jacket pocket. Your eyes flick to the motion, and his fingers tremble slightly as they close around the velvet box, pulling it out with an awkward kind of determination, as if it’s weighing him down more than anything. He holds it for a second, staring at it like it’s a puzzle he can’t solve.

Then, with a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, he opens the box.

The soft click of the hinge seems impossibly loud in the room, and for a moment, all you can do is stare. The ring glimmers under the soft lighting, catching the faintest reflection of the overhead chandelier. It’s not just any ring. You recognize it immediately.

And then, as if someone flipped a switch, you start laughing.

Daniel’s eyes snap to you in confusion, his brows furrowing. “What … what’s so funny?”

You’re still giggling, pressing your hand to your mouth to muffle the sound, but it doesn’t work. The laughter bubbles up uncontrollably, and Daniel looks like he’s caught between being relieved that you’re not mad and completely baffled by your reaction.

“You-” you manage between breaths, “That ring … that’s my grandmother’s. Oh my God, she’s really lost it.”

Daniel blinks, glancing down at the ring again, his confusion only deepening. “Wait, what?”

“My mother,” you say, wiping a tear from your eye, “She must be really desperate to get me married off if she’s giving out my grandmother’s ring to the first guy I bring to dinner. I can’t believe it.”

Daniel stares at you for a second, then back at the ring. “This is your … grandmother’s?” His voice is shaky, like the absurdity of the situation is just now hitting him.

You nod, biting your lip to stifle another laugh. “Yup. She always said it was meant for the man I’d marry one day. Guess she couldn’t wait any longer.”

Daniel’s face goes through a range of emotions — shock, embarrassment, and finally, something like disbelief. “I … I don’t even know what to say.”

You snicker again, leaning back against the couch and crossing your arms. “I think the bigger question here is — why didn’t you say anything to me? Did you just plan on pocketing the ring and hoping I wouldn’t notice?”

Daniel shifts uncomfortably, his cheeks flushing. “I — I didn’t know what to do. Your mom just … handed it to me. I mean, what was I supposed to say? ‘No, thank you, ma’am, I’m not ready for an arranged marriage just yet?’”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. “That might’ve been a good start.”

He opens his mouth to protest, then closes it again, clearly struggling to find a way out of this. Finally, he lets out a defeated sigh and leans back, running both hands through his hair. “This is insane.”

“You think?” You quip, smirking.

Daniel’s gaze drops to the ring again, and there’s a beat of silence before you speak up, this time your tone more playful than mocking. “Well,” you say, drawing out the word, “if you’re gonna propose, you should at least get on one knee. You know, for tradition’s sake.”

Daniel’s head snaps up, eyes wide in disbelief. “What?”

You laugh again, your teasing smile growing. “I mean, come on. If we’re going through with this charade, you might as well go all in. Get down on one knee, Ricciardo.”

He blinks at you, completely at a loss for words. “You’re not serious.”

“Why not?” You shoot back, still grinning. “What’s stopping you? You don’t have a job anymore, so it’s not like you have much else going on. You could always be my trophy husband.”

There’s a flicker of something in Daniel’s eyes — part shock, part amusement, and maybe just a little bit of something else. “Trophy husband?” He echoes, his voice incredulous.

You shrug, leaning forward and resting your chin on your hand, as if the idea were the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah. I mean, think about it. You wouldn’t have to work, I’d take care of you. You could just … exist. Isn’t that every guy’s dream?”

Daniel laughs — an actual laugh this time, though it’s tinged with disbelief. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

You grin. “Maybe. But I’m also not wrong.”

For a moment, the room is quiet again, but it’s not the awkward silence from before. This is something lighter, filled with the remnants of laughter and the weight of an unspoken understanding. Daniel is still holding the ring box, his thumb absently running over the velvet surface as he processes everything that’s just happened.

And then, because clearly, the universe hasn’t thrown enough chaos at him lately, Daniel does something that surprises both of you.

He nods.

It’s a small, hesitant nod at first, like he’s not even sure he’s agreeing to anything real. But then he meets your gaze, and there’s a flicker of something — maybe exhaustion, maybe delirium, maybe just the sheer absurdity of it all — and he nods again. This time, more certain.

“Alright,” he says quietly, still staring at the ring. “Okay.”

You freeze, blinking at him in surprise. “Wait … what?”

Daniel looks up at you, his expression unreadable but calm. “I said … okay. Let’s do it.”

For the first time tonight, you’re the one who’s caught off guard. “You’re joking.”

He shakes his head slowly, his lips quirking into a half-smile. “Nope.”

You sit up straighter, suddenly unsure whether you’re still in the middle of some elaborate joke or if the reality of the past few days has finally broken Daniel’s sense of logic. “You — wait, seriously? You’d marry me?”

Daniel shrugs, though there’s a glimmer of humor in his eyes now. “I mean, like you said … I don’t have a job anymore. And hey, being a trophy husband doesn’t sound half bad.”

You stare at him, searching his face for any sign of a punchline. But the longer you look, the more you realize he’s not kidding. He’s serious. Or as serious as someone in his situation can be.

A beat passes. Then another.

And suddenly, you burst into laughter again.

“God, you’re insane,” you say, shaking your head in disbelief. “This whole thing is insane.”

Daniel grins, leaning back into the couch with a relieved sigh, as if your laughter has lifted the tension from the room entirely. “Welcome to my life.”

You shake your head again, still chuckling, though there’s something warm and strange growing in your chest. “I can’t believe I’m even considering this.”

Daniel glances at the ring one more time before closing the box with a soft click and slipping it back into his pocket. “Hey,” he says, his voice softer now, “if nothing else, at least we’ll give your mother something to talk about at her next dinner party.”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Oh, she’ll have a field day.”

For a moment, the two of you just sit there, side by side on the couch, the absurdity of the night finally settling over you both. It’s ridiculous, completely irrational, and yet somehow, in this moment, it feels … right.

Daniel nudges you with his elbow, breaking the silence. “So … when’s the wedding?”

You groan, but you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Daniel chuckles, leaning back into the cushions, finally starting to relax. “Yeah. One step at a time.”

But even as you say it, you can’t shake the feeling that this strange, accidental engagement is just the beginning of something even more complicated.

And maybe you’re okay with that.

***

You come home the next afternoon, practically skipping into the penthouse, your eyes sparkling with excitement. The energy around you is contagious, and even Daniel, who’s lounging on the couch with a glass of water — probably trying to recover from the whirlwind of the past few days — can’t help but smile at your entrance.

“You look … happy,” Daniel says, a slow grin spreading across his face. “What did I miss?”

You clap your hands together like an excited child, barely containing your glee. “I got you something.”

Daniel’s smile falters for a moment, confusion flickering in his eyes. “Wait, what? You got me something?” He straightens up on the couch, his brows furrowing. “You really didn’t have to do that-”

“Shush.” You wave a hand at him, cutting him off before he can protest further. “I wanted to. Trust me, you’re going to love it.”

Daniel chuckles, though there’s a nervous edge to his voice. “Alright, alright. What is it then? A new watch? Shoes?” He pauses, glancing at you skeptically. “Wait, is it another one of your mum’s rings?”

You shake your head, grinning like you’ve just pulled off the best surprise in the world. “Nope. Guess again.”

He raises an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “Okay … well, whatever it is, I’m sure it’s great but-”

“I bought Red Bull Racing.”

For a second, it’s like the words don’t register. Daniel blinks at you, his expression blank as his brain tries to process what you just said. There’s a long beat of silence before his mouth finally drops open in disbelief.

“You … you what?”

Your grin widens. “I bought Red Bull Racing. You know, the Formula 1 team? Your old team?” You say it so casually, like you’re talking about picking up a pair of shoes or booking a vacation.

Daniel’s jaw is still hanging open. “You — wait — are you serious?” He’s half laughing now, like he’s trying to figure out if this is some kind of joke. But the look on your face — pure, unfiltered joy — tells him you’re very, very serious.

“Yup!” You say, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis. “Apparently, if you offer double what a team is worth, the owners tend to sell pretty quickly. Who knew?”

Daniel stares at you, completely slack-jawed, like you’ve just told him you bought a small country. “You … bought Red Bull Racing?” His voice cracks a little as he repeats it, as if saying it out loud will make it more real.

You nod, your smile never faltering. “Yup. Just closed the deal this morning.”

“Jesus Christ.” Daniel runs a hand through his hair, looking like he might faint. “Are you insane?”

“Maybe a little,” you admit with a playful shrug. “But it’s an engagement gift, you know? Gotta keep things exciting.”

Daniel lets out a breathless laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “I … I don’t even know what to say. That’s — this is crazy.”

“I know,” you say, beaming. “But crazy is kind of our thing, isn’t it?”

He laughs again, though it’s still a little shaky. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

There’s a pause as Daniel tries to wrap his head around the fact that you, his new fiancée, just bought one of the most successful teams in Formula 1. He stares at you for a moment longer, then blinks, rubbing his temples like he’s getting a headache. “I … I don’t even know where to start. What does that even mean? You’re gonna be the new team owner?”

“Pretty much,” you say, like it’s no big deal. “And I’m planning to do a bit of restructuring. You know, make some changes, shake things up.”

Daniel gives you a skeptical look. “Restructuring? What kind of changes?”

“Well …” You tap your chin, pretending to think about it. “First of all, I figured I’d ask if there’s anyone you’d like me to keep around. I mean, it’s your engagement gift, after all. I want you to be happy with the team.”

Daniel snorts, shaking his head. “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.”

You lean closer, your eyes gleaming mischievously. “And I assume you’ll want me to keep your boyfriend, right?”

Daniel freezes, blinking at you in confusion. “My … boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” you say, deadpan. “Max.”

Daniel nearly chokes. “Wait — what?”

You burst out laughing, unable to keep a straight face any longer. “I’m talking about Max Verstappen! Don’t act so surprised.”

Daniel’s face flushes a deep red, and he shakes his head, exasperated. “We’re not — he’s not my — Jesus, you’re impossible.”

You pat his head, still laughing. “Sure, he’s not. Whatever you say.”

Daniel groans, covering his face with his hands. “Oh my God.”

You sit back, grinning at him. “So, do you want me to keep him or not?”

He lowers his hands, shooting you a look that’s half amused, half irritated. “Obviously, you keep him. He’s the best driver on the grid.”

You nod, pretending to jot down notes in the air. “Okay, so keep Max. Got it.”

Daniel leans back against the couch, staring at you like he still can’t believe this is real. “I can’t believe you just bought a Formula 1 team.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner,” you say with a grin.

Daniel laughs, though it’s tinged with disbelief. “And you’re just … going to be the boss now?”

You shrug. “Why not? It’s not like I haven’t run a business before. Plus, how hard can it be to manage a Formula 1 team?”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “You do realize you’ll be dealing with, like, a whole bunch of egos and drama, right? It’s not just about racing. There’s politics, sponsorships, technical regulations …”

You wave a hand dismissively. “Details, details. I’ll figure it out.”

Daniel shakes his head, still grinning. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And that’s why you like me,” you quip, flashing him a playful wink.

Daniel’s smile softens, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something in his eyes that you can’t quite place. But then he shakes his head again, chuckling. “Yeah, something like that.”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, and Daniel’s gaze drifts back to the ring box still sitting on the coffee table between you. It feels surreal — like the last few days have been one long, crazy dream that neither of you can wake up from. But somehow, despite all the madness, there’s a strange sense of peace settling over the room.

Finally, Daniel breaks the silence with a quiet laugh. “So … when do you get to meet the team?”

You grin. “Soon enough. I’ll introduce you as my fiancé. It’ll be fun to see the look on everyone’s faces.”

Daniel snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll go over well.”

“Oh, come on,” you tease. “You’ll love it. Don’t you like being the center of attention?”

He shoots you a playful glare. “I’m starting to regret this engagement.”

You laugh, leaning back into the couch. “Too late. You’re stuck with me now.”

Daniel chuckles, but there’s a warmth in his eyes as he looks at you. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

***

You and Daniel are curled up together on the plush couch, nestled under a thick blanket, a pint of ice cream balanced between the two of you. The glow of the TV flickers across the room as Crazy Rich Asians plays in the background, the glamorous scenes of Singapore flashing on the screen. You scoop a spoonful of ice cream and pop it into your mouth, your eyes glued to the over-the-top depiction of high society that, to you, feels more like a parody than reality.

“I mean, come on,” you mutter around a mouthful of ice cream, shaking your head. “That’s not how any of this works.”

Daniel glances at you, one eyebrow raised in amusement. “What do you mean? It looks pretty fancy to me.”

You roll your eyes, waving your spoon toward the screen. “Yeah, because all of us crazy rich Asians are just constantly jetting off to private islands in the middle of the week. And, of course, we throw dramatic, lavish parties for every minor inconvenience.”

Daniel grins, leaning back against the couch as he scoops up some ice cream. “I dunno, the whole secret wedding dress thing seemed pretty realistic to me.”

You nudge him playfully with your elbow, laughing. “Please. If anything, that’s understated.”

Daniel chuckles, shaking his head. “Alright, alright, so maybe Hollywood doesn’t exactly nail the rich lifestyle. But it’s entertaining.”

“Entertaining?” You snort, raising an eyebrow. “It’s borderline satire. Half the time, I’m watching these movies like, ‘Are you serious? Who even does that?’”

Daniel laughs again, clearly enjoying your commentary more than the actual movie. “Okay, but admit it, the wedding scene was pretty epic.”

You sigh dramatically. “Fine, I’ll give them that one. The water running down the aisle was a nice touch.”

“See? Even you have to admit there’s some good stuff in there,” Daniel says with a grin, licking his spoon.

You lean back against the couch, settling more comfortably into Daniel’s side as the movie continues to play. The ice cream between you starts to melt slightly, but neither of you seem to care, too caught up in the comfort of the moment. Your head rests on Daniel’s shoulder, and his arm is loosely draped around you.

There’s a comfortable silence between you two for a few minutes, the movie providing a soft background noise as you both watch absently. Then, without looking away from the screen, you break the silence with a casual question.

“Hey, so … do you want to drive for Red Bull next year?”

The question seems to catch Daniel off guard. His hand, mid-way to another scoop of ice cream, freezes in the air. He turns his head slightly to look at you, eyebrows furrowed in thought. He doesn’t say anything at first, and the silence stretches out long enough for you to glance up at him, wondering why he’s taking so long to respond.

“Daniel?” You prompt softly.

He pauses the movie, the room suddenly quiet without the chatter of characters and dramatic music. His face is serious now, a stark contrast to the playful mood from moments before. He places the spoon down in the pint and leans back, exhaling a long breath.

“I don’t know,” he finally says, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

You blink at him, confused. “You don’t know? What do you mean?”

Daniel rubs a hand over his face, looking down at his lap as if the answer is written there somewhere. “I mean, I don’t know if … if I deserve it. That seat.”

There’s a heavy pause as you process his words. The casualness of the evening suddenly feels distant, replaced by something more serious, more vulnerable. You turn slightly, facing him more directly now, your hand reaching out to rest on his knee.

“Why would you say that?” You ask, your voice quiet but firm.

Daniel looks up at you, his expression pained. “I’ve been dropped twice now. McLaren, VCARB … And, honestly, I didn’t do as well as I wanted. As well as they wanted. What if I’m just not cut out for it anymore? Maybe the sport’s moved on, and I haven’t.”

You frown, shaking your head in disbelief. “That’s not true. You’re still an incredible driver.”

Daniel lets out a bitter laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “Incredible? You’ve seen the results. I’m nowhere near where I used to be. And Max? He’s on another level. It’s his team now.”

“Okay, first of all,” you say, your tone shifting into something more assertive, “don’t compare yourself to Max. You’re both amazing in your own ways. And second, this isn’t about what they want, Daniel. It’s about what you want.”

Daniel doesn’t respond right away. He just stares at the frozen image on the TV screen, lost in his thoughts. His jaw is tense, and you can tell he’s grappling with something deeper, something that’s been weighing on him for a long time.

You squeeze his knee gently, your voice softening. “You’ve still got it, Daniel. I know you do. And so does everyone else.”

He glances at you, his eyes searching your face like he’s trying to find some kind of reassurance in your words. “But what if … what if I can’t get back to where I was? What if I’m just holding onto something that’s not there anymore?”

“You’re not,” you say firmly, not missing a beat. “You’ve had a rough few seasons, sure. But that doesn’t mean you’ve lost it. It just means you’ve had setbacks. And if anyone knows how to bounce back, it’s you.”

Daniel still looks unsure, and you can tell there’s a part of him that’s scared — scared of failing again, scared of not living up to the expectations that have been placed on him, both by himself and by others.

You lean in closer, your voice gentle but insistent. “Daniel, you’re one of the best drivers in the world. You’ve proved that time and time again. Red Bull wouldn’t have taken you back if they didn’t believe in you. And I wouldn’t have bought the damn team if I didn’t believe in you either.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of Daniel’s lips at that, though it’s fleeting. He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply. “I just … I don’t know if I’m ready to go back. I don’t know if I can handle it if things go wrong again.”

You nod slowly, understanding the fear behind his words. It’s not just about driving. It’s about the pressure, the weight of expectation, the fear of failure.

“I get that,” you say softly. “But you can’t let fear stop you from doing what you love. You’ve been through a lot, I know. But that doesn’t mean it’s over. You have so much more left to give. And I’ll be there with you, every step of the way.”

Daniel meets your gaze, his eyes softening at your words. For a moment, the vulnerability in his expression is raw, unguarded. Then he reaches out, taking your hand in his, giving it a small squeeze.

“You really think I can do it?” He asks quietly.

You smile, squeezing his hand back. “I know you can.”

Daniel lets out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly as some of the tension seems to drain from him. He looks at you for a long moment, then nods, as if finally coming to terms with something inside himself.

“Alright,” he says, his voice a little steadier now. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” you say with a soft smile.

He leans back into the couch, and you both settle into a comfortable silence again, the tension from earlier slowly fading away. You reach for the remote and unpause the movie, but neither of you are really paying attention to it anymore. Instead, you both sit there, sharing the ice cream, the weight of the conversation lingering in the air but somehow lighter now.

***

The evening is quiet, the city’s hum muted behind the large windows of your penthouse. The movie’s credits are rolling, but neither you nor Daniel has made a move to turn off the TV. Instead, you both sit there, wrapped up in the soft blanket, the nearly empty pint of ice cream abandoned on the coffee table. There’s a sense of calm in the air, but underneath it, you can feel something unspoken, simmering just below the surface.

You glance at Daniel, who’s leaning back into the couch, his gaze distant. He’s still processing, you can tell — about Red Bull, about everything that’s been thrown at him lately. The weight of it all seems heavier in the silence.

After a long moment, you shift slightly, turning your body to face him more directly. “Daniel,” you say softly, your voice breaking the quiet.

He blinks, coming back to the present, and looks at you with a small, tired smile. “Yeah?”

“You’ve said something a lot that I keep thinking about,” you begin, carefully choosing your words. “The whole ‘enjoy the butterflies’ thing. I’ve heard you say it in interviews, but I don’t think I ever really understood what you meant by it.”

Daniel’s smile falters a bit, and he looks away, his expression growing thoughtful. He doesn’t say anything at first, and you can see he’s retreating into his thoughts again, the way he does when he’s trying to figure out how to articulate something that matters to him.

You reach out, placing a hand gently on his arm, coaxing him back to the conversation. “What does it really mean to you? Enjoy the butterflies?”

Daniel takes a deep breath, his fingers fiddling with the edge of the blanket. “It’s … it’s kinda hard to explain,” he says slowly, his accent thicker when he’s being reflective. “It’s not just about racing, you know? It’s more about the feeling — the nerves, the excitement, the anticipation. All those little moments that make your stomach flip.”

He pauses, glancing at you as if gauging whether you’re following. You nod, encouraging him to continue.

“I think,” he says, his voice quieter now, “for the longest time, I used to hate that feeling. The butterflies. It always made me feel … unsure. Like, am I good enough? Am I ready? Every time I’d get in the car, no matter how many times I’d done it before, I’d still feel that little twinge of anxiety. And for a while, I thought it was a bad thing.”

You listen intently, your eyes never leaving his face as he speaks. There’s something raw and real in his words, a vulnerability that you don’t often see in him.

“But then, I don’t know,” he continues, “at some point, I started to see it differently. Like, maybe those butterflies aren’t a sign of weakness. Maybe they’re a sign that you’re doing something that matters. That you’re alive. That you care.”

You nod slowly, your hand still resting on his arm. “That makes sense.”

Daniel meets your gaze again, his eyes softening. “Yeah. So now, when I feel the butterflies, I try to embrace it, you know? Instead of fighting it. Because if you’re not nervous, if you don’t feel anything, then what’s the point?”

You lean back slightly, absorbing his words. There’s a quiet wisdom in what he’s saying, a reminder that life’s most meaningful moments are often the ones that scare us the most. You think about how that applies to you — not just in your relationship with Daniel, but in everything. The choices you’ve made, the risks you’ve taken, the moments when you’ve doubted yourself. Maybe those butterflies are a part of the journey, too.

“I get that,” you say softly, nodding. “But … do you still feel them? After all this time?”

Daniel smiles, but it’s tinged with something bittersweet. “Every single time.”

You look at him for a long moment, the weight of his honesty settling between you. There’s something comforting in knowing that even someone like Daniel — someone who’s faced so many high-pressure moments, who’s been at the top of his game — still feels that same uncertainty, that same flutter of nerves.

“But now,” he adds, his voice softening even more, “I think the butterflies aren’t just about fear. They’re about excitement, too. Like, yeah, maybe I’m nervous, but I’m also excited because it means I still care. I still love what I do, even when it’s hard.”

You smile gently, your hand giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “That’s beautiful, Daniel. Really.”

He chuckles lightly, looking almost embarrassed by the compliment. “I don’t know about beautiful, but it helps me get through the tough days.”

There’s a pause, and you can feel the conversation shifting into something deeper, something more personal. You take a breath, feeling the moment settling between you like a quiet pulse.

“Do you ever get tired of it, though?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “The butterflies, the pressure, the weight of it all?”

Daniel tilts his head back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. He doesn’t answer right away, but when he does, his voice is tinged with a kind of quiet resignation. “Yeah. Sometimes. Sometimes it feels like too much, like it’s all building up and I just … don’t know how to keep going.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you’re not sure how to respond. You’ve seen Daniel at his best, but you’ve also seen him at his lowest. The moments when he’s struggled, when he’s doubted himself. And yet, through it all, he’s always managed to push through. To keep going.

“But,” he continues after a beat, his voice soft but steady, “those moments don’t last forever. And when they pass, when I’m back in the car, or when I’ve crossed the finish line, it’s like … I remember why I do it. Why I love it.”

You watch him closely, your heart swelling with both admiration and empathy. “You’re stronger than you think, Daniel.”

He glances at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just stubborn.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I think it’s a little bit of both.”

Daniel grins at that, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He shifts on the couch, turning more toward you, his hand reaching out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. There’s a softness in his touch, a quiet intimacy that makes your heart skip a beat.

“You know,” he says quietly, “you’ve got your own butterflies too. I’ve seen them.”

You raise an eyebrow, slightly surprised. “Oh, really?”

Daniel nods, his eyes locking onto yours. “Yeah. Whenever you’re about to make a big decision or when something’s stressing you out. You get this look in your eyes, like you’re bracing yourself for something.”

You blink, taken aback by his observation. “I didn’t realize you noticed.”

He smiles gently. “I notice a lot about you.”

The room falls into a comfortable silence again, the weight of the conversation hanging in the air like a shared secret. You can feel your heart beating a little faster, the warmth of Daniel’s words wrapping around you like a blanket.

“Do you ever wish the butterflies would go away?” You ask after a moment, your voice soft.

Daniel shakes his head slowly. “No. I don’t think I do. Because if they did, that would mean I’ve stopped caring. And I don’t ever want to stop caring.”

You nod, understanding now in a way you didn’t before. The butterflies aren’t something to fear — they’re a reminder that you’re alive, that you’re still passionate, that you’re still fighting for what matters.

You smile softly, leaning in closer to him. “I think I’ll try to enjoy the butterflies a little more.”

Daniel smiles back, his hand gently resting on your cheek. “Good. You should.”

And for the first time in a long time, you feel a sense of peace settle over you — a quiet understanding that, no matter what happens next, you’ll face it with open hearts and, yes, even a few butterflies.

***

The Red Bull Racing factory is a hive of quiet activity. The entire team, from mechanics to engineers, marketing staff to the senior management, stands gathered in a large meeting room just off the factory floor. Whispers ripple through the crowd, conversations hushed and speculative. It’s unusual to have the entire team assembled like this — especially during the off-season.

But today is different. They’ve been told that the team’s new owner will be making her first official appearance, and no one knows what to expect.

The announcement of Red Bull Racing’s sale had come out of nowhere, a shock to everyone. No one knew who the buyer was, only that it was someone with enough money to pull off the purchase in record time. The rumors had flown, the speculation mounting over the past few weeks, but nothing concrete had leaked. All they knew was that something big was coming. Something — someone — new.

The murmur of voices grows louder as the minutes tick by. Eyes dart toward the doors at the far end of the room, the anticipation palpable. Then, the doors swing open.

You walk in, a vision of confidence, head held high. The noise in the room instantly dies down, replaced by the stunned silence of dozens of pairs of eyes turning in your direction. Beside you, Daniel walks in, his hands casually tucked into his pockets, a familiar but unusual sight for the Red Bull team.

The shock is immediate, rippling through the room like a wave. Everyone stares, first at you, then at Daniel, as if trying to piece together how any of this makes sense. The whispers start up again, but you don’t let it faze you. Instead, you step forward with a wide, almost mischievous smile on your face.

“Good morning, everyone!” You greet them brightly, clapping your hands once, the sound echoing in the room. “I’m sure most of you have heard by now, but allow me to introduce myself formally. I’m your new boss.”

You pause, letting the statement sink in as the team stares at you in stunned silence. “My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and I’m thrilled to be taking over as the owner of Red Bull Racing.”

There’s a beat of silence, the team processing the bombshell, before a smattering of hesitant applause starts. You nod, acknowledging the claps, but there’s still a palpable tension in the room. You know they’re still confused, still reeling from the surprise. You’re not done yet.

“And I have one more introduction to make,” you say, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You glance over at Daniel, who’s standing beside you, a little less sure of himself than usual but still flashing that signature Ricciardo smile. “This is my fiancé, Daniel Ricciardo.”

The room gasps. The shock is real this time, murmurs breaking out instantly among the team. Fiancé? Some people turn to each other, others crane their necks to get a better look at Daniel. The whispers intensify, but you continue as if none of it fazes you.

“And I have some exciting news for all of you today,” you say, your voice cutting through the growing chatter. You step forward again, your gaze sweeping across the room. “With the team being restructured, and with Sergio Perez deciding to take some time away from the sport to be with his family …” You pause, letting that hang for a moment, watching the confusion bloom on their faces. “I’m thrilled to announce that Daniel will be returning to Red Bull Racing as a driver next season.”

The room falls completely silent again, a collective intake of breath. For a long moment, no one says a word. Then, as if on cue, someone begins clapping. It’s slow at first, hesitant, but then others join in, and soon the room is filled with applause. The realization starts to settle in.

Daniel Ricciardo — back at Red Bull.

You glance at Daniel, and his eyes meet yours. For a second, you see the flicker of uncertainty in them, the weight of everything hanging in the air. But then, as the applause grows, you see the shift — the spark of confidence returning to him, the slow curve of a genuine smile spreading across his face.

Daniel steps forward, raising a hand to quiet the crowd, but they don’t stop clapping for several more seconds. Finally, the noise dies down enough for him to speak.

“Wow, uh … thanks for that,” Daniel begins, clearly taken aback by the reaction. He rubs the back of his neck, his grin widening as he takes in the faces of the people who, not so long ago, had been his team. “I’ve gotta admit, it feels pretty good to be standing here again.”

A few people in the crowd chuckle, a ripple of warmth spreading through the room.

“I know it’s been a strange few years,” Daniel continues, his voice more serious now. “There were times when I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get back to this place. But when Y/N came into my life, well, let’s just say she’s good at making the impossible happen.” He glances at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of admiration and affection, and you feel your heart flutter in response.

The room watches this exchange, enraptured. There’s something surreal about seeing Daniel Ricciardo, a former Red Bull driver, now standing next to the team’s new owner — his fiancée, no less. It’s a lot for them to process.

Daniel turns back to the team, his expression softening as he addresses them. “This place has always been special to me,” he says quietly. “I’ve had some of my best moments in my career here, and I’m so grateful for the chance to come back and create more memories with you all. I know it’s not going to be easy, and I’ve got a lot to prove. But I’m ready. I’m ready to give everything I’ve got.”

The room bursts into applause again, louder this time, more genuine. The team members seem to be warming up to the idea now, their initial shock replaced by excitement. A few of the senior engineers, who had been with the team during Daniel’s previous stint, exchange nods of approval. There’s a growing sense of anticipation, the mood in the room shifting.

You watch Daniel as he steps back, the energy of the moment clearly lifting him. He catches your eye again, and for a brief moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you in the room. His smile is softer now, more private, meant just for you. You feel a surge of warmth, the bond between you solidifying even more in this shared experience.

Then, clearing your throat, you step forward again, reclaiming the attention of the room. “Now, I know this is a lot to take in,” you say, your tone playful. “But don’t worry. Daniel and I aren’t here to shake things up too much … unless we need to.” A few chuckles ripple through the room at that. “We’re committed to making sure this team remains at the top of the sport. And we’re going to do whatever it takes to get there.”

The applause comes again, more enthusiastic this time. You can feel the room shifting from shock to acceptance, and even a little excitement. The Red Bull team is known for its resilience, for thriving in the face of challenges, and this is no different.

As the clapping fades, one of the senior team members — a man with graying hair and a knowing smile — steps forward. He glances between you and Daniel, then says, “Well, if Daniel’s back, I guess we better start preparing for some shoeys.”

The room bursts into laughter, and even Daniel can’t help but laugh along with them, shaking his head. “You better believe it,” he says with a grin.

Slowly, the group begins to disperse, people heading back to their workstations, some still murmuring excitedly about the news. You catch snippets of conversation — mentions of Daniel’s return, your surprising entrance, and speculation about what’s next for the team.

As the room clears, Daniel turns to you, his expression soft. “You’re really something, you know that?”

You smile at him, feeling the weight of the moment settle around you. “It’s just the beginning,” you say, your voice filled with determination. “We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”

Daniel grins, reaching for your hand. “Yeah, but I think we’re gonna be just fine.”

You squeeze his hand, your heart swelling with excitement and love. Together, you’ve just taken the first step into a new chapter — one filled with challenges, risks, and plenty of butterflies. But you know, with Daniel by your side, there’s nothing you can’t handle.

And as you leave the factory hand in hand, the future stretches out before you — unknown, thrilling, and entirely yours to shape.

***

The roars from the Melbourne crowd reverberate through the air as the final lap of the Australian Grand Prix begins. The cameras lock onto Daniel’s Red Bull, the #3 flashing as it leads the pack by several seconds. The circuit is electric, and the commentators can barely contain themselves.

“Here we are on the final lap,” David Croft’s voice crackles through the Sky Sports broadcast, almost trembling with excitement. “Daniel Ricciardo, the hometown hero, is this close to claiming his ninth career win — and his first ever win here in Australia. You can hear the crowd, the energy in the air — it’s absolutely incredible!”

Beside him, Martin Brundle jumps in, his tone equal parts admiration and disbelief. “This is what the fans have been waiting for, for years. After everything Daniel’s been through — leaving Red Bull, bouncing between teams, and now back with Red Bull and at the front of the grid — this will be a monumental moment, not just for Daniel, but for every Australian who’s dreamed of seeing him on the top step here.”

The camera flickers briefly to the Red Bull garage. You’re standing at the front, practically on your toes as you watch the live feed with bated breath, every nerve in your body tense with anticipation. You’re surrounded by engineers, mechanics, and team members, but it’s clear that all eyes in the garage are on you. The new team owner, the mastermind behind Daniel’s return to the team. And now, you’re witnessing the culmination of it all.

“Look at that,” Brundle says as the camera focuses on you. “There’s Daniel’s fiancée and the new team owner, Y/N Y/L/N. You’ve got to imagine what this moment means for her too, after buying the team and making the bold decision to bring Daniel back. She’s been nothing short of instrumental in this comeback.”

Crofty’s voice grows louder as Daniel approaches the final few corners. “And here he comes now, through Turn 13, a perfect line through there — keeping it clean. The crowd is going wild, and you can see why! He’s a few corners away from victory, from making history on home soil.”

As the camera switches back to the track, Daniel’s race engineer comes over the radio, his voice steady but filled with excitement.

“Alright, mate. Just bring it home now. One more corner. You’ve got this.”

There’s a brief pause before Daniel’s reply crackles over the airwaves, his voice barely containing his elation. “I’ve got it, mate! I’ve bloody got it!”

The Red Bull flies around the final corner, the engine roaring, and Daniel rockets down the straight toward the checkered flag. The crowd’s roar is deafening as he crosses the line.

“And there it is! Daniel Ricciardo wins the Australian Grand Prix!” Crofty yells, his voice barely audible over the roaring fans. “His ninth career win — and what a win it is! His first win here in Australia, and you can just feel how much this means to him and the crowd!”

The camera immediately cuts back to you, your face a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming joy. You’re laughing, hands clasped over your mouth as the enormity of the moment sinks in. The entire Red Bull garage erupts into cheers, people hugging and high-fiving all around you, but you’re frozen for a moment, just soaking in the euphoria of the victory.

“Look at her reaction!” Brundle says with a chuckle. “You can tell just how much this moment means to the team owner. It’s not just a win for Daniel — it’s a win for them. What a partnership!”

The scene cuts to Daniel inside the cockpit, raising his fists in victory as he slows the car on the cool-down lap. His voice comes over the radio again, almost breathless.

“YEEEEES! Let’s go! Oh my god, we did it! We actually did it!” Daniel shouts, his voice cracking with emotion.

“Mate, you’re a race winner in Australia!” His race engineer’s voice is filled with pride. “Take it in, soak it all in. This is your moment.”

“I’ve waited so long for this …” Daniel’s voice is quieter now, more introspective. “Thank you, everyone. This is unbelievable.”

As he makes his way around the track on the cool-down lap, the camera follows him, showing the thousands of fans on their feet, waving Australian flags and cheering for their hero. It’s an emotional scene, the kind that will go down in F1 history. The commentators fall silent for a moment, letting the raw emotion of the moment speak for itself.

Finally, Crofty breaks the silence. “Daniel Ricciardo has just made history. He’s become the first Australian driver to win here in Melbourne in front of his home crowd, and you can just see how much this means — not just to him, but to every fan in the stands.”

Daniel pulls into parc fermé, his car screeching to a halt under the massive “P1” sign. The mechanics are already leaning over the barriers, waiting for him, their arms raised in celebration. Daniel clambers out of the car, pulls off his helmet, and lets out a roar, his signature grin plastered on his face. The crowd erupts once more, their hero standing victorious before them.

The Red Bull team surrounds him, cheering and patting him on the back. But Daniel's eyes are searching, scanning the pit lane for you. Finally, they find you in the crowd, and without hesitation, he breaks away from the chaos and runs straight to you.

“Hey, boss,” he says, pulling you into a tight hug, his voice barely above the roar of the fans. “Did I do alright?”

You laugh, pushing him back playfully. “I’d say you did more than alright.”

Daniel grins, his smile wide and genuine, and then he’s swept back into the celebrations, the team lifting him onto their shoulders as the cameras capture every second.

The podium celebrations come next, the lights glittering, the trophy standing proud. Daniel, Max Verstappen, and Charles Leclerc climb onto the podium, their faces reflecting the joy and exhaustion of a hard-fought race. The national anthems play, first for Australia, then for Austria, and the crowd sings along, their pride and passion tangible.

When the champagne is finally handed out, Daniel holds his bottle aloft, savoring the moment. He walks to the edge of the podium, holding his finger up to signal the crowd. The fans know what’s coming. The mechanics in the garage know what’s coming. You, standing just below the podium, know what’s coming.

Daniel unlaces his boot and fills it with champagne, holding it high as he looks out over the sea of fans. The crowd roars with approval.

“Oh no …” Brundle says with a laugh, watching from the Sky Sports commentary booth. “Here we go. It wouldn’t be a Daniel Ricciardo victory without a shoey!”

Daniel grins and, with the flair only he can pull off, drinks the champagne from his shoe. The crowd cheers louder than ever, reveling in the chaotic joy of the moment. Even Max, standing beside him, cracks a smile as Daniel offers him the boot, but Max declines with a laugh, shaking his head.

As Daniel finishes the shoey, he looks down at you with a cheeky grin. He points the boot in your direction, his eyes twinkling.

“Wanna join in?” He shouts down, loud enough for the camera to catch.

You cross your arms, shaking your head with a smirk. “Absolutely not.”

Daniel laughs, tossing the boot aside and grabbing the champagne again, spraying the crowd as the podium celebration continues. The cameras capture everything, the joy, the fun, the relief of a long journey finally reaching its pinnacle.

Back in the commentary booth, Crofty speaks again, his voice soft but filled with admiration. “Daniel Ricciardo, a winner in Australia, celebrating in true Ricciardo style. This win means more than just points on the board — it’s the result of hard work, perseverance, and a love for racing.”

Brundle nods, his tone warm. “You’ve got to hand it to Daniel, and to Y/N Y/L/N as well. She brought him back to Red Bull, believed in him when others didn’t, and now they’re celebrating together on the biggest stage. It’s a fairytale moment.”

As the champagne rains down on the podium, Daniel glances over at you again, his face still lit up with that signature Ricciardo grin. And even though you’re not up there with him, he knows that none of this would’ve been possible without you by his side.

This is your team, your driver, and your moment.

[cloudwisp]

Jealous Sylus unknowingly sets himself up when he takes you to a 9-course kaiseki experience for a quiet and intimate dinner date. You’re both seated at the chef’s counter and the charming man preparing the food and serving you tonight was on the younger and attractive side. You can tell the chef pours his heart and soul into each beautiful small plate so you savor each bite with blissful appreciation and praise him for making such delicious food so skillfully with ease.

Sylus wouldn't dream of spoiling your night just because something is preventing him from sharing your enjoyment, but when you kindly ask the talented chef for his name it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He drags your seat closer to him, laying a soft kiss on your shoulder while maintaining a possessive grip around your waist. You’re infuriatingly oblivious to his display of jealousy as you keep your cute smiles about you and gently pat his cheek feeding him another bite.

After the lovely dinner experience, you and Sylus take a moonlit stroll basking in the cool night air. His thumbs are tucked inside his front pockets so you loop your arm through his to hold and lean some of your weight against him, exhaling that you didn’t know such simple and unique ingredients could make for such a tasty meal and you’d love to revisit the place again. You feel Sylus stiffen under your touch at that and his unimpressed response makes you realize his unusual behavior of keeping mostly quiet this entire outing. You pull him to an abrupt stop and with a tilt of your head and slight furrow to your brows you ask him what’s wrong.

Sylus takes a moment to collect his thoughts, glancing at the lamplight filtered road ahead of him then back at your concerned face and resigns with a small sigh. There’s an edge in his voice when he downplays the situation but the more he recalls your fangirl worthy attention toward the chef it slowly gnaws at him from within. “Nothing’s wrong. You just seemed to enjoy that food a little too much. And that chef a little too much.”

“Sylus, you brought me there so I’m not really understanding...? Of course, I enjoyed seeing the food be prepared right in front of us and the— Oohh, I think I see now.” You really should've tried harder to suppress the fond smile as your mind works to make perfect sense of the unwarranted tension between you and him. But it was truly adorable to think that even the fearsome Onychinus leader was jealous over something so silly and you reach up to playfully pinch his cheek. “Were you jealous? Is that why you were acting so strange?”

“Jealous, huh?” He laughs softly, but it sounds more like a scoff as his fingers curl around your wrist and he brings your hand back down to his side while brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “I wouldn’t say jealous, just… observant. You were practically gushing over the chef when I was right there.”

“Okay, I understand where you’re coming from. It seems I should be more interested in reminding my husband how much I love and adore him.” You encircle your arms around his neck and his expression softens with each tender kiss you trail across his face and meet his waiting lips for an achingly sweet kiss. His hands rest on your hips and tug you closer to him and he resists the urge to deepen the kiss like he’s a man obsessed and can’t get enough of his darling wife.

“I appreciate the reminder, kitten. But I might need another one when we’re back home for good measure.”

[mythicalmaven]

smut 18 with max please

Burning Rivalry - Max Verstappen

This was my first time writing for Max Verstappen, so please let me know in the comments if i wrote it a okay or not :) Really wanna know if I failed miserably on this one or not lol hahah

Masterlist ↳pairing: max verstappen x female!driver!reader ↳word count: 2.2K ↳prompts used: 18 - "fucking hell, if I knew you were this good, I would have gotten you on your knees earlier" ↳summary: When the tension between you and Max finally gets resolved after a heated and competitive Grand Prix

↳content warnings: rivals to lovers, first kiss, smut, 18+ (MDNI!), explicit sexual content, blowjob, oral sex f!receiving, sassy talk between the two of them lol, slight begging (nothing much tho), a small hint of dom!max (but also not really), sexual tension

The tension between you and Max had always been palpable, but it wasn’t just because you were two of the best racing drivers on the grid. It was the rivalry that simmered beneath the surface, the unspoken competition that pushed both of you to your limits every time you got behind the wheel. You weren’t just friends—you were rivals, constantly trying to outdo each other on the track, and the fire that rivalry stoked didn’t stop when the race was over.

You had known Max for years, your careers growing alongside each other, and though there was a mutual respect, there was also a constant challenge, a need to prove who was better. It led to banter, to teasing comments, and sometimes, to something darker, more intense—like tonight.

The race had been brutal, both of you fighting tooth and nail for the podium. Max had edged you out in the final laps, taking the victory by a hair, and though you congratulated him afterward, there was a spark in your eyes that told him the rivalry was far from over.

But now, as you stood in Max’s driver’s room after the race, that competitive fire had taken on a new form. The air was thick with unspoken tension, the kind that made your skin tingle and your pulse race. Max was leaning against the couch, his racing suit half unzipped, revealing the sweat-slicked skin underneath. His eyes were dark, filled with something that made your breath catch in your throat.

“You drove like shit today,” you teased, a smirk tugging at your lips as you met his gaze, challenging him.

Max raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk of his own. “Is that why I’m the one holding the trophy?” he shot back, his tone dripping with smug satisfaction.

You rolled your eyes, stepping closer, your heart pounding in your chest. “Just barely. You know I’ll get you next time.”

“Is that a promise?” Max asked, his voice low and filled with a teasing edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Maybe,” you replied, your voice laced with challenge. The banter, the back-and-forth, was like foreplay, each word stoking the fire that burned between you.

Max’s smirk widened, his eyes darkening with intent as he pushed off the couch and closed the distance between you in a few quick strides. He was in your space now, his body so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, his scent—a mixture of sweat and something uniquely him—invading your senses.

“I think you like losing to me,” Max murmured, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face. The touch was gentle, but there was an undercurrent of something more, something that made your breath hitch.

“In your dreams,” you shot back, but the words were softer now, your bravado faltering under the intensity of his gaze.

Max’s hand slipped to the back of your neck, his grip firm as he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “How about I make you a deal?” he whispered, his voice rough and commanding. “You get on your knees for me, and maybe I’ll let you win next time.”

The words sent a jolt of arousal through you, your heart skipping a beat at the sheer audacity of his proposition. But you weren’t about to let him have the upper hand so easily. “Make me,” you challenged, your voice steady despite the racing of your pulse.

Max’s eyes flashed with something dangerous, something that made your knees weak. His grip tightened on your neck, his other hand coming up to cup your jaw, tilting your head back so you were forced to look up at him.

“Oh, I will,” Max promised, his voice low and filled with dark intent.

Before you could respond, Max’s lips crashed against yours in a kiss that was hard, demanding, and full of the fiery passion that always seemed to ignite between the two of you. His hands were on you, pulling you closer, holding you tight as his mouth claimed yours with a dominance that made your heart race.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, your hands tangling in his hair as you pressed your body against his, needing more, needing everything he was offering. The rivalry, the tension, the years of unspoken desire—it all culminated in this moment, in the heat of his body against yours, in the way his lips moved over yours with a hunger that matched your own.

Max’s hands moved to your hips, gripping you firmly as he guided you backward, pressing you against the wall. His lips trailed down your neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin there, leaving marks that you knew would linger long after tonight.

“You drive me fucking insane,” Max muttered against your skin, his voice rough with need as his hands slipped under your shirt, pushing it up and over your head.

“Good,” you shot back, your voice breathless as you helped him strip you of your clothing, leaving you exposed to his hungry gaze. “Maybe now you know how I feel.”

Max’s eyes darkened with desire as he looked at you, his hands tracing the curves of your body, making you shiver under his touch. “On your knees,” he commanded, his voice rough and filled with authority.

But you weren’t about to give in that easily. “Make me,” you repeated, your eyes locking with his, challenging him to take what he wanted.

Max’s lips curled into a smirk, his eyes flashing with a mixture of amusement and arousal. “You’re going to regret that,” he warned, his hands tightening on your hips as he pulled you closer.

“Try me,” you shot back, your voice steady despite the rapid beating of your heart.

Max didn’t need any more encouragement. He pushed you down onto the couch, his body pressing against yours as he kissed you again, his hands sliding down your body, touching, caressing, teasing. You could feel the heat of his arousal against your thigh, the hardness of him making your own desire flare even hotter.

His hands found your thighs, spreading them apart as he knelt between them, his eyes locked on yours as he leaned in, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “You’re going to beg for me,” Max promised, his voice low and filled with dark intent.

You shivered at his words, your breath hitching as his mouth moved higher, teasing you with soft, feather-light kisses that made your body tremble with anticipation. You tried to hold on to your bravado, but the way he was touching you, the way his tongue flicked against your skin, was making it impossible to think, let alone resist.

Max’s hand slipped between your legs, his fingers brushing against your wetness, making you gasp. He smirked at your reaction, his eyes darkening with satisfaction as he continued to tease you, his touch light, almost maddeningly so.

“Fuck, you’re already so wet for me,” Max murmured, his voice rough with desire as he pressed a finger inside you, making you moan at the sensation.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the sounds that threatened to escape, but Max wasn’t having it. He added another finger, curling them inside you, his thumb brushing against your clit in a way that made you see stars.

“Let me hear you,” Max demanded, his voice a low growl as he worked you with expert precision, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

You couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped your lips, your body arching into his touch as the pleasure built inside you, coiling tighter and tighter until you were trembling with need.

“Max, please,” you gasped, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Max’s eyes gleamed with triumph, his fingers moving faster, his thumb pressing harder against your clit as he pushed you to the brink. “That’s it,” Max encouraged, his voice rough with satisfaction. “Let go for me.”

And you did, your body convulsing with pleasure as you came apart in his hands, your moans filling the room as the orgasm crashed over you, wave after wave of intense sensation leaving you trembling and breathless.

When you finally came down from the high, Max was there, his lips on yours, kissing you deeply, passionately, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his own dark with desire.

“Now, on your knees,” Max commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.

This time, you didn’t hesitate. You slid off the couch, dropping to your knees in front of him, your hands reaching out to free him from the confines of his racing suit. Max’s breath hitched as you took him in your hands, your touch sending a shiver of pleasure through him.

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze as you leaned in, your lips brushing against the tip of his cock in a soft, teasing kiss that made him groan with need. “You’re going to love this,” you promised, your voice a low, sultry whisper.

Max’s hand tangled in your hair, his eyes dark with anticipation as he watched you. “Show me,” he growled, his voice rough with desire.

You didn’t need any more encouragement. You took him into your mouth, your lips closing around him as you began to suck, your tongue swirling around the head of his cock, teasing him, driving him insane with every flick, every stroke.

Max’s grip on your hair tightened, his hips thrusting forward as he fucked your mouth, the pleasure building inside him with every movement.

“Fucking hell,” Max groaned, his voice a low rumble that sent a thrill of satisfaction through you. “If I knew you were this good, I would have gotten you on your knees earlier.”

The words only spurred you on, fueling the fire of desire burning inside you. You took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked harder, your tongue continuing its relentless assault on him. The sounds he made—those low, guttural moans—only made you want to give him more, to push him further toward the edge.

Max’s hips began to move more urgently, his hand guiding your head as he thrust into your mouth, the rhythm becoming more erratic as he lost himself in the pleasure you were giving him. You could feel him throbbing against your tongue, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in his body as he neared his climax.

You moaned around him, the vibrations making him shudder, his grip on your hair tightening as he fought to hold on. But you could tell he was close, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, his muscles tensing as he teetered on the brink.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” Max’s words broke off in a strangled moan as his orgasm overtook him. His hips jerked forward, and you felt the first hot spurt hit the back of your throat. You didn’t slow down, working him through his release, swallowing every drop as he came, your tongue still swirling around him, milking every last bit of pleasure from his body.

Max’s grip on your hair loosened as the last waves of his climax washed over him, leaving him trembling and breathless. You pulled back slowly, your lips lingering on him for just a moment longer before releasing him, your eyes flicking up to meet his.

Max’s chest was heaving, his eyes dark and hooded as he looked down at you, his expression one of pure satisfaction mixed with something deeper, something almost primal. He reached down, his hand cupping your chin, lifting your face so that you were forced to look up at him.

“You’re incredible,” Max said, his voice rough and still thick with the aftereffects of his orgasm. There was a softness in his eyes now, a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat.

You smiled up at him, feeling a rush of pride at his words, your body still buzzing with the aftermath of what had just happened. “Glad you think so,” you replied, your voice laced with satisfaction and a hint of teasing.

Max chuckled, the sound low and warm as he pulled you up to your feet. His hands settled on your hips, pulling you close until your bodies were pressed together again. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss that was all about savoring the moment, the heat of the earlier intensity giving way to something more intimate.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet of the room. “We should do this again,” Max murmured, his voice soft but full of promise.

“Only if you let me win next time,” you teased, your lips curving into a playful smile as you looked up at him.

Max’s eyes sparkled with amusement, a smirk tugging at his lips. “We’ll see about that,” he said, his tone light but with an underlying seriousness that made your heart flutter.

As you both stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the rivalry between you didn’t seem to matter anymore. There was something more now, something that went beyond the track, beyond the competition. And as you leaned into his embrace, you couldn’t help but think that whatever happened next, it was only the beginning of something much bigger, something that neither of you could walk away from.

Masterlist

[everyonewooeverywhere]

Hard hours are open and I'm ready!!

Size training with yunho and how it takes a few times for you to adjust to his thick cock whilst he's fucking you.

He'd be so gentle and so fucking proud at the same time.

heyyyyy so i know this ask is over a month old....but i got really obsessed with it all of the sudden 😭

and this ended up a lot longer than i meant for it to...

but anyway-

size training and yunho just go together so well. it’s like a match made in heaven.

because he takes so much pride in it. pride in the training that is. (though he is also incredibly proud of how massive he is and how much prep it usually requires for someone to take him…🙂‍↕️)

and i just can’t help but feel like he’d enjoy size training as foreplay. like of course he wants to make sure you’re comfortable and safe, but FUCK if he doesn’t love how you beg for him to fuck you probably.

i get the feeling that he’d take at least a couple…sessions…before actually having you try to take his whole length. 

he’s a patient man. and you know how big he is. you can feel it every time you sit on his lap while you watch a movie. you’ve had your fair share of tired nights when you’ve jerked him off in his pants while he plays with you through your underwear. 

but when you first got together, he let you know immediately that you might not be able to take him. especially not right away. and you were so horny out of your mind about this man that you had begged him to at least try. your desire had almost brought you to tears. but he stood his ground. cupping your face and kissing your forehead telling you that “you just need a little training, baby” and promising “i won’t leave your pretty pussy empty for long”

that first night is so important to him. he wants you to understand that he can make you feel good even without his dick inside you. his hands will 100% do the trick. they do it for him, too, to be honest. watching his fingers disappear inside you is almost enough to make him cum in his pants. and watching how your eyelids flutter when he adds a third finger.

he’ll use toys too to build you up to it. whether they’re your own or his, he loves to watch you go a little crazy every time it gets bigger and he loves to hear your gasps every time. toys aren’t his favorite though because it’s less skin on skin contact. if he could, he’d just use his fingers, but he understands the importance of buildup.

when you both finally decide that you’re ready to try and take him, he makes sure everything is perfect. he makes sure the sheets are fresh, the room is cool, and that no one even has the possibility of disturbing the two of you for the foreseeable future. and he sets the expectation that it might not happen tonight. but you’re determined.

he always starts in missionary. it’s easier for him to control that way, and he finds that’s usually where his partner is usually the most comfortable the first time. maybe he’ll even put a pillow under your lower back and make sure you’re as comfortable as possible. and he absolutely has lube on standby if it’s needed. he’s a big hand holder too, so he’ll grab your hand against your stomach and caress your knuckles as he lines himself up with your entrance. “we’ll start with just the tip, ok baby?” 

and he’ll push into you ever so slightly. the stretch is still a lot to take, so he’s so fucking gentle, he’s constantly reminding you to “breathe, baby” and he makes sure to ask you every time if you’re ok to go further. and he lets you gasp out your “yes” before trying to fit in another inch. he keeps the reassurance coming even if he can’t help himself from crossing the line into condescending

“good girl, taking my cock so well” “oh you fit me so perfectly, angel” “do you feel good, baby?” “yeah?” “oh you can’t even think straight anymore can you?”

when he’s about half an inch from bottoming out, you grab his hand, squeezing hard, “yunho…” you choke out. “are you ok, angel? what’s wrong?” you shake your head “no i…fuck…i can’t…i’m so close” and he feels you tighten around him at the admission. “fuck ok. hold on baby.” he presses his body up against yours and brings his lips to your ear, “we’re almost there, ok? just hold out for a couple more seconds” all you can do is just whimper and nod as he pushes himself in the last few centimeters.

“oh fuckkk baby” he brings a hand to your clit “you’re gonna cum” mhmm you nod frantically, burying your nails in his back 

“you’re so big” you barely gasp out. “i know. i know, baby.” he kisses your cheeks and lips as he plays with your clit. “can you come for me? please? come on my cock?” that’s all it takes for your warm walls to tighten around him and he holds you to his chest while you come. 

and part of me all of me feels like, as long as you’re okay with it, that yunho would want cockwarming to be heavily involved in the early stages of his aftercare. like he’ll flip you over so you’re seated in his lap. and he’ll stay inside you while he kisses your neck and shoulders. and making sure you get plenty of vocal affirmation “you did so good for me baby” “i’m so proud of you, pretty” “my good girl, you did so well” eventually, when he notices your discomfort at the constant stretch, he’ll pull you off of him and clean you properly. but at least for a little while he wants you to have a…physical reminder…of how good you did.

[syluslnd]

I know a lot of people are iffy about this so feel free to delete this, but how would Sylus react to you accidentally calling him daddy in bed? (I think the devs might've posted something about him pefering to br called master??)

calling sylus daddy

• imagine

(note / i dont have a daddy kink so ive never even read or researched on it lol jdjdjdj so idk if i wrote this with what you had in mind,i hope you like it 😪🙂‍↕️)

Sylus had always known how to push your buttons. He loved watching your cheeks flush, your eyes widen with that shy, innocent look you tried so hard to hide from him. But you could never hide from Sylus. He made sure of that.

Tonight was no different. You were pinned beneath him, your wrists trapped above your head as he held you in place, his dark eyes focused on your face. His lips curled into that familiar teasing smirk, the one that made your stomach flutter.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice low and filled with amusement. "Trying so hard to keep that pretty little blush from me." He leaned down, his nose brushing against your neck, making you squirm beneath him. "But you know I'm not going to let you hide, right?"

Your heart raced as you tried to look away but Sylus was quick. He caught your chin in his hand, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"No no, sweetie," he said softly, his tone dripping with that teasing edge. "Eyes on me. I want to see every little reaction."

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the heat rising to your face. Sylus always knew how to make you flustered and the more he teased, the harder it became to keep your composure.

It wasn't supposed to happen, but in the heat of the moment, the word slipped from your lips before you even realized it.

"Daddy..."

The room went silent. Your eyes widened in horror and your heart dropped as you processed what you'd just said. You could feel your entire body heat up in embarrassment. That was not something you ever meant to say.

"Oh?" Sylus's voice broke the silence, his tone laced with amusement, his grip on your wrists tightening just enough to keep you still. "What was that, kitten?"

You shook your head quickly, mortified, trying to backtrack. "I-I didn't mean to-! I don't know why I said that—"

But Sylus wasn't letting you off that easily.

He chuckled darkly, his eyes gleaming with that dangerous playfulness that sent a shiver down your spine. "Oh, I think you meant it." His thumb brushed over your lips, silencing your stammered apologies. "Now, why would my sweet, innocent kitten call me that, hmm?"

Your face burned with humiliation. You tried to turn away, to hide, but Sylus was quick to pin you back down, leaning in close enough that his breath ghosted across your skin.

"You can't hide now, sweetie," he teased, his lips brushing against your ear. "Not after that."

"Please” you whispered, utterly embarrassed, trying to turn your head to escape his piercing gaze, but his grip on your chin tightened, keeping your face locked in place. His other hand still firmly held your wrists above your head. You were completely at his mercy.

"Don't be shy now" he purred, his tone dripping with amusement. "I think it's cute, you calling me daddy like that." His lips grazed your neck, sending a shiver down your spine as his voice softened, taunting.

"Is that what you've wanted all along, kitten?

For me to take care of you like that?"

Your face was on fire now, the embarrassment overwhelming as he teased you relentlessly. "N-no, I didn't mean it like that-" you tried to explain, but Sylus cut you off with a dark chuckle.

"Didn't mean it? Oh, I think you did." His voice was lower now, filled with that teasing menace that always left you flustered. "Look at you, all shy and blushing. My sweet, innocent kitten isn't so innocent after all, huh?"

You squirmed beneath him, but his weight pinned you down effortlessly. Sylus wasn't letting you go anywhere—not until he was done teasing you.

He leaned down, his lips hovering just above yours. "Say it again" he commanded softly, his eyes locked on yours, filled with that wicked amusement. "Go on, sweetie. I want to hear it."

Your eyes widened in panic and you shook your head quickly. "I-I can't-"

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening.

"Can't? You didn't seem to have any trouble saying it a minute ago." His fingers traced the line of your jaw, sending another wave of shivers through you. "But if you're too shy to say it again, I can always remind you who’s in control here."

Sylus pressed his body closer, his lips brushing against your ear once more, his breath hot against your skin. "say it,don’t make me force you, kitten."

“D-daddy..” You gasped, the sound catching in your throat as your body betrayed you, your face burning hotter than ever. Sylus pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

"See? Wasn't so hard, was it?" he teased, his voice a low purr. "You're too cute when you're embarrassed. Makes me want to keep you pinned down here all night just to watch you blush."

You couldn't even respond, too flustered to form words as he leaned down to press a teasing kiss to your lips, savoring the way your body trembled beneath him. He had you exactly where he wanted you, and he wasn't about to let you forget it.

[dark-fics-4-you]

Crying in the Country Club ch. V

dark!Rafe Cameron x dark!Reader

Warnings: smut, p in v sex, oral (m!receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, lying about birth control, baby trapping, mention of previous attempted assault, public sex, infidelity, manipulative and aggressive behavior, breeding kink, slight burn injury

Stepping out onto the Cameron’s back patio, you were pleased to find that the forecast was spot on. It was definitely warm enough to go swimming.

Your gaze settled on the glimmering pool, before looking around the backyard to spot Mr. Cameron.

Your mom and Rebecca were sitting on the porch swing, seemingly engrossed in conversation, but you didn’t miss the way Rebecca subtly gave your body a once over before nervously glancing over at her husband.

Nearing Rafe and your dad by the grill, you paused to ask what was on the menu for tonight.

You grinned sweetly at Rafe, enjoying watching his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed after taking you in.

Not wanting to waste an opportunity to get him flustered, you had chosen one of your more revealing swimsuits, a strappy dark teal green bikini paired with a teal blue wrap skirt that left little to the imagination.

“Just some burgers and hot dogs, Y/N,” your dad answered with a smile, not noticing his best friend beside him clenching his jaw tighter than before.

“Cool! Um, can I have a burger, with cheese?” You asked.

“You got it,” he answered. “But it’ll probably be about half an hour before we start cooking.”

“Okay!”

As you walked past them towards the pool, you unsuccessfully tried to stop yourself from glancing back to sneak another peak of Mr. Cameron, and you felt your heart skip a beat when you caught him staring at you as you left.

Your cheeks were flushed when you reached the chair where Charlie was lounging, and she raised a curious eyebrow when you greeted her.

“Are you getting burnt already?”

“No,” you laughed, reaching to your waist to peel off your wrap skirt. “But I could use a little sunscreen.”

Charlie grabbed the bottle beside her and passed it to you.

You thanked her as you poured some into your hands to start spreading onto your face. After making sure it was all rubbed in, you squirted more into your hands to massage into your chest and shoulders.

Tossing a glance over your shoulder, you were unsurprised to see Rafe staring again, and you made a little show of rubbing the oily lotion across your cleavage as you pretended not to notice him.

It had only been a week since you had snuck into his room after the party and it had been nearly impossible to stay away from Mr. Cameron.

Your waking hours had been possessed by daydreaming about Rafe. Imagining him catching you in the house, pining you to the wall with a large hand clamped over your mouth and fucking you while you had to stay quiet to avoid being caught was a frequent fantasy of yours, one that you really hoped he would act out on you.

But your imagination stretched further than just that. You couldn’t help but insert yourself into scenes of domesticity with him. You liked picturing the two of you in the cameron household together. Rafe would praise you for cooking dinner, wrapping his arms around you, before a protective hand settled on your swollen belly.

Ever since the party, you had felt more determined than ever to have his child.

You knew that he was off limits on so many levels, he was your father’s best friend and your best friend’s dad (not to mention he was married and more than twice your age), but deep down you knew that the depravity of it all was exactly what drew you to Rafe in the first place.

Although, it wasn’t like Charlie had been the best friend to you recently. You were still somewhat pissed off that she had let you stay out at that party where you had been attacked alone.

You shuddered thinking about what might have happened if Mr. Cameron hadn’t arrived in time to save you.

As quickly as the thought arose, you buried it, not wanting to get caught up thinking about what had happened at the party.

What had happened after the party was of much more interest to you.

You could still remember how amazing it felt to come undone around him and how desperately he had kissed you that night. Goosebumps erupted across your skin when you recalled how Rafe had sounded groaning your name as you squeezed around him.

God you wished that he had finished inside of you; although you couldn’t deny how hot it was to be covered in his seed.

A heat was rising inside of you, and you knew that it wasn’t just from the hot Carolina sun.

Throwing another glance towards the porch, you could see your dad and Mr. Cameron beginning to grill the burgers and hot dogs, while your mom and Mrs. Cameron were still chatting on the swing.

Pressing the back of your hand to your forehead, you could feel the sweat beginning to form and you knew it was time to cool off.

Leaving your wrap skirt behind, you left the pool to approach the house, watching Rafe as you got closer.

His jaw clenched when he spotted you, interrupting his sentence midway as he lost his train of thought.

Your dad turned to see what had distracted Rafe, shooting you a confused and questioning look.

“I’m getting really hot,” you explained, not missing the way Rafe’s hungry gaze had swept over your body. “Do you have any ice cream?”

Your question was aimed at Rafe, who you innocently smiled at, and you felt triumphant when he stumbled over his words.

“Um y-yeah, Y/N, there’s some um.” He paused, trying to collect himself in front of your father without drawing any suspicion. “Some popsicles in the… um in the freezer.”

“Oh, that’s perfect, thanks!” You grinned before continuing to the back door.

Rafe stared at you, watching the way your ass moved when you walked. His mouth was watering, jaw clenched so tight it was amazing it didn’t snap off. He was so distracted, he wasn’t looking when his arm got a little too close to the grill.

Inside the kitchen, you walked up to their large fridge, opening the freezer section before looking around for the popsicles Rafe had mentioned.

You grabbed a cherry flavored one out of the bag and took off its wrapper before sliding it between your lips.

The sweet, refreshing treat hit the spot, beginning to cool you down instantly.

You heard the door open and you turned to see who had followed you inside, not surprised to see Rafe.

But you weren’t expecting him to rush to the sink to run cold water over a fresh, red burn right below his elbow.

“Shit-!” He cursed, exhaling lowly as the cool water soothed the burn. You could tell it wasn’t too bad of an injury.

“You can’t be pulling shit like that in front of me, kid,” Rafe scolded you. “Especially not when your dad is standing right next to me, fuck!”

He finally turned to look at you, and his breath hitched as he watched you suggestively slide the popsicle across your lips, staining them red with the melting juices.

“You hurt yourself?” You asked with wide concerned eyes.

Rafe’s jaw clenched before he licked his lips, staring down at you with an obvious mixture of annoyance and arousal.

“How did that happen?” You lightly teased, reaching a hand out to touch his unburned arm. You slid your fingers over his muscles as you drew closer, sucking on the cherry popsicle as you stared up at him through your lashes.

Your heart was racing, you were just so excited to finally be alone with him again.

“It was your fucking fault, Y/N-” he snapped, grabbing your wrist with a tight grip before suddenly stopping himself and releasing you.

You were surprised by the force behind his grip, but Rafe had let you go before you could even protest, and he stared down at you as he breathed heavily. You could tell he was trying to hold himself back by the veins that bulged near his temples and in his neck.

“Shit, I’m sorry, but you’re not making it any easier for me when you walk around my place wearing…” he trailed off as he gestured at your bikini. “It’s distracting.”

“Oh, sorry, Mr. Cameron,” you purred, noticing his eye twitch when you called him ‘Mr. Cameron.’

“Are you trying to get us caught?”

You rolled your eyes, but he continued.

“Y/D/N would fucking kill me if he had any idea of what we did-”

“I know, I know,” you frowned, not liking feeling like Rafe was chiding you like a kid.

He noticed the change in your tone of voice, letting out a sigh before wrapping his good arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him. His fingertips danced over your exposed skin and you leaned your head against his chest, thrilled to have such close contact with him.

“I’m just saying, we need to be careful. There’s no need for anyone to know what happened. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

You gave yourself a once over in the mirror before leaving, feeling confident in your pale pink mini skirt and matching polo sweater.

Walking through the living room, you let your parent’s know you were going golfing with Rafe before you ducked into the garage to grab your clubs.

After a short drive, you parked in the Cameron’s driveway, waving at Rafe as you got out of your car.

He was leaning against his golf cart waiting for you when you walked out, and he offered to take the heavy bag from you to load it into the back.

“Thanks.”

“No problem, sweetheart.” He looked you up and down again, clearly pleased with your outfit choice. “You look very nice.”

You beamed as you climbed into the passenger seat, scooting closer to Rafe as he backed out of the driveway and started heading for the course.

Looking out at the greens as you approached, you noticed how few players were out today. It must have been because of how hot it was.

You fanned yourself with your hand as Rafe pulled up to the first hole and parked under some trees.

After stepping out of the golf cart, you grabbed your driver out of your bag, thanking Mr. Cameron when he handed you a tee and a ball before stepping onto the green.

“Let’s see if you’ve improved anymore since we last played, huh?” Rafe teased with a grin. “Have you been practicing?”

“Yes sir,” you replied playfully. You bent down to place your tee into the ground and set up the ball, hoping that Rafe would get a peek of your white panties under your skirt.

“Remember what I told you la-” his voice caught in his throat as he caught a glimpse of your underwear.

“What’s that?” You asked him sweetly, correcting your posture so you could turn and meet his eyes with an innocent smile.

“Um-” Rafe paused, his adam’s apple bobbing as he dryly swallowed. “Here, turn around again.”

You followed his instructions, turning your back to him as he pressed closer to adjust your form.

“You gotta keep your legs just a bit further apart, kid.” Rafe reached a hand down to your thigh, pressing gently on your exposed skin just below your skirt to urge you to spread your legs.

“Yeah, you want to have good balance,” his deep voice from behind and his touch sent a shiver down your spine, and goosebumps rose where he had brushed your upper thigh.

“And then you need to lean back just a little bit.”

His hands found your hips, pulling you back towards him, and you let out a quiet moan when you felt him press his hard on against your ass.

“Make sure you’re gripping the club the right way, sweetheart,” his voice strained as he ground his hard on against your core.

Your brain was getting fuzzy and you could feel a wet patch on your panties getting damper. You fumbled with the golf club, trying to get a better grip on it because your palms were beginning to feel so sweaty.

Finally, you managed to swing and hit the ball, but Rafe didn’t even wait to see where it went, easily scooping you up into his arms and rushing to carry you back to the golf cart, pressing hot kisses into your neck the entire way.

He put you down onto the seat but you surprised him when you moved to the floor of the cart on your knees in between his legs.

You palmed his cock through his shorts and he groaned, eagerly reaching for his button and zipper.

Rafe freed his erection from his boxers and your mouth watered at the sight of him.

The night you had snuck into his room, you had been so desperate to feel him inside of you that you hadn’t had the chance to stop and really look at him.

You reached out, wrapping your hand around the base of his length. His dick was probably around 8 inches, maybe more, and girthy, with a long vein bulging out and leading to his cut tip.

He was breathing heavily, eyes widening when you pursed your lips, letting a string of saliva drip onto his hard cock before meeting his eyes again.

Rafe watched as you slowly stroked him, once, twice, and then a third time.

You licked your lips before parting them and your hot tongue met his tip, licking off the bead of precum that had gathered there. He tasted salty and he let out a moan as he watched your eyes roll back in your head from the taste.

As your soft lips wrapped around him, the older man’s hand tangled into your hair, pushing you down to take more of him as his hips shifted upwards. You pressed your tongue flat against the bottom of your mouth, stretching your lips to accommodate his size.

“There you go, Y/N. Fuck, that’s a good girl,” his grip on your hair tightened the deeper he inched forward, and you looked up at him through your lashes as your eyes began to water.

When he hit the back of your throat, you gagged, choking on his length when he held you in place for a few moments.

You looked up at him with wide, surprised teary eyes, and Rafe couldn’t hold back his groan.

“You can take it.” His gruff voice only stirred your need to prove yourself to him, and the hot tears that you blinked away barely registered in your mind.

When he finally released you, he slid his cock out enough for you to take a breath before he pushed himself in again, even deeper than the last time.

“God, you’re doing so good f’me angel,” he groaned, and you squeezed your thighs together when you felt yourself grow slicker from his praise.

Tears kissed your waterline as his fingers threaded through your hair. Your core practically pulsed with want and you brought your free hand between your legs, teasing your clit over your soaked panties as you continued bobbing your head up and down the length of his cock.

Spit collected at the corner of your lips, dribbling down your chin as Rafe’s hand guided you faster.

Unable to ignore the burning desire between your legs anymore, you pulled away, climbing onto his lap and sloppily kissing him before he could ask what you were doing.

Rafe kissed you back, his large hands coming to your hips and held you in place so he could grind against your core.

He groaned into the kiss, but pulled back with a disappointed look on his face, and your heart started to sink before he spoke.

“We don’t have condoms-“ he started but you cut him off.

“I’m on birth control.”

The lie slipped out easier than you expected, but you weren’t entirely sure if Rafe would believe you. Or if he would insist you use a condom anyway.

For a few heart pounding moments he just stared at you with a strange look before finally breaking into a cocky grin.

“Shit, you should have told me that last week sweetheart,” Rafe growled, already reaching his hand beneath your skirt to pull your panties to the side.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, but you couldn’t linger on them for long because Rafe’s hands were on your hips, lining himself up with your slick entrance and slowly pushing you down onto his cock.

The sharp gasp that fell past your lips was quickly muffled when the older man’s hand clamped over your mouth. You whimpered against him as he filled you up, enjoying the way he stretched you out from this angle.

Trying to ground yourself, you slid your arm above his shoulder and around the back of his neck. When he bottomed out and held you in place, fingers gripping your hips so hard it almost hurt, you squirmed in his lap, desperately needing some kind of friction.

“Squeezin’ me so tight-" he groaned through gritted teeth.

He withdrew his hand from your mouth, trailing it to your hips before crawling under your shirt and grasping at your waist. Trails of hot fire danced on your skin where he touched you, and you felt almost delirious with want.

Your pleading eyes met his as you tried to grind your hips against him, and you felt him pulse inside you at the sound of your quieted whimpers.

Rafe kept his eyes locked on yours as his hips started to move, finally giving you the stimulation that you so badly needed.

You met each stroke with the tilt of your hips as he thrusted deep inside you, cheeks burning as you felt yourself dripping around him.

His lips found yours again and when his tongue pushed its way into your mouth, you moaned against the kiss, clenching tight around his length as he snapped his hips against yours.

Rafe broke the kiss, letting his lips meet your neck before mumbling against your skin, “Gotta be quiet, yeah?”

You bit your lip, trying to stop your whimpers and soft cries of pleasure. Rafe’s hands had left your waist and were now creeping under your skirt to grasp at your thighs, fingertips digging into your soft flesh.

His lips were still attached to your neck, nipping and sucking on the tender skin as your hips met his every thrust.

In the back of your mind, you knew that you probably should have been more worried about getting caught, but the feeling of Rafe’s cock dragging along your snug walls made you forget all of your worries.

He slid one hand between your legs, thumb circling around your clit.

Your moan was smothered by his lips, and you eagerly bucked your hips into his touch as he picked up his pace.

Looking into his eyes, you could help but feel your heart skip a beat. You felt like you were being seen for the first time, and you couldn’t stop the strong surge of emotions that rose in your chest.

You had been trying to ignore what you thought could have been just irrational feelings for years, but now you couldn’t help but feel that they hadn’t been so irrational after all.

With every push of his cock, you felt more and more sure that Rafe was finally starting to see you the way you saw him.

Rafe Cameron was more than a passing crush to you, and you had never intended to just be an affair to him.

You loved him so deeply that at times it scared you how far you were willing to go to make him yours.

“I haven’t been able to get you off my mind all week,” he groaned, thumb pressing harder against your clit as his hips snapped against yours.

Your pulse skipped a beat at his confession and you wondered if sex had been the only thing he had been thinking about or if he wanted more.

The heat building between your legs was undeniable now, and the sudden thought of Rafe finally coming inside you made you clench down around him.

“You feel s-so good,” you whispered, eyes rolling back in your head when he hit a spot deep inside you; and you could feel yourself getting wetter with each stroke of his cock.

You gripped his back as the pad of his thumb swirled around your clit and you tilted your head up to kiss him again.

Rafe pushed his tongue past your lips, tasting the inside of your mouth and the pressure building between your legs finally became too much.

You squirmed in his arms as you came around him, but Rafe never slowed his tempo, holding you in place as you pulsed around him, squeezing his cock as your orgasm washed over you.

The older man tightened his grip on your hips, thrusting harder and harder until his hips finally stuttered and he spilled his hot sticky seed deep inside you with a low groan.

Feeling Rafe cum inside you for the first time was enough to send you over the edge a second time and you tensed in his lap as you came around him again.

Trying to catch your breath was a challenge and you didn’t want to get off of his lap, but Rafe lifted you up, pulling your soaked panties back into place before sitting you down next to him in the cart as he tucked himself back into his shorts.

He looked around the course for a moment, and then he met your gaze, reaching a hand up to stroke your cheek as your heart beat loudly in your chest.

“C’mon kid, we got a round of golf to finish,” he smirked.

[itneverendshere]

the way i can see rafe rolling his eyes when he hears you yell across a party for jj to knock it off in picking a fight, and laughs at jj when he listens to you, and is like an embarrassed little dog.

a perfect world where rafe realizes he and jj are the same person in different fonts <3 thank you for the request, i love jj in this lmao😭🩵

 you say you got it & you have to let me see - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

The annual boneyard party was in full swing, and like clockwork, someone was trying to start shit.

You stood close to Rafe, your hand loosely gripping a beer bottle as you watched the mess unfold in front of you. "JJ!" you called out, voice loud and clear across the sand. "Knock it off!"

Rafe felt the corner of his mouth twitch, suppressing a grin. It wasn't even surprising anymore.

JJ Maybank—still the same hot-headed teen who grew up a few doors down from you—was in some guy's face, already half a second away from getting clocked.

His first instinct was to roll his eyes. Every year. Every damn year, JJ managed to start up some bullshit. Rafe glanced down at you, saw how your brow furrowed in annoyance, and the urge to laugh took over instead.

It was kind of funny, watching JJ go from ready to swing to immediately backing off the second you opened your mouth.

JJ turned like a kid caught stealing cookies from the jar, hands half-raised in defense as he looked at you with wide eyes. “Chill! I wasn’t even—”

"Yeah, yeah," you cut him off, pointing your beer in his direction. "Save it. Just walk away, okay?"

And, of course, he did.

Like a scolded puppy, he muttered something under his breath before shoving his hands into his pockets and trudging off. Rafe snorted, shaking his head. "Little brother still listens to you, huh?"

You shot him a look, half-smiling. "Someone's gotta keep him in line."

"Yeah, well," Rafe glanced at JJ’s retreating figure, still chuckling under his breath, "It's funny watching him tuck his tail between his legs every time."

He wasn’t usually one for parties like this anymore—too many reminders of who he used to be—but being here with you made it easier. You grounded him. Three years of dating, living together, dealing with life’s shitstorms, and somehow you still managed to make everything feel lighter.

You narrowed your eyes, “Don’t think you’re so different from him Mr. No one talks down to my girlfriend.”

Rafe’s grin widened, and he took a long sip from his beer, savoring the burn of the carbonation on his throat. You had him there. Not that he was gonna admit it. “That was different,” he drawled, flashing you a smirk.

“Uh-huh,” you said, arching an eyebrow. “How, exactly?”

He scratched at his jaw, the familiar prickle of stubble reminding him he hadn’t shaved in a few days. “I mean, I didn’t throw a punch every time. Just made it clear no one’s gonna talk shit.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your lips twitched. “You’re lucky I love you, Cameron.”

Rafe’s heart did that stupid thing it always did when you said stuff like that, even after all these years. He could play it cool all he wanted, but you knew how to get to him. Always did.

“Yeah, I am,” he said, stepping a little closer, his body blocking the cool breeze coming off the ocean. He could smell the saltwater and smoke, but all he cared about was the warmth radiating from you. He took a swig of his beer, watching the flames from the bonfire dance against the night sky. “How many more times you think you’ll have to pull him out of a fight tonight?”

You tilted your head, thinking for a second before shrugging. “Depends on how much he’s had to drink.”

JJ was like a golden retriever sometimes—quick to rile up, but just as quick to bounce back. Rafe watched him for a second, the way he moved through the crowd, all ego and no direction. It reminded him of himself when he was younger. He chuckled, shaking his head.

“He’s gonna make it hard for me to take him seriously if you keep saving his ass.”

"Like you’ve ever taken him seriously," you shot back, giving him a playful shove.

True. Rafe couldn’t remember a single time in the last few years where JJ had been more than an annoyance. 

"God, it’s like he’s still twelve or something," you muttered, shaking your head. You took a step closer to him, your arm brushing his. The firelight flickered in your eyes, making you look impossibly warm.

The kind of warmth Rafe had gotten used to over the years. The kind he was lucky to have. He turned to face you, an easy smile forming on his lips. “Yeah, but at least it’s entertaining.”

You smirked. "For now. I give it an hour before he’s passed out in the sand."

He tilted his head, giving you a mock-serious look. “You wanna place a bet on that?”

You squinted at him like you were actually considering it. “What’s the wager?”

Rafe leaned in, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Winner gets to pick what we do tomorrow.”

You raised an eyebrow, your smirk deepening. “And what exactly do you have in mind?”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool but knowing exactly what he’d want if he won. He could feel the stupid velvet box burning in his pocket. He carried it everywhere, hoping he’d man up and do it already. He couldn’t do it now—not here, not like this, not with JJ stumbling around somewhere in the background and the sound of half-drunk partygoers laughing around you.

“I don’t know. Maybe spend the day out on the boat. Just the two of us.”

“Alright, deal,” you said, holding out your hand for him to shake, “Sounds nice.”

Nice wasn’t even close to what he had in mind.

He took your hand, but instead of shaking it, he pulled you in closer, wrapping an arm around your waist. You let out a small laugh, leaning into him. The beer bottle in your hand dangled lazily at your side. You leaned up, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Rafe let out a breathy chuckle, turning his head to capture your lips with his. The kiss was slow, lazy even, like there wasn’t a party around you. “Still think I’m cute, huh?” 

You gave him a look, lips curving into a shit-eating-grin. “When you’re not acting like JJ.”

He groaned, tipping his head back dramatically. “Don’t compare me to that fuckin' idiot.”

You just grinned, pulling away slightly, though your hand stayed on his chest. “Relax. You’re cuter, baby.”

“Damn right,” Rafe muttered, tugging you back to him. He liked having you close like this—reminded him that no matter how much shit had changed, some things stayed solid. You. Him. This.

He kissed the top of your head, breathing in the familiar scent of your hair, and let out a contented sigh. 

JJ had somehow found another beer, and as Rafe glanced his way, he saw Kie giving him a hard time, probably for almost getting into it earlier.

“You think they’ll ever figure it out?” you asked, following Rafe’s gaze.

“Who, JJ and Kie?” He shrugged, taking another sip of his beer. “Maybe. Probably not, though. They’re both too stubborn.”

You hummed in agreement, resting your head against his shoulder. “Sounds familiar.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, we turned out alright, didn’t we?”

You smiled up at him, the firelight dancing in your eyes. “Yeah, we did.”

Just as you and Rafe were starting to get lost in your own little world, a sudden shout cut through the noise of the party. Rafe glanced up and spotted JJ again, this time charging toward some guy who was standing way too close to Kie. 

Oh for fuck’s sake.

JJ's posture tense, fists clenched at his sides, and his voice already rising in that familiar way that screamed trouble. "Hey, man, back the fuck off!" He growled, pushing the guy away from Kie. The dude barely had time to react before JJ was already up in his face, looking like he was seconds away from throwing a punch.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Rafe muttered under his breath.

Without a second thought, he downed the last of his beer and started striding toward fight. You followed, a little concerned but mostly impressed by how quickly he handled it. He was always the one who kept things calm now—so different from his hot-headed younger days.

“Maybank!” Rafe’s voice boomed across the beach, and you could hear the change in tone.

He was done playing around.

JJ, too focused on trying to defend Kie’s honor, didn’t even hear him. Rafe didn’t hesitate. He grabbed him by the back of his shirt, pulling him away from the guy before anything could escalate further.

The younguer blonde whipped around, ready to argue, but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Rafe. “Dude, I—”

“Start walking,” He hauled him a few feet away, practically dragging him while the other guy quickly disappeared into the crowd.

You couldn’t help but watch the way Rafe took control of the situation, handling JJ like a dad trying to wrangle a rowdy teenager. You could see the way he deflated in response. He’d grown to respect Rafe too much to keep pushing.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Rafe said, his grip still tight on JJ’s shirt. “You’re gonna get yourself knocked out one of these days if you don’t stop acting like you need to throw hands over every little thing.” JJ scowled but didn’t say anything, and Rafe shook his head, letting him go. “Seriously, Kie can handle herself. And if she needs backup, that’s what we are for—not you getting your ass handed to you every time some guy breathes in her direction.”

JJ kicked at the sand, muttering something under his breath, but he knew better than to argue. Rafe’s voice softened a little, seeing JJ’s shoulders slump. “Look, I get it. But not like this. Not here.”

He nodded once, reluctantly, and Rafe gave him a rough pat on the shoulder before turning back to you. He caught your eye, and you felt the pride bloom in your chest. The way he handled himself, the way he diffused situations—it wasn’t just about being strong anymore, it was about knowing how to lead, how to take care of the people he loved. And, honestly? It was a turn-on.

You couldn’t help the way your eyes lingered on him as he came back over to you. He looked so composed, so solid, and that arm of his, the way he pulled JJ back without breaking a sweat—it had your mind going places. Rafe raised an eyebrow at you, a playful smirk on his lips.

“What?” he asked, already knowing you were checking him out.

You stepped closer, trailing your fingers up his arm, feeling the strength in the way his muscles flexed beneath your touch.

“Nothing,” you murmured, biting your lip as your eyes met his. “Just proud of you.”

Rafe chuckled, his hand slipping around your waist, pulling you against him. “Proud, huh?”

“Mhm,” you whispered, pressing yourself closer, feeling the warmth of his body. “It’s kinda hot.”

“That what does it for you now? Me playing babysitter?”

You laughed softly, your hand still resting on his arm, fingers trailing along his bicep. “Not just that. The way you handled it. You’re just—”

Rafe’s hand slid down your back. “Just what?” he asked, his breath hot against your neck.

You bit your lip, feeling your heart pick up speed. "Strong.” You smirked, letting your hand slide lower, down the curve of his chest. “Kinda makes me wanna—”

He cut you off with a kiss, his mouth moving against yours with a kind of slow intensity that had you melting into him. His hand gripped you tighter, pulling you even closer, because he could never have enough of you. 

When he pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours, both of you a little breathless, he smirked down at you. “You keep talkin' like that, we might need to leave this party a little early.”

You grinned up at him, your arms wrapping around his neck. “Might not be the worst idea,” you teased, your voice low. “Think we’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

Rafe chuckled, his lips brushing against your forehead before he pulled away just enough to glance over his shoulder, making sure JJ wasn’t about to start up more trouble.

When he saw everything was calm, he turned back to you, “Let’s get outta here, baby.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

He pulled you in close as you reached the car, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your lips, making your head spin all over again.

"You're somethin' else, you know that?" he whispered against your lips, his hands sliding up your back, fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

"Get in the car, Cameron.”

[cosmopretty]

꣑୧ summary— thinking about Caitlin Clark eating you out like it’s her last meal, making you come again and again till you can’t take it anymore

warnings— smut, nsfw

Her tongue licks through folds as your hips twitch up, her veiny big hands hold your hips down on the bed “Come on baby give me one more I know you can” she mumbles looking up at you, through your legs.

She’s been eating you out for god knows how long, her mouth and fingers making you come over and over.

“P-please Cait no more” you whine your hand trying to push her head away from your core.

Caitlin shakes her head “You can give me one more baby, come on” she praises you. Her mouth comes to suck on your bundle of nerves as her fingers dip down and sink into you.

Her two fingers inside you pump in and out of you as you moan and whine under her. Your stomach tightens and your leg squeeze around her head, you can’t remember how many times you came tonight.

You were so overstimulated every move she made on you went straight to the band tightening in your stomach, your body flinching. Feeling your orgasm building up again your whine grabbing onto her head, her mouth pulls off your clit and she leaves a kiss on the bundle of nerves. Before looking up at your fucked out face. She could eat you out for hours until you were crying and weak, not able to move a muscle.

“You gonna come princess? Come on give to me” Caitlin whispers to your fastening the pace of her fingers inside you. Her fingers hit that sweet spot inside you over and over and her thumb comes to rub your clit in circles. Until you your juices were dropping down her fingers, and in her mouth. She licks her fingers clean then cleans you up with her tongue, your legs shaking as she overstimulates you even more than before.

She shushes you “shh it’s okay baby you did so good for me princess” she whispers moving up and kissing your head her hand smoothing your hair.

[thinkinginpen]

Hey can I request a fic where reader is Bucky's ex girlfriend and Logan's new girlfriend? Thank you

Better Than Us

a/n: I really liked this idea! Wasn't exactly how to go about it but I think the result came out well. Definitely interesting idea! Hope you liked it :) pairing: ex!bucky x bf!logan x reader w/c: 3.6k warnings: romance, hinting, love, dating, ex lover interaction, mentions of cheating, mentions of killing, anger, arguing, jealousy, etc. summary: You and Logan are at a club not to far from your house. Then you run into someone unexpected.

"Ugh," You grumbled, leaning against the bathroom counter and rolling their eyes at you reflection. You didn't think you looked good but you really wanted to go. "Why did I agree to this?" You were about to head out to a club with your boyfriend, Logan, and the thought of dancing in a crowd of strangers was exactly your idea of a good time.

"Y'can always stay behind," Logan called out from the other room. "But I thought ya liked to see me in a suit."

You groaned, smoothing down the skirt of your dress. He was right, he did cut quite the figure on an occasion. You had an idea what he'd be wearing. A sharp black suit, the perfect fit. The sleeves rolled up just this side of professional and a crisp white shirt beneath. Yeah, you'd thought about it when you let him talk you into dressing up and going out tonight.

The bathroom door creaked open and Logan came to lean against the doorframe. He gave a low whistle and you gave him a small smile through the mirror as you fluffed your hair. His eyes roamed over your exposed back, the thin straps of your dress and the way the material hugged your hips.

"God damn bub, you're beautiful," Logan murmured, crossing the room in two steps and standing behind you. He met your gaze in the mirror as his hands settled on your hips and tugged you back against his chest. You could feel the warmth of him even through the layers of his dress shirt.

The movement pushed your hair out of the way, baring your neck. His fingers brushed the exposed skin and a shiver coursed down your spine. A low rumble of a laugh echoed in his chest, his breath warm against your skin and sending a wave of heat straight through you.

"And you know I ain't the only one gonna see that tonight," Logan breathed, drawing you closer as he continued to tease along your skin. "All those other men are gonna be watchin' you out on that dance floor. But guess who's gonna kill 'em if they get to close?"

You rolled your eyes and tried to tamp down on the heat that was pooling in your core. His words sent a thrill down your spine but you'd be damned if you told him that. "I didn't realize I was dating a caveman."

He huffed a laugh and buried his face in the crook of your neck. He nosed along the skin there as his hands slipped down to trace the straps on your shoulders. "Can ya blame me for not wantin' them to see ya like this? Lookin' all pretty n' dressed up."

His teeth grazed your skin and you inhaled but you refused to let him get to you so easily. "I'm pretty on any night you know," you managed, tilting your head to the side to give his more access with a smile. "This isn't anything you haven't seen before."

"That it ain't," he murmurs. His lips drag across your pulse point, nipping the sensitive skin. He pushed the soft material of your dress off your shoulders and your chest as you shivered beneath his touch. "God damn, baby. I want ya so bad right now."

"It'll have to wait Mr. Howlett," you smiled, the red from your lipstick only bringing the smile out more. "We have plans at the club, remember?"

He groaned again, pressing his forehead against your shoulder. "Don't know why I ever agreed to this damn club bullshit."

You laughed and reached up to his head, burying your fingers in that thick brown hair. "Because you like me in this damn dress."

He hummed an agreement and lifted his head. His eyes roamed over your appearance, taking in the tight blue fabric and the hint of what lay underneath. "Yeah I do," he murmured. "Lookin' like a goddess. A damn temptress."

Logan's hands were on you all the way to the club, pulling you close in the cab, and keeping his arm around your shoulders as you entered and sat down in a booth. The club was just as packed as you had expected, the press of people all around you. The lights were low and the music loud, and the air was thick with the smell of alcohol and sweat.

You could feel Logan's eyes on you as the music changed to something more upbeat. He was watching you intently, the possessive gleam in his gaze sending a thrill down your spine. "I'm gonna need a drink if I gotta have every man in here lookin' at ya," he growled, pulling you closer to him.

You laughed and pushed against his chest to no avail. "You'll live, you big baby." You leaned in and kissed his cheek, feeling the stubble brush against your lips. "I'll go up to the bar. What do you want?"

"Just a good view of your ass," he answered, giving a wolfish grin that bordered on feral. "But a whiskey on the rocks I guess."

You huffed a laugh and rolled your eyes. "You and your one track mind," you teased, standing. You paused for a moment, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his lips. "Be back in a minute."

You slipped through the throng of people and walked up to the bar. Several men along the way took the opportunity to look you up and down, taking in your appearance. You could feel their gazes lingering on the exposed skin and the tight material of your dress. Ignoring their stares, you waited until you reached the bar to lean against it.

"Hey sweetheart," the bartender greeted, a smile on his face as he paused his pouring, looking you up and a smile. "What can I get for ya?"

"Hi," you replied, giving him a small smile in return. "I'll have a White Russian and, uh, a neat whiskey."

"Comin' right up," he said with a nod, already reaching for the vodka. You watched him as he poured the drinks and your mind began to wander. You wondered if Logan was watching, wondering if you could feel his gaze on you from where he sat.

"Here ya go," the bartender called, pulling you from your thoughts. "Sweet drinks for a sweet girl." He smiled again and you took the opportunity to glance around the room again, seeing if you could pick Logan out among the sea of bodies.

You found him quickly enough, even through the packed dance floor. He was staring at you intently, eyes locked firmly on your body. It was clear the attention you were getting wasn't something he was enjoying. You had a brief flash of guilt for putting him through that, but you also knew he wasn't blameless here.

With a smile, you picked up the drinks and began the trek back to the booth. As you moved, the crowd pressed against you and you could feel more stares as you passed. You could practically hear the thoughts running through their heads and knew that no one had missed the way Logan was staring at you.

You made it back to the booth and handed off the drinks to a thankful Logan. He watched silently for a moment, continuing to glare at any man that came close to you. His eyes continued to roam over your body in that possessive way that you both loved and hated.

Suddenly, his gaze shifted, focusing on something or someone behind you.

You turned around to see what he was looking at, finding yourself face to face with Bucky. He stood there, wearing a leather jacket over a tight gray shirt and you could tell immediately from the tenseness in his shoulders how uncomfortable he was.

"Long time no see," you said, attempting a smile. You hadn't seen Bucky since the fallout of the two of you, a break up that had been one of the most painful of your life. Despite that, you couldn't help the wave of guilt that washed over you. You knew this had to be tearing him apart, seeing you with Logan.

"Barnes," Logan growled, and you knew that wasn't a greeting, it was a warning. He clearly wasn't happy about the unexpected arrival.

Bucky's eyes flicked to Logan, his mouth twisting into something between a frown and a sneer. "Wolverine," he bit out, the distaste clear in his voice. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"The feelin' is mutual," Logan replied darkly, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you against him. Bucky's gaze flicked to the action, his eyes narrowing as he took it in.

"Looks like I'm interrupting something," Bucky said, still looking between the two of you. The tension in the air was so thick you could practically hold it in your hands, the look in his eyes giving you an unpleasant feeling of déjà vu.

"Yeah, it does," Logan said, his voice low. "How about you do us all a favor and get lost." He pulled you even closer, an action that felt more like a claim than anything else.

He looked to you, "I'm just gonna steal the lady for a second."

For a moment, Logan's grip tightened and you could see a refusal on his tongue. But before he could object, you placed a hand on his chest. "I'll be right back, Logan," you assured him, hoping to calm him a bit. "Just gonna go talk to Bucky for a second."

He released you reluctantly, grumbling something you couldn't quite catch underneath his breath. You smiled and gave him what you hoped was a reassuring gesture before following Bucky away from the booth.

Bucky led you away to a secluded corner of the club, well away from the booth Logan was sitting in. You could feel his eyes burning into your back and tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that was building in your stomach.

Bucky stopped once he was satisfied with how far you'd moved and turned to face you, his hands shoved in his pockets. For a moment, the two of you continued to stand there in silence, neither one knowing how to start this conversation.

Finally, it was Bucky who spoke, his eyes focused on you in an intense stare. "You look good," he said quietly, his gaze flickering over your form. "Really good."

"Thanks," you mumbled, feeling the flush rise in your cheeks at the compliment. It was a strange experience, to have your ex-boyfriend standing in front of you after so long. Seeing him again had stirred up the mix of emotions you'd been trying so hard to bury.

Silence fell between the two of you again, and Bucky shifted uncomfortably for a moment. "So you and Logan, huh?" he finally said, raising a brow in what you guessed was supposed to be a casual manner.

You winced at his words, knowing immediately what he was getting at. You could practically see the wheels turning in his head, but you weren't sure how to answer. "Yeah," you finally said, opting for honesty. "We've been dating for a few months now."

Bucky's jaw clenched at your answer, his hands balling into fists, but he said nothing. It was clear that the news hadn't gone over well with him, not that you had expected it to. Even when you had been dating, it wasn't a secret that he greatly disliked Logan.

"I still love y-"

"Don't," you interrupted, feeling a sharp pang of guilt mixed in with the anger and discomfort. "Don't say that. You lost that right a long time ago, back when you destroyed our relationship."

"You would get hurt involved with someone as fucked up as me! I was an assassin!"

"And I was fine with that!" you shot back, frustration building in your voice. "I didn't care what you'd done, I cared about you. And you were the one who broke up with me, remember? That choice was on you, and you alone. And Logan has some fucked up things too."

Bucky was quiet for a moment, seeming to process your words. The look in his eyes only darkened at the mention of Logan, his frown growing even deeper. "Yeah, and I don't doubt he's done some shitty stuff to you too. You just don't see it. You can't see it."

"And what exactly do you think he's done, Bucky?" you snapped, feeling the anger welling up inside of you. "Do you think he's hit me? Cheated on me? What am I not seeing, exactly?"

He paused, taken aback by the venom in your voice. His eyes flicked over you, studying your face and he took a step towards you, his body tensed. "I wouldn't put it past him," he said, his voice low. "He's not a good person, in case you've forgotten."

"You're not a saint either Bucky. And he knows he isn't perfect. But he didn't cower away and leave me!"

"I didn't leave you because I wanted to," Bucky snapped, his own anger flaring to match yours. He took another few steps until he was only inches from you, his hands gripping your shoulders tightly. "God damn it, I left because I couldn't stand what I was putting you through!"

You flinched at his touch but you didn't move back. The intense heat of his gaze was fixed on you as he continued to speak. "Every time you asked me to stay the night I wanted to. Every time you tried to get close, I wanted to hold you. But every time I looked at you, all I could see was how I was ruining you."

Your conversation with Bucky was suddenly disturbed as Logan stormed over towards you. His strides were long and purposeful, eyes locked in on the pair of you.

"The hell is goin' on over here?" he snarled, eyeing Bucky's hands on your shoulders.

Bucky's fingers tensed on your shoulders and he shot a glare at Logan, refusing to pull away. "Just having a conversation, Wolverine," he said, his tone dripping with thinly veiled contempt. "Something wrong with that?"

"Yeah, there's somethin' wrong with it when you're hands are all over my girlfriend," Logan growled, positioning himself between you and Bucky. He was practically bristling with anger, a low rumble building in his chest.

Bucky's eyes narrowed further and his hands flexed against you. Your skin burned under his touch, an uncomfortable reminder of the relationship the three of you shared.

"I was just talking to her," Bucky snapped, glaring at Logan over your head. "She doesn't belong to you, you know."

Logan let out a bark of a laugh, the sound harsh and cold. "Yeah, she does belong to me. She's my girl." His eyes flicked down to where Bucky's hands still gripping you, his face twisting into a sneer. "So keep your damn hands off her until you learn how to treat a lady."

Bucky's grip tightened almost to the point of pain as he bristled under the implication from Logan. The two men were standing mere inches apart, locked in a heated stare. You could practically feel the tension radiating off both of them.

"And you think you can do better?" he bit back, the muscles in his jaw tensing. "I don't see you exactly being the best boyfriend material either. She deserves better than both of us."

A vicious anger flared in Logan's eyes, his hands balling into fists. "At least I'm tryin' my best here," he growled. "Maybe you could try caring about somethin' besides yourself for once."

"Oh like you do, huh?" Bucky retorted, finally releasing one of your shoulders to jab a finger at Logan's chest. "Mr. I'm So Damn Broody and Lonely, can't let anyone get close because you're scared they'll leave? You don't know the first thing about caring."

"And you're some expert on the subject?" Logan shot back, his voice dripping with venom. "You're the one who left her, remember? I was here to pick up the pieces you left behind."

Bucky flinched at Logan's words, the barb clearly hitting home. But he quickly schooled his expression, a sneer forming on his face again. "At least I'm not a violent drunk," he hissed. "I bet she loves dealin' with that."

Logan's eyes flashed, the anger building in him reaching a new level. "You know what, you got one hell of a nerve takin' the high road, you and your killin' past," he snarled. "You wanna talk about bein' bad for her? You're one to talk. At least I'm not the one who broke her heart."

The muscles in Bucky's jaw ticked as he clenched his teeth. His eyes bored into Logan's, a mixture of anger and guilt swimming in them. He was quiet for a moment, struggling to find the words he wanted.

"You have no idea what went on between us," he finally said, his voice thick with emotion. "What we had, what she means to me. You don't have the slightest clue, and you never will."

Logan's lip curled into a sneer, looking between you and Bucky. "And you think I care? You think I give two shits about what you and her had? All that matters now is the fact that she's mine now, and you're her deadbeat ex."

With a growl, Logan reached down and grabbed your arm, practically pulling you away from Bucky. The sudden movement forced you to stumble after him as he began to lead you out of the club.

You struggled to keep up with his quick pace, your legs still unsteady from the drinks you'd had. The music and chatter from the club abruptly faded as you and Logan pushed through the doors and stepped out onto the street.

Logan didn't slow his pace until you were a good distance from the club. He didn't speak until he finally stopped, releasing your arm and turning to face you. The anger was still present in his expression, his body tension tight.

Logan's expression softened as he looked down at you, and he let out a heavy sigh. "Goddammit," he muttered, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. "I don't know why I let him get to me like that."

He paused for a moment, looking into your eyes. "You alright, bub?"

You nodded in response, still feeling shaken from the encounter with Bucky. Logan's hand came up to touch your cheek, his fingers gentle against your skin.

"Forget about that idiot," he said, a hint of a growl still in his voice. "I swear, that man brings out the worst in me."

He paused, his eyes still fixed on your face. "Hey, look at me," he said, tilting your chin up. "You know I love you, right? More than that damn Barnes ever did."

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips despite yourself. "Yeah, I know," you said, reaching up to place a hand on his chest. "You're a damn pain in the ass, but I love you too, Logan."

He let out a low rumble of a chuckle, the sound more possessive than amused. "Good," he said, the hand on your cheek moving to caress the back of your neck. "And I was serious, darlin'. You're mine, not his. I don't want him anywhere near you."

You could almost feel the protectiveness rolling off of him in waves, the primal need to have and claim you. It bordered on being sweet, but there was an edge to it that reminded you of the same look you'd seen in Bucky's eyes earlier.

"Don't worry," you assured him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "I have no interest in going back to Bucky. He made his choice a long time ago. I'm with you, Logan."

His expression darkened at the mention of Bucky's name again, his hand tightening on your neck ever so slightly. But he said nothing, instead leaning down to press his lips against yours in a tender kiss.

The kiss was gentle at first, his lips moving against yours in a slow, languid rhythm. But as the seconds ticked by, the kiss became more urgent, Logan's tongue slipping between your lips and delving into your mouth.

His free hand slid around to your waist, pulling your body flush against his. You could feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of your dress, the muscles of his chest taut under your fingers.

He broke the kiss with a ragged sigh, his forehead resting against yours. His hands still held you close, as if he were afraid to let go. "Damn it, doll," he muttered, his voice low and rough. "You drive me crazy, you know that?"

You couldn't help the small smile that tugged at your lips again, feeling the tension in your body start to relax. "I know," you replied, running a hand up his chest. "It's a mutual affliction, I think."

[fallstaticexit]

Prev / Next / Beginning / Pillowfort

AN: Still got a bug but I couldn’t go another day without sharing more of this beloved story of mine 💜 next update will return next week! Just a couple more before we end part II and begin part III.

Transcript under the cut

Nancy: [panting] Ok...ok, I-I think I get it. Thank you.

Darling: It’s not even close to the real thing. I can give it to you, if you want it. No strings.

Nancy Narrates: [If my heart wasn’t so lost in Vanessa, would I have said yes]

Nancy: [whispers] I’m not a cheater.

Darling: Ah. Right. Your boyfriend. Fuck, my bad. I got caught up in the moment. Come on, let’s wake up M and Knox and call it a night.

Nancy Narrates: [Boyfriend. Not once did I think about Geoffrey]

Darling: You’ll figure it out. It’s not easy but you’ll find the real thing. But, if you tryna figure it out some more, holla at me. [chuckles]

Nancy: [chuckles lightly]

-

Bob: Found something!

Geoffrey: Seriously? Is it an address?

Bob: Not an address. It’s a phone number. I doubt the Villareal’s have their residence shared to the public.

Geoffrey: Dude, you are seriously a genius. I owe you one!

Bob: No worries, my man! Nothing gets me ready for 8am exams like a good old fashioned 2am espionage.

Geoffrey: Anything to see Nancy smile again. I’m going to surprise her on our anniversary.

Bob: If I don’t end up as crazy about Eliza as you are with Nance, then I’m doing something wrong.

Geoffrey: DId you have fun with the Theta’s tonight?

Nancy: Yeah... yeah, it was fun..

Geoffrey: I’ve been thinking about our anniversary all day. I can’t wait to take you out. Come on, let’s get you to bed.

Nancy Narrates: [He doesn’t deserve my lying]

Nancy Narrates: [I wish I could say it would be the last time I did]

-

Geoffrey: I know I’ve said it already, but you look amazing tonight, Nance.

Nancy: Thank you. You look very handsome too.

Geoffrey: My girlfriend has great taste in wardrobe. I say it everytime.

Nancy: You’re really easy to dress. You’re like my living doll.

Geoffrey: I can’t believe it’s been 2 years. I still can’t believe how lucky I am. When you said you had feelings for me that day in the courtyard, I almost didn’t believe it. I thought you were too perfect for me.

Nancy: [frowns] That’s not true. You’re a catch, Geoffrey. Anyone would be so lucky to have you.

Geoffrey: I’m glad it wasn’t just anyone. I’m so happy it was you.

Nancy: [smiles softly] Thank you for loving me. It’s more than I deserve.

Geoffrey: [grins] You deserve it all. Here’s to many more years of you and me. Oh! By the way, I have a gift for you, and don’t tell me I shouldn’t have.

Geoffrey: Ta-da!! I know how much you miss your friend Vanessa, from high school so I had Bobby do some digging around. Didn’t find much but we found her number! The number works too, I called it and it went to voicemail. You should give her a call! Catch up.

Geoffrey: I get it, Nance. Other than you, Bob is like my favorite person in the world. If he ever up and moved without a word, I’d be crushed. I know you’re making a ton of new friends now, but hey, there really is nothing like having your best friend around, right?

Geoffrey: Nancy?

Nancy Narrates: [What would I even say. How do I even being to convey the longing, the sorrow, the love that I’ve held on to for two years. What would I do when I hear her voice again]

[phone rings]

Vanessa: Hi, you’ve reached Vanessa Villareal. I’m away from the phone but if you leave your name and a call back number, I’ll be sure to reach out to you. Chao.

[beep]

[stunies]

ᘏ AUTHOR’S NOTE — hihi welcome to my 2024 kinktober! this a repost since i moved blogs, but a couple prompts have been added.

TO BE TAGGED, please leave a comment & mention which ones you’d like to be tagged in. or! you can fill out this form. either one is fine! however, you must be 18+ and have your age visible anywhere on your blog in order to interact. make sure to take a quick peek at the warnings too! happy (early) october ^^

ᘏ FANDOMS & INFO — wind breaker, my hero academia, honkai star rail, haikyuu, and blue lock too. there are thirteen drabbles and two lengthy fics included = fifteen total posts for october! (｀∇ ´) ψ

OCTOBER 1 - PET PLAY

KIRYU MITSUKI X F!READER ﾉ 1328 words ﾉ in which kiryu dresses you up as a cat- so make sure you commit to it and act like one! he’ll reward you nicely. he always does.

ᘏ ft. pet play, toys (anal plug), praise, pet names, double stuffed

OCTOBER 3 - CUCKOLDING

HAYATO SUO X AFAB!READER ﾉ 1031 words ﾉ FICS4GAZA ﾉ sakura doesn’t think he’s ever held his phone in his non-dominant hand until tonight.

ᘏ ft. consensual recording, cuckolding (sakura), + masturbation, overstimulation, very light choking, creampie, mention of toys

OCTOBER 5 - MASK KINK

ENDO YAMATO X F!READER ﾉ 1130 words ﾉ endo thought you were joking about masks being hot, but … if you really like them so much, then maybe he’ll put on a show just for you.

ᘏ ft. mask kink, very consensual fear play, both degradation & praise

OCTOBER 7 - SUCCUBUS?!

SAKURA HARUKA X SUCCUBUS!F!READER ﾉ 1011 words ﾉ there’s no better way to lose your virginity than to a succubus, right? do those even exist? he was skeptical before he met you.

ᘏ ft. virginity loss (both), aphrodisiac, creampie

OCTOBER 11 - OVERSTIMULATION

KAJI REN X F!READER ﾉ 1093 words ﾉ does flavored lube taste good? he hopes it does. it’s the reason why he bought a entire pack— so let’s play a guessing game with it and see.

ᘏ ft. cunninglingus, blindfolded (kaji), fingering, overstimulation

OCTOBER 13 - DRY HUMPING

ALEXIS NESS X F!READER! ﾉ ?? words ﾉ soccer player ness is feeling a little extra desperate tonight.

ᘏ ft. dry humping / clothed sex, messy n desperate ness

OCTOBER 15 - IN UNIFORM

KUROO TETSUROU X F!READER ﾉ ?? words ﾉ kuroo’s pretty girlfriend works at a maid cafe. kuroo’s pretty girlfriend also has little to no patience. who would want to wait all the way until they’re home anyway?

ᘏ ft. maid cafe, size difference, quickie, creampie + keep it inside!

OCTOBER 17 - APHRODISIACS

DAN HENG X F!READERﾉ 1040 words ﾉ the two of you wouldn’t even be in this situation if you had just listened to him. he had already warned you to stay close to him— but that seems to be the least of his concerns now.

ᘏ ft. aphrodisiacs, size difference, mentions of oral (reader receives), fingering, multiple orgasms

OCTOBER 19 - ROOMMATES

HOUSEKEEPING! — TOGAME JO X F!READER! ﾉ 7387 words ﾉ you don’t realize how loud you are, do you? or are the walls just paper thin? his patience seems to also be running thin, but he’s always thought that he tries to be a pretty decent guy most of the time. a decent enough guy that doesn’t fantasize about fucking choji’s childhood friend raw, at least.

ᘏ ft. masturbation (kind of caught), size difference (HEAVY heavy), thigh fucking, creampie, semi-possessive togame glimpse at the end

OCTOBER 23 - TOYS

TAKIISHI CHIKA X F!READER! 1085 words ﾉ you’re at a dinner date with your friends! looks like you’re one seat short, so there’s no other choice but to sit on his lap, right? though you’re pretty certain he can feel the vibrations like this.

ᘏ ft. toys, semi-risky

OCTOBER 27 - YANDERE

YANDERE!UMEMIYA HAJIME X F!READER ﾉ 1074 words ﾉ no one would dare hurt umemiya’s girl. they shouldn’t. they wouldn’t dare. but after some time.. he thinks he should give them another reminder. it wouldn’t hurt.

ᘏ ft. yandere (pretty mild!)

OCTOBER 29 - DEAL?

DABI X HERO!F!READER ﾉ ?? words ﾉ rewrite of archived 2022 drabble— in which hero!reader gets caught by none other than the league of villain’s infamous dabi. he’ll agree to keep it a secret only if you agree to a certain set of terms…

ᘏ ft. bunny hybrid!reader, tw dubcon (ish?), corruption, dacryphilia

OCTOBER 31 - CAMGIRL

CAN’T YOU JUST PRETEND? — HAYATO SUO X F!READER hayato suo x camgirl!f!reader ﾉ 4098 words ﾉ you always do what the highest tipper says, but looks like that’s backfired tonight! “bring someone to fuck you raw on your next stream” oh. but you don’t have a boyfriend, do you? so the second best option would be to swallow your pride and go ask one of your friends to act.

ᘏ ft. streaming (audience), dry humping, creampie, overstimulation, squirting, virginity loss (reader), teasing, suo’s possessive streak

OCTOBER 21 - SCARY MOVIE

ENDO YAMATO X F!READER ﾉ ?? words ﾉ movies n cuddling! it’s your first halloween together… and oh. you even remember his favorites snacks? his heart flutters at the thought.

ᘏ ft. soft endo receiving love, early relationship stage, cuddles

OCTOBER 25 - SPIRITS!

GHOST! HAYATO SUO X F!READER ﾉ 497 words ﾉ you seem to be the only one who doesn’t mind the ghost following you. your friends want to get rid of him, but you look happy in his presence… so they’re left to just hold their breaths & deal with it.

ᘏ ft. your very own comfort ghost, cutely protective suo

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

Lucifer x Virgin Reader - Loving One Night Stand (NSFW/Slight Angst)

This one is long so it’s going under the cut!

@citrusbatsandhoneybees has some banger ideas, I’ll tell ya; based on our chats

Lucifer appears in your room one night unexpectedly and unprompted

He tells you that he knows who you are and tells you that can have him in whatever way you desire

But he also tells you that he can only stay for the night; he is only allowed to be on Earth for a short time every 100 years

Usually he passes on the opportunity, but when he learned about you, he couldn’t but seize this moment with you, although fleeting

“It’s been a loooooong time since I’ve spoken with humans. But there’s something about you…I just had to know more…”

“What…what should we do?”

“That would be up to you. We can sit and talk, watch a movie, anything you want! But from what I know, I’ll venture a guess and say you want something different…”

You swallowed hard. “I-I do, but…I hope you know I feel more for you than just…that. And I’ve never…”

You can feel yourself start to tear up

“Hey, hey, it’s alright! We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with! I’d never put you in the situation, I promise. And I know you mean what you say, I can tell.”

He grips your hands and smiles at you sweetly

All those nights you spent thinking about what you would do to this man, it drove you insane; but here he was, offering you exactly what you’ve yearned for all this time

“If we only have tonight…I want to make the most of it. I don’t want to be afraid anymore…”

“If that’s what you wish, then I’m yours. We’ll go at whatever pace you’re most comfortable with, alright? And if at any point it’s too much or you want to stop, promise me that you’ll tell me immediately.”

You nod before you lean in to kiss him for the first time

His lips are soft and desperate for more of you; he pulls away and chuckles softly

“I’ll admit, it’s…it’s been a while since I’ve kissed anyone like that. Let alone…n-never mind. Please, come back…”

He pulled in for another kiss, holding the back of your head ever so gently, his moans sending aches straight to your core.

You start to undress each other slowly and carefully before your nearly fully exposed in front of him as he hovers above you on the bed

"Fffuck...you...you're already so wet...I love that. No hon, don't be shy, I would never make fun of you. Never. It's adorable really. Are you ready? I'll start slow, just one finger to start, okay?”

He slowly inserts one finger inside of you, a small whimper escapes your throat

“That's it...that's a good girl...so cute...You make the most adorable sounds, dear. How do you feel? Are you still okay?”

“M-More, please…”

“O-Okay, I can do that..."

His fingers start thrusting in and out of you faster and faster before reaching for your aching clit

“Still with me? Good...now let me just rub riiigghhhttt here...there it is~ Oh love, the faces you're making, fuck...I can't get enough...you're doing so well~"

But it doesn’t take long before he’s pleading for more

“Sweetheart, I need...f-fuck...please, please can I taste you?”

“Y-Yes…”

“God, thank you...thank you so much! Promise I'll be gentle, just let me...m-mmmm mmmfffuuuckkk, ohmygod...darling y-you're absolutely divine...such a pretty pussy, love...so lovely, so beautiful...you're perfect...mmmmmm...mmhmmmh~"

With his expert tongue, it’s only a moment more before he has you cumming on his tongue

“You taste heavenly, my angel. I could stay between your thighs for the rest of my days and it wouldn’t be long enough.~”

In your lust fueled state, you decide to turn the tables

“Lucifer, I-I want to return the favor, if that’s okay…”

“What do you...oh...OH! Oh, no! You don't have to do that, hon! It's perfectly fine! You don't need to-

“But I want to…very much…”

“I...oh fuck me...love, I'm...it's fine, really! Oh, please don't look at me like that! That's cheating! Ughhhh, okay okay, fine, you win! You don't play fair.~”

You start slow, stroking his length carefully; his cock already leaking from your small touches alone

You decide to use your tongue to help clean him up

“Darling? W-What are you-OH FUCK ME…f-fuck, your tongue…HOLY F-FUCK! S-Slow down, hon! P-Please slow down…don’t hurt yourself…i-if you keep licking me like that, I’m g-gonna…fuckfuckfuck…”

“It’s okay, Lucifer, I want you to let go.~”

“F-Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me-GAAAHH SSHHHHIIIIIIT! Fuck, I’m gonna cum baby…gonna c-cum…your fault…a-all your fault…fuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK AAAAAHHH!”

Lucifer cums hard in your mouth, one hand gripping the bed sheets, the other tangled in your hair

You swallow his load happily without hesitation, giving him a satisfying hum

“That…that was amazing. You’re amazing! Thank you for that! I…geez, just incredible…”

He pulls you up to his face for a tender kiss before pulling you back onto the bed with him

”Do you…want to keep going? I’m more than happy if you’re not comfortable going any further.”

“Yes, I want to…fuck, please! I need you!”

“Okay…okayokayokay…f-fuck. We…we’ll go extremely slow, alright? If you’re in pain, if you want to stop at any point, please tell me immediately. You’re absolutely sure? Okay…then lay down for me, darling~”

You do as he says as he slots himself between your legs

“Deep breaths love, this…this might hurt a little bit. I’m going to everything I can to make it as painless as possible. You have to tell me if it’s too much, do you promise? Okay…I’m going to push in now, just a little bit…HNNGG…gghhh…fuck…Are you alright? I-Is is too much? Let me know when I can keep going…”

“I’m alright Luci, please keep going…”

“O-Okay, I’m going to push in a little more…O-Oh my God…love, you feel…so fucking good…you’re taking m-me so well.”

His hips start to thrust into you, slowly at first but he starts to falter fast, the feeling of being inside you overwhelming him

He leans down to kiss you passionately, swallowing every sound he pulls out of you as he fucks you tenderly

“I’m…shhhhiiiittt…I’m not gonna last much longer…I’m gonna…f-fuck…I can’t…”

“It’s okay, L-Lucifer, it’s okay, cum in me…I want you to f-fill me. Please Lucifer…”

With your permission, he cums with a loud cry, painting your walls white with his load

His orgasm triggers your own as you pulse around him, feeling utterly and completely full

He crashes on top of you, his breathing heavy and labored

“Thank you, love…thank you…”

You can feel more tears starting to form in your eyes

“Lucifer…”

“Shh, it’ll be alright, I promise. If I could stay, I would, please believe me.”

“I love you…”

He plants a tender kiss to your forehead as he wipes your tears away

“I love you too. Come here.”

He wraps his arms around you tightly, his wings appearing and spreading across you, covering you completely

“Rest now, love.”

It didn’t take too much longer for your eyes to grow heavy as he held you against his chest

It was the best night of sleep you ever had

You awoke late the next morning in a daze, wondering if last night was nothing more than a dream

Before you got out of bed, you noticed a small folded piece of paper laying on the pillow next to you

You picked it up and began to read the note

“Thank you for a wonderful night. It will be one I will never forget for as long as I live. If fate is kind, perhaps we will meet again in the next life. But I fear Hell will not be your final destination. I love you, for all time. Yours, Lucifer Morningstar”

You didn’t leave bed that day; you sobbed, praying that the next time you woke up, it would be next to him

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Hi! Can I ask for prompt 12?

Yo sorry for the long wait, here it is! Thank you for requesting!

Prompt list is here

Summary: Astarion gets drunk enough to finally sit down and do more than just flirt with you (by that I mean he talks to you)

Getting drunk was never on Astarion's agenda, yet here he was, giddy from the combination of wine and bear's blood he'd just inhaled while you continued to sip from your cup, watching amused as he stumbles towards you.

"Ah, just the person I wanted to see. It's been far too long, darling, since we last talked."

"It's been half an hour."

"Still, darling. Far too long." He seats himself beside you rather unsteadily, gripping your arm. You can smell the wine on his breath as he leans in, fangs peeking out. Swallowing when he comes way too close, you gently try to push him away but he refuses to budge, instead burying his face into your neck and inhaling your scent.

"Astarion," you say warily. "You're drunk."

"Am I now, darling?" He laughs, trailing his fingers along your arm. "I don't think so."

"Astarion, I'm not going to —"

"Not going to?" He smiles, an index finger along your chin. His other hand moves towards the laces on his shirt, clumsily undoing them.

"I'm not going to take advantage of you." You firmly pull his shirt back up, covering the collarbone he just undressed. You push your cup away and rise from your seat, leading him away by the arm. All the while, he giggles, lavishing you with words of temptation but you ignore him, nudging him into his tent.

"Oh, here?" He grins, lying on the bedroll you gave him some time ago. He rests on his elbows, looking up at you and wiggles his eyebrows. You sit next to him, much to his surprise and he turns to face you, still propping himself up by the elbow. More honeyed words rest on the tip of his tongue but you never give him a chance to say them.

"No, not here." You shake your head, and he gets even more confused. Why then did you bring him to his tent, away from prying eyes? What did you want from him that required the both of you coming to his tent? Maybe his charms weren't working on you well enough, maybe you were just testing him, seeing how good he was at flirting. Well, he was about to show you just how good he was at this.

"The gods were showing off when they made you, darling, because you're the very definition of perfection." He purrs, leaning in closer until your lips are but mere inches apart and you pull back violently, pushing him backwards. He lets out a yelp as his back hits the floor and your eyes widen.

"I'm so sorry Astarion! I didn't mean to push you that hard!" There's panic in your voice, why? It won't be the first time his bedside partner has been rough with him, in fact he's quite used to it. He just needs to picture an empty space, pretend like he's floating and all the pain will fade away into a dull throb. He won't complain about the roughness, as long as you're happy he's happy…he thinks.

"Didn't know you liked it rough, my dear. You don't seem like the type, but I suppose appearances can be quite deceiving." He continues to upkeep the fake smile, but a small fear has started to grip him. In his drunken state, he's far less concerned about what happens tonight since he'll likely forget all about it the next morning but he'd rather not suffer too badly.

"I — I said I'm sorry! I don't — I'm not going to sleep with you alright? You're drunk and clearly not in the right state of mind, doing anything that requires consent would only be taking advantage of you." You desperately shake your head, shifting further away from him. "I only brought you here so that you'd be safe."

You look away, curling up into a ball and Astarion knows you're embarrassed. It's a habit of yours, one of the many he's noticed over the course of your journey together and in all honesty, he finds it cute. You remain curled in a ball even after you've finished being embarrassed and it then hits — you really don't want to sleep with him. All this while, you've remained on one side of the bedroll, never once entering his personal space. He's the one who has been going into your personal space, even though he too would rather not sleep with you if possible.

His mind hazy, he lies there, staring up at the ceiling of the tent in confusion. Most of his clients liked it when he was drunk, it meant he was more pliable, didn't resist as much, and they were free to do whatever they wanted to him. You, you were different. You wanted his consent before you did anything, wanted to know his opinion if the little incident with Araj was any indication. This was new to Astarion, at least he thinks it's new. Centuries of torture would erase all memories of the time before said torture, and memories of those centuries of torture are mostly a blur.

The wine has loosened his tongue tonight, and he dares to ask questions he would never have otherwise.

"Why do you keep me around?"

You look up, blinking. His gaze remains fixed on you through the silence, searching desperately for an answer.

"For your company, of course."

"Why me? Why not Karlach, or Wyll, or Shadowheart? They have so much more to offer, even Lae'zel. Why not them? The only thing I can offer…is something you won't even take from me." He whispers the last part. Fear gnaws away at him, the need to understand you wholly so that he can avoid your wrath tearing him apart, and his confusion isn't helping in the slightest. Whenever he was confused about Cazador's actions, it never bode well for him, and he was afraid the same would happen with you.

"Because they're not you. None of them have the sass that you have, none of them are as fun to be around as you are, none of them…are well…like you at all." You shrug, smiling softly at him. "I like spending time with you, whether it's talking or just sitting in silence. I enjoy your company, really I do, and we don't need to sleep with each other to spend time together."

"You…do?"

"Mmhm." You nod. He stares at you blankly, his mind struggling to find deception in your words but it comes up empty. You mean it, you mean everything you say. You aren't lying to him, not that you've ever done so. The edges of his vision blur and something wet trails down his cheek, causing him to quickly turn away before you catch sight of it.

"Do you want me to stay?" Your voice is soft, gentle, and full of concern.

"Please." He chokes. "I…enjoy your company as well."

"That's a relief," you chuckle. "Maybe we should…keep each other company more often."

"That sounds…nice."

"It's a deal then. Rest well, I'll be here when you wake up."

"Thank you."

[blackknight-kai]

Any headcanons for Sun Wukong and the Destined One [separate] catching female reader masturbating while crying out their name?

GOING BRAINROT FERAL HERE!

Ahem….

Thank you for feeding us with your delicious posts;)

Sending you lots of love and blessings, sincere and heartfelt health wishes too🩷🩷🩷

Okay okay I’ll give this a shot 😏 I personally feel like it might depend on the mood and where they are in the relationship. BUT I’ll give a crack at this one! This will be a specific scenario as I work better like that - in this you are in a relationship with them but haven’t progressed to the next level yet and you are a bit pent up. There will be a little rushed snippet and then the bullet point notes :) WARNING: I went more NSFW in this than previous asks. This is Fem reader! MINOR DNI

(Note after finishing: I got carried away…..after writing this I realized I kinda made two fics so….its a bit long sorry not sorry :))))))))))) (I’ll be turning these into mini fics I think on AO3 since i basically wrote them already 💀)

(Read under the cut 😘)

Destined One

He’d left you alone to scout the area around your near and camp as he does every night for any possible danger or trouble that might happen upon you while resting. You’d decided to take a little personal time while he was away, something you wouldn’t normally do but you guys had found a little cozy cave to rest in for the night. Knowing it would be a while before he came back you set about quickly setting up your furs and bed rolls, your body already revving up in anticipation for what youre going to do. You’re happy being with him, finally having confessed mutually and sneaking a few kisses here or there between your travels but watching him day in and day out fight with such focus and strength has culminated in a prominent need.

A need to have his hands on you for more than just guiding you or helping you stand, to feel his fur brush against your naked skin, to deepen those tantalizing kisses. You just WANT. And he hasn’t made any moves to show you that he wants more besides maybe what you think is a disappointed look in his eye when you both pull back from your kisses and go about your day or whatever task is at hand. He’s not very expressive as it is, you were lucky to manage getting a slight flush on his cheeks and a firm head nod when you guys decided to be a couple. He’s good at masking his emotions and so while you want him, youre a bit nervous to tell him what you need. You have no doubts he’d fulfill it especially if it’s something he wants too. But getting the courage up to ask is another thing entirely, part of you wishes he would just DO something.

So instead of communicating your need you decide to take advantage of this prime opportunity while he is away, its been too long since you had any real privacy and you can already feel yourself pulse as you finish setting up for the night

Just in case you listen closely for a moment to see if there is anyone close by but hearing nothing you settle down on to your back on your bed roll. Your breath picks up as excitement washes over you and against your better judgment you slip your clothes off. Goose bumps ripple over your skin as the warm breeze gently flows through the cave. Your heart races and as you skim your fingers across your breasts and nipples you sigh as you close your eyes and imagine familiar claw tipped hands replacing your own. You picture him above you, his determined frown focused on you as he explores your skin. As your imagination takes hold you continue your perusal of your body sliding your fingers down trying not to rush too much in your need as you spread your thighs.

- [ ] His patrol doesnt take quite as long as it usually does tonight

- [ ] At first he takes his time heading back just enjoying not having to be in a rush for once

- [ ] But as his too sharp hearing picks up the distant sound of your voice, what sounds like a pained cry, he immediately goes tense and is off running back towards your cave his staff gripped tightly in hand

- [ ] As he quickly grows closer he notes a distinct difference in your voice, something about it makes him slow down

- [ ] Your sounds are not what he usually associates with your fear or pain

- [ ] Instead as the next sound carries through the forest for his expert hearing, the breathy tone of your voice instantly sends a ripple through him and makes his fur feel like its standing on end

- [ ] He’d heard these sounds before, just not from you. The other monkey’s from home would occasionally sneak off with each other and he’d have the pleasure of hearing their activities even being quite a ways away.

- [ ] This though doesnt give him the same grossed out feeling

- [ ] Oh no. It sends a tidal wave of heat straight to gut

- [ ] You are being pleasured and by the sounds of it youre enjoying yourself

- [ ] A flash of possessive anger rushes through him wondering who could be touching you in such a way that wasnt him

- [ ] But as he stalks closer and steps between the trees he freezes

- [ ] Relief washes over him, youre alone

- [ ] But thats quickly replaced by instant hot desire as his mouth goes dry and his length starts to harden just from that first glimpse

- [ ] You’re in the shallow cave NAKED and on your back, knees up and thighs spread.

- [ ] His mouth slowly falls open as his expression goes slack as it becomes very clear what you’re doing by the wet slick sound coming from between your legs where your hand disappears from his view

- [ ] He cant even blink nor look away completely and utterly locked on to your flushed skin and the needy pinch of your brow as you pant making soft little moans

- [ ] As you arch your back, a louder cry leaving your mouth as you shift your hips desperately, he feels his cock throb painfully bringing him back to reality for a moment

- [ ] Shame courses through him, he should NOT be watching this, you obviously waited until hed been gone to take your pleasure he should definitely grant you your privacy. While you are a couple he wasnt one to push past your boundaries not wanting to make you do something youre not ready for no matter how much he struggles to not touch you every damn day

- [ ] But he cant seem to move, not as your breasts jiggle softly from your body’s movements your peaked nipples drawing his attention.

- [ ] He licks his lips, tail twitching with jerky movements behind him as he feels his cock leak and wet the front of his pants from your display, fuck does he want you

- [ ] Clenching his fists hard, digging his claws into his skin he tries to come back to himself and just as he’s about to turn away from you your fingers seem to speed up and then he hears it

- [ ] It being HIS name being ripped out of your mouth in the most breathy needy tone he has ever heard, the name youd given him.

- [ ] He has to grip himself HARD to stop himself from cumming on the spot and he shudders as the wet sounds your fingers are making is driving him fucking insane

- [ ] He forgets himself completely and unable to help it steps towards you as his own desire to be the one to make you cry for him like that over takes him

- [ ] He practically pants, his breath coming in short bursts as he takes in your sweat slick skin and the red flush

- [ ] His body thrums with heat as the sounds of your moans and the wet easy slide of your fingers is all he can focus on as he steps onto your bedroll, his dick is hard as hell and twitches with every sound you make.

- [ ] And your scent, fuck he can smell your ecstasy and need. It makes his knees weak and his mouth water

- [ ] You dont seem to notice him right away, not until he’s dropping to his knees hard right beside you fully taking in how wet your thighs are and how slick your fingers look as they disappear inside you

- [ ] As you register his sudden presence though your eyes fly open and your movements freeze, he cant help but track the movement of your breasts as you lie there panting and surprised

- [ ] He doesnt give you even a moment to freak out or whatever it is you might do

- [ ] No, instead he places a shaky hand on your arm, the one you stretched down between your thighs as you took your gorgeous pleasure

- [ ] “Can I?” He asks lowly, voice rough with disuse and filled with thick desire. “Please?”

- [ ] You seem to still at his request your eyes widening and he holds his own breath waiting to see what you’d do. He hopes with every fiber of his being you say yes

- [ ] When you nod shyly and begin to retract your hand he slides his gently down your arm and shivers as his claw tipped fingers meet with your slick warm ones. His eyes never leave yours as much as he wants to look down, he doesnt want to miss the expression on your face.

- [ ] He doesnt hold your hand though, instead he continues his gently descent until he meets your soaked warm pussy lips

- [ ] It’s then that he finally lets out the breath shaky he was holding as you arch up into his touch pushing his fingers to slide further against your slick core

- [ ] His cock jerks painfully at how hot and wet you feel as his fingers tenderly explore. As you close your eyes reaching up to grip his shirt with your still slick fingers he lets his own gaze slide down your body watching as you shyly shift your hips against his long fingers

- [ ] When you let out a little breathy sound as he brushes against your little nub he knows hes a fucking goner

- [ ] “You’re so beautiful,” He’d mumble raspy and heated

- [ ] And when he finally slides a finger in you another immediately follows. with you so slick and ready for him causing him to groan deeply

- [ ] He has made it his mission from here on, this is how you will spend every night from now on. You wont need to take things into your own hands, not if he can help it.

Wukong

He is away doing whatever it is that Wukong does every day. Be it fighting something, pissing someone off, or just getting into something he probably definitely absolutely should not get into. You’d been hurt, twisted your ankle of all things, so you were stuck back at camp. You’d found a little shallow cave two days ago to recover at, not wanting Wukong to carry you everywhere. On the surface that sounds nice and he would definitely do it as you either fed his ego or told him he was too weak to do it. He’s easy like that. But what isnt easy to deal with is how much fun he has tossing you up and down or making you almost sick as he bounces you as he walks just because he thinks its funny to make you squawk with annoyance at him. So it’s easier to just rest and enjoy a little peace while he gallivants off to cause whatever mischief that doesnt have to do with you for once as you are his usual victim. Apparently having mutual feelings and being mates does not quell his need for chaos. In fact it amplifies it you think.

The only downside to having his attention on you even more now is that the mischievous little (he’s taller than you but thats besides the point) asshole doesnt seem to have a horny bone in his body. It’s been months of simple hand holding, if you can get him to sit still long enough, and literal stolen kisses. He apparently enjoys his little surprise attacks as they fluster you but not because youre too shy or because it scares you, no. It’s because you need more than a simple kiss or his soft fuzzy tail wrapping around your waist or arm keeping you close to him as you walk. You’d even tried once to time changing your clothes so they were partly off when he would be arriving back to camp after doing a quick patrol only for him to immediately start ranting and raving about some slippery little creature he’d happened across as he poked at the fire and began cooking that nights dinner over the flames. He didn’t even spare you a glance and his posture was relaxed as can be. Not even as the sound of your clothes rustling seemed to catch his attention as he drooled over the cooking food.

And so, your frustration escalated. You know at some point you’ll have to talk to him but thats a problem for future you because you just KNOW it’s going to be an ordeal. Nothing can ever be easy with him especially when it comes to his damn ego which no doubt will be stroked heavily knowing you want him, that is unless he doesnt have an inclination towards such intimacies.

Today he had been especially restless and so had you. You had decided that while he was gone you were going to pamper yourself a little and relieve the sexual tension you’d built up inside yourself. Watching his ever present shows of strength and that cocky attitude of his always sends a stirring in you and it doesnt help when he walks around sometimes with his shirt off showing his rippling muscles under all that soft looking fur. When he finally grew too impatient with sitting around, he didn’t like having to wait for you to heal but agreed to it nonetheless knowing you aren’t built like him, he stood abruptly and told you he was going on an adventure. You waved him off trying to be nonchalant as excitement tickled down your back knowing what you had planned for yourself for the day.

And so as his furry tail flicked out of view you waited a handful of minutes giving him time to get some distance away before you couldnt take it anymore. You’d gotten a nice body oil from a village youd passed by a week or so ago, it smelled lovely and reminded you of peaches. You hadn’t used it yet, but figured if it had a fragrance Wukong’s sensitive nose wouldn’t be too disturbed if it smelled like his favorite snack. Acting quickly you hurry to wash your skin and body in a near by spring. You might have taken your time normally but you didn’t want to put this off any longer. After youre done you make your way to back to the shallow cave and sit on your bed roll and fur blankets that Wukong had gifted you. Your skin is still a little damp and the afternoon breeze makes goosebumps ripple across your naked skin. With a small content hum you grab your sweet scented oil and being applying it to your skin slowly, gently, enjoying the sensation as your body starts to warm up from your ministrations.

As your breath starts to quicken you lie back on the furs and using both hands you glide your hands across your soft oil slick skin sensually. It’s not long before you close your eyes and start to lose yourself in a fantasy, imagining a hard but softly furred body rolling against yours and curious fingers possessively mapping out your skin as teasing fangs nip from your neck to your breasts.

- [ ] Wukong had grown bored VERY quickly after he left you at camp. There was NOTHING around for him to do no one to fight and no distractions from his ever growing need to be closer to you - which he will NEVER show.

- [ ] He doesnt know if youre doing it on purpose, probably not, but the way you sometimes look at him makes him twitchy and hot. He’s not some impulsive boy unable to control his more primal urges but you test his control daily

- [ ] He’s not sure if you’ve been using a new scented lotion or perfume but the scent coming off of you at random times the last several weeks has been making him need to grind his teeth to keep from reaching out and pulling your body tightly against his

- [ ] Thankfully he’s learned self discipline and finds it relatively easy to keep an air of innocence around you, not wanting to scare you off with his ever present and growing desire to lick you from your cute little toes to your sweet sweet mouth.

- [ ] Sitting around camp with you today was testing his patience. He’d noticed that slight flush on your cheeks assumed you may just be a bit warm as the day was a little hotter than usual. Unfortunately the sight of your reddened cheeks did nothing but fuel his imagination.

- [ ] If hes honest with himself desires like this were new, not in regards to you, but in general. So getting away from you for a while was always the best bet, he keeps an ear out in case you need him of course but fighting something always helps relieve the tension he builds up being in your presence

- [ ] Unfortunately the area surrounding your little temporary home was quiet. Too damn quiet. He almost thinks about going a little further out but quickly decides against it, not wanting to get too far from you in case something DID happen

- [ ] Which is why, as he’s hopping through the large forest trees, he ends up circling back towards the shallow cave

- [ ] His pace is fairly lax, enjoying the warm air and the calm familiar sounds of the woods

- [ ] Wukongs mind wanders a little to what lies ahead on your little journey as he makes his way back. He’s quite lost in thought so it takes him a moment to realize that something is amiss as he gets closer

- [ ] His sharp ears pick up the sound of your voice but it’s not something he’s heard before, or well he has, kind of. Only when youd eaten something really really good and you make a happy little noise that always makes his old heart skip a beat

- [ ] Well now he’s just curious, what did you find to eat? Were you hiding it from him to keep it all to yourself? How had he not known? Or smelled it?

- [ ] With a huff he picks up his pace racing through the trees determined to give you shit for trying to hide some wonderful little treat from him

- [ ] He can hear you better now that he’s close and just before he breaks through the trees he stops with a smirk deciding to sneak up on you as punishment

- [ ] But in his haste he missed a crucial detail - one he now is acutely aware of as he pauses just as the little camp comes into view

- [ ] He freezes, going completely still as he takes in the sight before him and the very obvious soft squelching sound echoing a little in the shallow cave. His keen hearing amplifying the sound.

- [ ] Hot HOT desire ripples through his strong frame causing every single hair on his body to stand on end like he’d been hit by lightning as he takes in your naked body, hips shifting just so as your hand is going to work between your thighs as you moan

- [ ] His simian nostrils flare as your scent hits him like a boulder almost knocking him off his feet, well at least now he knows where that heady scent you sometimes carry comes from. He salivates at the thought of tasting your nectar. There’s another scent mixed with your pleasure, faintly it smells almost like peaches but not quite.

- [ ] Your soft sounds wash over him causing a full on shudder to go through him. His cock hardening in an instant as you then whine HIS fucking name

- [ ] Something inside him almost snaps - later youd tell him it was his arrogance and ego swelling to the size of 5 mountains

- [ ] You are touching yourself wanting HIM, Wukong, and that sends a possessive growl rumbling through his chest, his claw tipped fingers flexing with the need to reach out and grab you, to touch you, to run his claws gently down your skin and watch you shiver and squirm

- [ ] You dont hear it of course too lost in stuffing your needy hole but by the sounds of it, its not quite enough for you

- [ ] Wukong keeps himself in place for a moment longer as he watches you tend to yourself, one of your hands slides up the side of your breast and pinches a nipple and he licks his lips at the sight, wanting to know what they taste like

- [ ] His tail flicks with pent up energy behind him as he finally stalks forward, a predator about to pounce on his prey

- [ ] But he has no intentions of helping you as he strips himself of his shirt letting it fall to the ground not caring where

- [ ] His furry chest is rapidly expanding with his quickened breaths, he breathes purposely through his nose wanting to capture every moment of your scent and commit it to memory

- [ ] Finally sensing you’re not alone you open your eyes and still with a sharp shocked breath. He watches as your cheeks redden further with surprise and embarrassment

- [ ] Quick as a whip before you can even pull your fingers away from your soaked pussy he’s between your knees bullying his way through with one hand holding you open by his grip on your thigh and his tail wrapping around the other. Spreading you open for his heated gaze

- [ ] He has ahold of your wrist preventing you from pulling back and before you can even think of protesting he pulls on your wrist, gently but firmly, you gasp as your fingers slip out of your pussy, the wet sound sending a tingle of embarrassment through you

- [ ] Instantly he has your dripping fingers pressed against his nose and mouth as he huffs in your scent before licking at them

- [ ] Feeling you tremble in his strong hold and your little shocked gasp he locks eyes with you and smirks as he licks your fingers completely clean as though he was starving for the taste

- [ ] He can tell you dont know what to do, that your torn between embarrassment and want. But he doesnt mind, he’s made the decision for you

- [ ] Wukong nips your fingers teasingly before he lowers your hand and places it back against your pussy, he uses his fingers to press yours pointedly against your slick lower lips and the little wet sound that accompanies the movement makes you both shiver.

- [ ] He slips his fingers in between yours, teasingly touching you for a moment as his fingers glide through your slick

- [ ] A light growl/groan rumbles through his chest as he looks at you with half lidded eyes filled with naked desire

- [ ] Slowly and deliberately he lets go of your hand, pleased when you keep your hand right where he’d placed it, and begins undoing his pants

- [ ] His puffs his furry chest out a little and chuckles, the sound husky as he watches your expression turn needy as he dips his hand into his pants and brings his throbbing dick out, enjoying how heavily your breathing gets and how your eyes seem to be unable to look away as he spreads your juices over his cock

- [ ] Scooting forward so that his cock presses against the back of your knuckles he smirks down at you

- [ ] “Since you decided to take your pleasure for yourself, give us a show my sweet peach.” He demands like the king he is with no room for arguments, wanting you to resume touching yourself while he watches and takes himself in hand. Punishing you a little for taking a special privilege away from him

[erosology]

a taste of domesticity | simon "ghost" riley

❀ cw/tw: NSFT, fem reader (afab anatomy, fem pet names), established relationship, american author trying to make an english person's dialogue sound authentic, you'll have to pry blond-haired and brown-eyed simon from my cold dead hands, tooth-rotting fluff, undertones of obsession and codependency (because duh it's me), soft dom simon, thigh riding, body worship, praise, oral (f! receiving), unprotected sex

❀ wc: 7,248

❀ a/n: i will never, ever apologize for writing simon as a lovesick slightly pathetic man

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Simon “Ghost” Riley during your time together, it’s that he takes his job very seriously. So seriously, in fact, he’s often too tired to do much other than eat the dinner you’ve prepared him, take a shower, and go straight to bed. Despite his demanding and hectic career path, you both find ways to spend time together—him allowing you to sit in his lap as he does paperwork, you sneaking into the shower as he gets ready for the night, him coming home early and helping you with dinner—all small things to piece together a picture of domesticity and love Simon has craved his entire life.

But sometimes, he thinks, things in the bedroom are a little…lacking.

He only has himself to blame, really, considering he chose a job that demands every bit of strength he has. But there are times when he’s looking at you, your body wrapped in one of his t-shirts and your hair thrown up into a messy bun as you’re curled up on the couch reading, and he wonders if being a butcher is really that bad.

It’s no matter, though, because as insane and hectic as his job might be, he knows, deep down, he wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re a breath of fresh air for the man who is constantly drowning in his desire to be useful, a lighthouse for the man who is constantly swimming in his failures, a safe place for him to strip himself of the wet clothing trying to cling on to this body (much like how his stormy thoughts try to cling on to him) and bask in your warmth. He’s enamored by your compassion, utterly and completely in love with your honesty, and bewitched by your loyalty—a soulmate for someone who has only ever known chaos.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ❀ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

“We should have lemon garlic shrimp tonight,” you suggest to your partner, leaning against his office door frame in hopes maybe he’d look up.

Simon’s eyes don’t even leave his computer as he asks, “What’s the special occasion, love?”

“You’re home in time for dinner for the first time in a month.”

It’s a small stab, he knows it, but it still hurts nonetheless, and you can see him flinch at the blunt edges of your words. He fists clench and unclench, as if debating if he can physically fight off the sense of guilt wrapping around his broad shoulders, before he saves his report progress and shuts his computer down. His movements are always so methodical, measured, but there’s nothing measured about the way he nearly chokes on his own spit when his eyes land on your outfit. Dressed in nothing but one of his t-shirts, thigh high stockings, and a pair of panties, you look nothing short of absolutely divine, and Simon nearly has to check his pulse to make sure he hasn’t died and gone to heaven.

You gaze at him through your eyelashes, eyelids half-closed in lust and the smallest of smirks on your lips. “S’matter, Si? Cat got your tongue?”

It never fails to astound him how easily you rev him up, how you make him feel like some horny teenager on prom night trying to score with his date–clumsy words spilling from his mouth as he tries his hardest to find the magic words to part your legs, palms sweaty as they try to hold your hand, body vibrating with anticipation to see what your tongue tastes like. He’s so unbelievably attracted to you, it makes his head fuzzy with hormones and irrationality, even after all of this time together.

He’s careful as he walks from his desk to you, strong arms wrapping around your waist and his lips brushing your hair. “Are you my starter?” he asks and pinches your thigh for good measure.

You giggle at the rare show of unabashed flirtation from your normally stoic partner and reply coyly, “I could be your dessert if you behave.” Feeling rather bold, you pull him into the kitchen by his belt, and he has to bite his lip to keep the groan clawing at his mouth at bay. You’re too precious for something as barbaric as fevered kisses and frantic hands eager to rip your clothes off. Valuable crystals deserve only the most tender of hands, the most careful of eyes, handled with the utmost precision and patience, and he’s always considered himself a good gemologist.

“C’mere for a second, love,” he says as you turn your back to get started on dinner. Before you can fully turn towards him, he gently cups your jaw and tilts your face up towards his, lips ghosting each other before he finally slots his against yours. You can feel how eager he is, how much he’s holding himself back so as to not break you, so you wrap your arms around his neck and deepen the kiss that much more. That’s all of the motivation he needs, evidently, and he’s quick to wrap your legs around his waist and place you on top of the kitchen counter. Whatever small grip he had on self-control has snapped—a hungry beast finally let free and allowed to feast however he pleases. He wants to completely devour you and keep you safe in his chest—strong bones to keep filthy, undeserving hands from touching you. One taste of you and he’s already drunk on love and all of its promises of companionship and domesticity. 

His hands tangle themselves in your hair, fingers massaging your scalp as his tongue gently prods at your mouth. That’s when you pull away, much to your disappointment, and he groans at the lewd line of spit connecting your lips. Mind hazy with lust, he tries to tilt your face towards his again, anxious to eat until all that’s left is a pile of bones and love, but you gently stop him by pressing your fingers to his mouth.

“Was I too rough?” he asks worriedly. “We can slow down, if you want. I just…miss you, is all, and you’re right about this being the first time we’ve had some time together in God knows how long. I…I know ‘s my fault, and I want to make it up to you—if you’re alright with that.”

And he looks so sincere—dark eyes scanning your face for any sign of discomfort, hands resting on your thighs and not daring to move, tongue nervously darting out to lick his lips, chest rising and falling with anticipation—you nearly allow him to devour you right there on the kitchen counter. But you’re determined to have a proper dinner with the man you love more than you could ever hope to comprehend. And what’s a good dinner without a nice show?

Your hands fiddle with the collar of his shirt, teeth gnawing at the inside of your cheek in hopes it’ll calm the hunger rolling around in your stomach. “You weren’t too rough, honey, I promise.” At that, you can see relief flood his features, and you gently tug on his collar so he brings his forehead down to meet yours. The pure adoration in his eyes nearly makes you choke, and you swallow down the lump of emotion that had begun to form in your throat. Simon has always been a gentle man despite his very impassive shell, never pushing you and always ready to communicate boundaries and comfort, so to see him so unraveled after a month of missing him is bringing out a masochistic side of you you’d never knew was buried underneath all of the domesticity. Still, you want to be able to enjoy him as much as possible before the moon hangs high and exhaustion begins to settle into heavy bones.

Simon mildly pulls your hand away from nervously toying with his shirt and kisses your fingers—an action that causes you to shudder with admiration. “Did I push you too much?”

“No, sweetheart. I just really, really want to have a nice dinner with you.”

Chuckling, he kisses your temple and helps you off of the counter, his hands lingering on your hips a little longer than necessary before swatting at your bottom and allowing you to begin cooking. “Then a nice dinner together we shall have.”

It’s intoxicating how much your thighs rub together as you cook dinner, how they jiggle and ripple, and Simon isn’t sure what he’s more hungry for. Your hips sway to and fo to the music—nothing inherently sexual about the movement, but his heart speeds up nonetheless. His dark eyes drink in every inch of you like a parched man in the desert, lapping up every single drop so much, he fears his stomach may burst. But it’d be worth it. It would be absolutely worth any form of torture to be able to touch you, hold you, hear you laugh, watch your lips form the syllables of his name. His greatest high, his greatest weakness, the person he’d try to find in every life after this one, the song he hums to himself when he thinks no one is around—all wrapped up in the prettiest package he has ever had the privilege of laying his eyes on.

Simon “Ghost” Riley, special forces operator trained to deal with things most people only see portrayed in overly-budgeted action movies, is absolutely hypnotized by how absolutely gorgeous you are.

“Didn’t know I was getting dinner and a show,” he nearly purrs at you as you pour him a glass of bourbon. Kentucky, of course.

“Hmm?” You innocently cock your head. “I’m just making you dinner, silly, a very normal thing.”

“Whatever you say, love.”

Lust and hormones roll off of your body in tidal waves, nearly drowning the man under the chaotic waters, but he wouldn’t mind, not really. He could spend hours, days, weeks floating around in all of your oceans, exploring every part of you until he has a clear map ingrained in his brain. He’s in love with your heart, in lust with your body, and enamored by your mind.

A warmth only alcohol can provide spreads across his body, and Simon Riley, known by even his closest friends as stern and forthright, dares to relax in his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him and his eyes half-closed as they watch you sway to the music. At times like this, Simon is reminded of what it’s like to be naïve again, excited, ready to face the world and all of its possibilities. He’s content, basking in the security you provide him with and the knowledge that he has you to call home. He’s safe, and that’s something he’ll never, ever take for granted.

“You look happy,” you giggle, taking note of the pink flush to his face.

He hums, and in the blink of an eye he’s got his arms wrapped around your waist and his chin resting on your head. His lips brush against your hair, fingers fiddling with the t-shirt clinging to your body, and he swears he could stay like this forever if you allowed him to. He thinks this is what paradise must be like—his soulmate wrapped in his arms, the scent of delicious food hanging in the air, music softly playing over the sound of your giggles, his heart let free from its cage and soaring in the air.

“Must be because I am,” he utters into your hair. “I really, really am, sweetheart.”

And though he’s never been one for grandiose displays of affection, he finds himself spinning you around your shared kitchen, strong hands pressed into the small of your back and swaying your bodies to and fro, a makeshift ballroom squished in between the living room and his office.

Your hand fists his shirt, giggles bubbling out of your lips—the most beautiful sound he’ll ever hear. “Simon Riley! What has gotten into you?”

The smile he bears is a gentle one full of love and admiration, and you swear you feel your heart squeeze in your chest. “I’m very lucky to have you. In fact…” And then, his lips are ghosting over yours and his hands are clutching at your hips, desperate to feel you close but scared to admit how much he needs you. “I’d wager I’m the luckiest bastard on this shithole planet.”

“I think you’d lose,” you whisper back, a joyous light dancing in your eyes. “Because I’d wager I’m the luckiest person on this shithole planet to have you.”

He kisses you before he can stop himself, before he can second guess whether or not he’s worthy of your lips, before either of you can begin to decipher what love is and why it heals as much as it hurts. He kisses you and tries his hardest to commit dedication to memory. He kisses you and forgets what the definition of pain is and all he can feel is your fingers carding through his hair. He’s consumed by you—the smell of your shampoo stubbornly clinging to your hair, the feeling of your heart hammering against his, your eyelashes brushing against his cheek, the little squeal you let out when he picks you up, everything, everything everything. All he wants is this moment right here tattooed into his brain, burned into his eyelids so every time he closes his eyes all he can see is bliss and sunlight filtering through.

And though he’s the one with the infamous appetite, he swears he’d crack his ribcage open and allow you to feast as much as you need to. What is love if not all-consuming—cannibalistic desires flooding empty veins until the need to eat is unbearable? Hungry teeth clash against a bare tongue, and he groans loudly into your greedy mouth.

“Simon,” you gasp, “the food—”

“Can wait,” he finishes for you, and you both find yourselves stumbling into a chair. Quickly, he sits down with you on his lap, careful as to not hurt his precious meal. He can feel your cunt throb against his thigh and, god, he needs to eat, eat, eat before he goes completely mad. His thumb draws circles against the growing wet spot on your panties, a groan reverberating in his chest and deep eyes rolling to the back of his head. He sees you’re wearing the pink lacy panties with a white bow that always drive him up the walls of your shared home, and he has to fight the animalistic urge to rip them clean off of your body. No, he won’t be rough no matter how hungry he is. He’s not a beast void of all humanity. He’s simply a man with an empty stomach and the prettiest meal sitting on his lap, and his teeth miss how your skin feels pinched between them.

He easily slides your panties off, an expert in disarming prey, and brings them up to his nose, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Simon,” you moan out at the sight. “Simon, please—”

His hand strikes at your bottom before you can finish your sentence. “Ride my thigh, love.” And he pockets your panties, promising himself he’ll give them back one day.

His big, calloused hands grip your hips as you drag your pussy across his thick thigh, your juices coating his pants but he doesn’t even care. How can he when you look so precious moaning and pleading on his thigh, shaky fingers grasping at his tie to gain some sense of balance? His brown eyes gaze down at you with a predatory light, his bottom lip pinched between his teeth as your grinding becomes more and more erratic.

His voice is strained when he speaks, husky, a caged animal frustrated at not being able to roam free. “That desperate for me, hm? So impatient…” But he can’t deny the erection swelling in his boxers, nor can he deny how hypnotizing it is watching how your brow furrows in concentration with every swivel of your hips. The squelching sound of your drooling cunt is downright filthy, but it’s so intoxicating to the man who gets drunk off of your submission. Adam’s apple bobbing, he tries his hardest to swallow down all of the primal urges flooding his body, to allow you to continue chasing your high, but he can’t stop himself from planting a kiss on your exposed shoulder, nor can he stop himself from resting his forehead upon that very same shoulder. His arms wrap around your torso, bringing your body closer to his so your chests are flushed together, and he groans when he feels your leg brush against his aching cock.

“Si…,” you gasp.

“Shh, just let me do this, darling,” he whispers, his breath tickling your neck. “I want to be close to you.”

Tears poke at the corner of your eyes and your throat constricts, a small gasp leaving your lips before he kisses them gently. A vulnerable Simon is a rare one, but you’re so parched for the smallest taste of intimacy you’re nearly afraid of draining him completely. Still, you wrap your arms around his neck and quicken your pace—anything to keep him close, to keep his face buried in the crook of your neck and his hands stroking at your spine. Shaky fingers bury themselves in short blond hair, pulling at the strands and his heart strings. Trembling thighs squeeze around his own muscular one, and he feels just how hard your heart is slamming itself against your ribcage. What should’ve been an act of climacteric horniness is truly an act of desperate love, depraved intimacy that has been simmering under the surface—two people trying to find themselves buried in each other’s chests.

“Si…” His name rolls off of your tongue so easily, a sound that floods his veins with a warmth his blood couldn’t possibly supply. “Si, please!” Fingernails dig into his back, and he knows just how dire it is for you to feel all of him, but, fuck, he needs to hear you beg a bit more. He needs to be reminded that yes, he is worthy of love, and yes, even with a heart as scarred as his, he is capable of loving back. He needs his ears to be flooded with the sound of unhinged adoration and unwavering dedication. He needs to run his hands all across your skin until he’s able to commit romance to memory and he can’t bear the thought of touching anything else.

Pulling his head back, his amber eyes search your face, fingers gently tracing your bottom lip, and the sheer intensity of his expression has your movements slowing. You’re surprised to see him hesitant, unsure, because in a world of war and uncertainty, Simon Riley is a man made of osmium. He can’t afford the luxury of insecurity in a market that feeds off of humanity. But here he is, one hand keeping your hips stilled as his other one languidly traces all of the bumps and curves of your body, his brow furrowed in concentration as if afraid of breaking you with the slightest of pressure, his eyes full of worry.

“Si—”

“You know I love you, right?” he uncharacteristically cuts you off, his tone steady despite the tremble in his hand.

You answer without missing a beat. “Of course I do. I love you, too, honey.”

He nods, moreso to himself than you, and finally meets your eyes. You’re surprised to see the fire burning in them, how his soft eyes look nearly deadly as he wraps his arms around your chest and brings your body flush against his once again. “Then we’re going to do this the right way.” And before you can ask what he means by that, he lifts your body up with ease, earning a surprised squeak from you. His lips attach themselves against your shoulder, and you wrap your legs around his waist to allow him to carry you easier. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he confesses softly between kisses. “You keep me grounded, sweetheart. You keep me sane.”

Longing strangles you and you can’t help but shutter at his raw declaration of love. Simon reminding you how much you mean to him isn’t rare in the least bit–he’s rather forthcoming about his feelings after many months of you teaching him how to loosen his tongue–but to hear it said so tenderly, as if your ears are made of paper and he spits razors with every word, is something worth crying over.

And you do.

Glistening crystals poke at the corner of your eyes as he tenderly lays your body on the bed, and it’s at this moment Simon Riley thinks you’re something worth dying over. His fingers swipe at your tears, rough palm resting against your cheek, and you nuzzle your face into the callouses, a soft smile on your lips and galaxies in your eyes. He’s hopelessly, painfully, undeniably in love with you, and he absolutely hates himself for neglecting you so much.

“Sweetheart,” he begins, voice strained with love and weakness. How can he look into your eyes and apologize for being a horrible partner? You—with your patience and kindness and strength and dedication and selflessness—you deserve better, better than being left alone to wonder if he’s safe and alive. Better than brisk pecks to your forehead after a thoughtfully prepared breakfast. Better than rushed showers and swift promises of love before a day of unguaranteed nights. Better than him. Better than anything someone like him could ever hope to offer you.

And of course—because you’re you, you, you—you place a kiss on his palm. It’s an innocent enough gesture. A quick press of your lips to the palm of his hand. It’s something that he normally wouldn’t think twice about, something he would smile about and then kiss your cheek for. Definitely not something worth gasping over. Not something worth losing his breath over. Not something worth the shudder that wracks his body. Not something worth splitting his soul in two over. But, as he hovers over you, he can feel his shell crumbling away until all that’s left is the part of his heart he’s been saving for someone like you. He can’t breathe, can’t think, not when you’re kissing the same hand that has killed, that has failed, that has been scarred and covered in blood. And then you’re kissing the pulse in his wrist and then his forearm and then his bicep and before he can even warn you to save your kisses for the worthy, you’re kissing his shoulder in the same tender manner he was kissing yours moments ago.

He feels your breath dance across his neck and refuses to move until you give him permission.

“Simon,” you whisper, and his ears ring at how much affection you place in the syllables of his name. “I love you more than I could ever hope to fathom. I don’t think you realize how much you keep me sane.”

“Sweet—”

You silence him with a kiss to his neck, humming at the steady beat in his jugular. “You’re my comfort. You’re my safe space to be myself with no worries about what’s going to happen tomorrow because you’re prepared for anything. You allow me to be neurotic and moody and a ball of stress without judging me or trying to baby me. You understand that sometimes I need to be neurotic and moody and a ball of stress. You’re caring and thoughtful and straightforward and I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”

You can’t be real. Even the holiest of heavens couldn’t craft something as angelic as you, and yet here you are, touching your forehead to his and filling his lungs with your stardust, divine hand caressing his cheek, sephric eyes holding so much unfiltered love he can’t stop himself from kissing you. His lips are tender at first, trying their best to memorize immortality and savoring how ethereal you taste, but when you place your hand on his neck, he feels himself giving into his mortal instincts. Using his body weight to his advantage, he lowers you back down to the mattress, never daring to break the kiss. His hands begin to tug at the shirt clinging to your torso, and you’ve never been quicker to dispose of clothes.

“So beautiful,” he mumbles against your lips, hands grazing across your thighs and squeezing them appreciatively. “You’re so beautiful, darling, do you know that?”

A sudden bashfulness warms your body, and you fight the urge to hide behind your hands. “You make me feel it,” you reply shyly and try to pull his face back down to yours, but he stops you by kissing the tips of your fingers. Pouting, you try to grab his face again, but again, he simply catches your hand and kisses your palm, his eyes resting on yours and full of unadulterated dedication. “C’mere, I wanna kiss.”

“You’ll get plenty of those, love, don’t worry.”

Forever and ever, he silently promises himself, I’m going to kiss you forever. And, keeping his promise like the dutiful man he is, he kisses his way up your arm, every touch of his lips measured and careful, until they gently brush against your cheek. You giggle at his breath tickling your neck, and he swears he feels his heart collapse in on itself like some pathetic parody of a supernova. This right here—you stripped down to your underwear and allowing him to love every inch of your supple skin, him stripped down to the bone and being forced to let go of control–is something he used to fantasize about, something he never ever thought himself worthy of, but when you look up at him with your eyes full of trust and dedication, he can’t stop himself from drinking in every second of it. His lips brush against your neck, right above the jugular so he can feel how your heart rate spikes, and then your collarbone, and then his tongue gently swipes across your nipple, earning a soft gasp from you.

“Simon,” you whine, “no teasing, please.”

His fingers brush against your cheek, lips still attached to your breast, while his other hand snakes down to your cunt. “‘m not teasing, darling, I promise. Just want to show every part of you some love.”

He’s an expert at unraveling you, at lightly grazing his fingers just above where you need him most, at dragging his tongue across your peddled nipple, at nipping and sucking at your breasts until you’re bucking against his hand. Even after all of these past weeks of quickies and fevered shower sex, Simon Riley is nothing short of a master at making you moan out his name. His penchant for precision is often deemed a tedious mindset, something to hold him back from admiring the big picture, but it’s a gift from the heavens above when it has you a writhing mess underneath him. Your juices are coating his hand and his ears are full of your vows of love and lust, but it still isn’t enough for him. He needs all of you, all of your tears, all of your gasps and whines, all of your shaking thighs wrapped around him, needs to feel skin brushing skin and the promise of loving and being loved forever.

Your shaking hands bury themselves in his hair, pulling and tugging at the strands and causing him to groan against your skin. “Simon, f-fuck, you’re so good.”

A moan stutters in his chest at the unexpected praise. He needs to feast on everything that is you until he’s full. Without so much as a warning, he kisses your forehead once more before throwing your legs over his shoulders in one swift movement. You open your mouth to protest that he deserves a little love too, but his lips are already attached to your throbbing clit and all you can do is cry out his name. You can feel another groan reverberate in his chest, his hands kneading at your plush thighs and pulling you closer, closer, closer, until his nose is buried in your pubic hair, and he looks nothing short of a man utterly in love with the person beneath him.

“Simon! Oh my fucking god, Simon!”

He slides a finger inside of your fluttering hole, and then another, curling them and scissoring just the way that has your thighs twitching around his head. Brown eyes roll to the back of his head, and he somehow manages to bury his face even further into your pussy. “Like that, baby? You like it just like that?”

“Yes, Simon, yes, please!”

“Fucking hell, darling, I could stay here forever.” Forever doesn’t seem like a long time as long as you’re by his side…

Simon isn’t sure what he’s more drunk on—the alcohol he indulged in earlier, or the juices dripping from your cunt. He’s intoxicated on submission and domination, lust and love, every saccharine memory with you in the past and every hopeful wish with you in the future, every broken piece of you and every picture he’s painted on your skin. He’s drunk on you. All of your moans and pants and pleas for more, more, more—eat until you’re full, Simon! Completely devour until all that’s left is an illustration of what love is!

He was never an indulgent man until you came into his life and discovered just how large his stomach truly is.

His tongue draws languid circles on your clit as his fingers pump in and out of your cunt, his half-lidded ambers watching the rise and fall of your chest. Once he finds a good rhythm, he brings his free hand up to pinch and roll your nipple between his nimble fingers, and you’re sure this is what heaven must feel like.

Simon Riley is almost certain you’re an angel in disguise, but you’re starting to suspect he’s a god who’s too humble to admit his omnipotence. How else would he know exactly how to curl his fingers just right to get your thighs to shake? How else would he know how much you love when he flattens his tongue and slowly drags it along your clit? How else would he know to kiss your inner thigh as he takes a minute to catch his breath and rest his jaw? He looks up at you with ambers filled to the brim with worship and adoration, but you swear you can see a flicker of greed lingering somewhere in there—obsession disguised as fascination, possession parading as love, anything to keep you by his side.

“Look at you, so wet for me,” he coos up at you, using his fingers to spread your pussy lips and admire the mess between your legs. “Do I make you feel that good, sweetheart? Can’t help but fucking drip for me, hm? So wet for me, baby, so good for me.”

“S-S-Simon!”

“Keep moaning my name, sweetheart,” he groans as he brings his mouth to your cunt again, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the tightness of his pants. “Fuck—scream it, I don’t care. Just wanna keep hearing you.”

“Simon fucking Riley, please, you feel s-so good!”

Taunt skin is pulled across knuckles as you grip the bed sheets underneath you. Eyes rolling to the back of your skull, thighs uncontrollably shaking around his head, chest heaving as if you just ran a marathon, sweat clinging to your skin, cunt throbbing rhythmically along with the pumping of your partner’s fingers, you can feel your orgasm swiftly approaching. Simon must be able to tell also, given the way his licks to your clit are becoming more and more frantic and he’s starting to goad you on.

Desperation is laced with fascination as he begs, “Go on, baby, it’s okay. Cum on my fingers. Cum for me, please, let me make you feel good. I know you can, love. Just cum for me.”

As if under his spell, you feel the control you had been trying to grip on to snap and unadulterated pleasure crash over your body, leaving you heaving and twitching underneath his touch. He easily helps you through your high, gentle as he kisses your thighs and slowly eases his fingers out of your throbbing cunt. Crystals poke at the corner of your eyes, causing them to look like stained glass on a sunny day, and Simon is sure to say his prayers as he kisses them away.

“So, so gorgeous,” he whispers between the brushes of his lips. “So pretty when you’re cumming for me. Fuck, love, you’re so beautiful.”

Relishing the praise he’s pouring on your skin, your shaking fingers begin to tug at the shirt clinging to his chest. He tries to stop your ministrations and tell you that predators typically don’t get help from their prey, but you shush him and tell him that not every prey is helpless just like not every predator is invincible. He watches your hands fumble with bemusement, and after a moment of struggling you decide to flip your bodies over so you’re now straddling him.

He’s surprised to say the least, eyes widening and body struggling to regain control, but after a kiss to his forehead and a nip at his ear, he begins to think that having control isn’t what it’s all cracked up to be. Besides, why would he deny himself the perfect view of your body—of your breasts heaving in front of him, your pulse thumping in the hollow of your throat, of your neck exposed and ready to be bitten? Why would he deny himself of the feast before him, coated in sweat and glowing with love?

“Off,” you mumble against his neck and tug at his pants. “Off, please, Simon, take them off.”

Desperation drips from every syllable that falls from your intoxicating mouth, and he’s quick to dispose of the pants that restrict him. Strong fingers cup your jaw and bring your face in front of his, hungry ambers drinking in the sight of adoration and lust. His lips slot against yours, hands grasping at your hips and dragging your cunt across his hard cock, and he swears this is the sweetest form of torture.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” he whispers. “I want you to look at me while you put me inside of you. C’mon, baby, don’t be shy now.”

Your trembling hands find his dick, and you have to stop to admire the masterpiece laying underneath you—a pretty red head beaded with precum, a prominent vein running along the side of his shaft and wrapping until it meets with a tuft of blond pubic hair, stomach muscles contracting with every breath, pink-flushed cheeks on a stern face, a naked chest rising and falling with anticipation. He’s beautiful. He’s everything every artist has tried to capture on blank canvases and fell just short of. He’s ethereally gorgeous but also alarmingly human. He’s an angelic face with blood-stained hands. He’s Simon “Ghost” Riley, and you’ve never been more proud to be able to call him yours.

Bashful eyes meet greedy ones and you’re lowering yourself on his cock before you can begin to ask yourself who’s more vulnerable in this moment—the prey on the pedestal or the predator whose appetite can only be satiated by one person. The swollen tip of his cock rests easily inside of you, and right when you’re about to start rocking your hips, he sits up so your chests are flushed together, much like how you were in the kitchen.

His lips brush against your shoulder, and you’re reminded of how gentle he can be despite the calluses on his palms. “I want you close, baby, please. Need to feel all of you. Every inch, inside and out. Will you let me do that, sweetheart?”

A thick blanket of submission wraps itself around your shoulders, and your head is nodding before you even give it permission to. “Want all of you, Si! Need all of you! Jus’ wan’ you.”

He begins to rock his hip, bones digging into plush flesh, and swears he can see flashes of golden gates with each thrust. “That’s it, baby. Such a good girl—my good girl.”

“S-Simon!”

Watching your breasts bounce as he bucks into you is hypnotizing, and he has to dig his fingers into your thighs to keep himself from bucking into you wildly. No, he refuses to be the beast he keeps buried down. It’s taken years of self-discipline and self-discovery to keep it locked away. He can’t unleash it now during a moment of vulnerability. But there’s something so tantalizing about you, so tempting and delicious that causes his teeth to sharpen and his mouth to flood with drool…

“Roll your hips, darling,” Simon whispers into your neck. “Be my good girl and roll your hips.”

And like the obedient girl you are, you listen, clit brushing against his pelvis and sending delicious waves of pleasure over your body. He thinks he’s dragging you down to hell with him, but you’re certain this is what heaven feels like. The love of your life beneath you, a light blanket of sweat over his body, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tries not to overindulge, his heart slamming against his ribcage in a frenzied attempt to reach you, his hands touching every inch of you they can reach, his lips kissing away the tears that stream down your face… No, this is better than heaven. With his hunger and your curiosity, you’ve both managed to find a place better than the promiseland, better than anything any god or mortal could even begin to hope to comprehend, a place where he’s free to feast on you as much as he wants and you can bury yourself in his ribcage.

Strong fingers slip under your chin and force you to look in a pair of shining ambers, and you swear Simon has never looked more beautiful than in this moment. “Kiss me, sweetheart,” he pleads, his hips stuttering.

Starving lips come crashing together, and it takes every ounce of self-control to not feed until his stomach ruptures.

And the worst part of it all is he knows you would allow him to.

You would absolutely allow him to eat, eat, eat, Simon, sharpen your teeth and bite as hard as you want! You’ll never go hungry as long as you’re with me! Just eat, goddammit, eat, eat, eat! Eat all of me until we aren’t sure where you end and I begin! Eat until I’m swimming in your veins! Just fucking eat!

Simon buries his face into the crook of your neck in hopes that maybe he can get through the night without any bloodshed, struggling to keep himself under control. But you have other plans. Lacing your fingers through his blond hair, you guide his face to one of your breasts in a silent plea for him to suck on it as you ride him. He obeys, of course. How could he not when you look so delicious covered in sweat and bouncing on his cock?

With teeth as sharp as diamonds, he tugs onto your nipple, and you cry out his name until it’s all you can dare to think about. “Fuck, baby,” he swears, one of his hands massaging your other breast, “you’re so beautiful. You know that right, darling? Have I ever told you how beautiful you are as you ride me?”

Your thighs begin to shake, and it’s then you both know you’re at the brink of unadulterated pleasure. Mustering as much strength as you can, you slam your hips down on his in frantic motions, feel the head of his cock prodding at your cervix, and tears poke at the corners of your eyes in anticipation of the feast about to come.

“So close, baby,” your partner moans, “so fucking close. Just a little more, love. Can you do that for me? Can my good girl ride me just a little bit more and make us both cum?”

“Y-Yes! Anything for you, Simon! Jus’ wanna be your good girl…”

Your whines and moans become more and more warbled the closer you get to your orgasm, and Simon is drinking every ounce of your submission. Unable to maintain self-control in the face of greed, sharp teeth pinch your nipple, the swell of your breasts, your shoulder, your neck, your jaw—anywhere he can feed and hear you squeal out in delight, just so long as he eats, eats, eats. Every time enamel pinches plush flesh, he can feel a piece of you slither down his throat and land in his ever-growing stomach—somewhere you’ve learned to consider home. Whispers of praise and love dance across your skin, his hands running up and down your spine as if coaxing you to give him just a little more of yourself, just a bit more so he can sedate the beast and continue to be the practical man you know and love.

“So fucking good for me,” he moans into the crook in your sweaty neck, his cock beginning to throb with the need to release. “That’s my girl, just a little more. I’m so close, love.”

Shaky hands bury themself into thick hair, and you pull until you can hear a hiss leave his lips. “Please, Simon, cum with me, please!”

“My baby wants me to cum with her, hmm?” he teases, albeit weakly. He’s losing control, you both know it. His abs flex with strain, his brow is shining with sweat, and his lips wobble with weakness, and yet he’s fighting to have you cum first just so he can taste how sweet you are on his tongue before he’s no longer human.

“Yes, please! I’m begging you, Simon, cum with me!”

“O-O-Oh, fuck...” Though he’s never been much for blind optimism, a part of him hoped maybe he finally could have control over his desires around you. A foolish thing to think, really, when you call to the beast buried in his ribcage so easily… “I’m gonna cum, darling, cum with me!”

And you do, almost embarrassingly quick. With your arms wrapped around each other, your face buried in his chest and his buried in your hair, your hips clumsily crashing together, you both cum together loudly, lewdly, your names burned into each other’s throats and echoing off of your bedroom walls. 

“You did so well for me, baby,” he mumbles against your shoulder, his lips fumbling to kiss everywhere his teeth sunk into. “I love you so much.”

You sigh and lean into his kisses as much as you can, arms still hanging loosely around his neck and your lungs trying to pull in oxygen. “I love you too, sweetheart, so, so much.”

“C’mon, I’ll go prepare a bath for us.” Gently, he untangles your limbs and lifts you in his strong arms. With one last kiss to your forehead, he begins to make his way to the bathroom, you curled up against his chest and listening to how hard his heart is hammering.

And somewhere between the sound of running water and satisfied giggles, Simon swears he hears a growl coming from his chest—low and threatening, a warning he only has so much time before he loses control and he can no longer contain how he feels about you.

And, for the first time since he discovered that wretched beast, he thinks he might be okay with that.

[itneverendshere]

tryin' to behave, but i'm feelin' some type of way - r.c drabble.

request: rafe x bitchy!pogue reader pleaseeeee!!!! he just hates that he wants her soo fucking bad and she finds it hilarioussss

warnings: it gets steamy but no smut!; slutshaming; they both need therapy okay.

felt like writing something out of the bartender!reader universe and had this request saved up on my notes, hope you enjoy 🫂 wrote this on my phone so if there’s any typos pretend you didn’t see them 🥰🥰🥰🥰

you’re out of place here, which is exactly why you’re here, tannyhill.

fuck them. fuck him.

every high-strung kook princess with their perfectly manicured nails gives you a quick once-over, nostrils flaring when they catch the sight of your scuffed-up boots. not that you care. it’s not like you’re trying to impress anyone.

and why should you? you’re only here for the free booze, it’s not your fault this place is such a bore. always all pearls, pastels, and the scent of white wine and privilege. who the fuck drank white whine at a party? but the real reason you’re here, the whole damn reason, is staring straight at you from across the room.

rafe cameron. ugh and yum.

he’s leaning against the bar, muscles taut under that fitted navy polo like he was born to flex, with a scowl as always. it’s always that look—the one that’s aimed solely at you, every time he sees you. it’s practically a tradition by now. you show up somewhere, he glares.

there’s a tightness in his shoulders, something tells you he’s going to snap eventually, maybe it’s because you’ve been pushing buttons lately. maybe it’s because he’s got his daddy’s expectations hanging over his head like a guillotine.

or maybe it’s just because he wants you, and that little inconvenient truth pisses him off to no end.

you flash him a slow, lazy grin, shifting your hips as you grab a beer from the cooler. when you catch the way his eyes drag over you, lingering on your exposed skin, your stomach hums with satisfaction.

let him look. let him stew in it.

“country club,” you call sweetly, raising your bottle in a mock toast, the light catching on the condensation like it’s winking at him. “how’s it going?”

his jaw ticks, his lips pressing into a thin, flat line. “you shouldn’t be here.”

“and yet, here i am,” you sing-song back, taking a slow, pointed sip. you’re feeling reckless tonight. he’s dangerous, sure. but he’s also predictable. you know exactly how to make it worse.  “aww, what’s wrong?”

you know exactly this’ll go. he’ll insult you, you’ll insult him back, and then—

his eyes narrow dangerously, that vein in his temple ticking. “what the fuck are you wearing?”

you blink innocently, glancing down at yourself. “clothes, obviously. why? does it bother you?”

“yeah,” he snaps, eyes raking over you again, lingering on the swell of your chest, the sliver of skin peeking out above your waistband. “aren’t you tired of slutting yourself around?”

your lips curl into a smirk, the slow burn of satisfaction warming your chest. this is exactly what you were hoping for.

“slutting myself around?” you echo, voice teasing. “didn’t know you were keeping tabs.” you cock your head, letting your gaze linger on his flushed cheeks, the way his nostrils flare, and that slight clench of his fists by his side.

he’s seething—looks ready to burst into flames right here in front of the bar. good.

he’s always been like this with you. short fuse, especially when it comes to what you’re wearing, how you look, where you go. but you’re onto him. you know what it’s really about.

“you must really be obsessed with me,” you continue, “it’s kinda weird, don’t you think?” you take another sip, slow and deliberate, licking your lips as you meet his glare. he steps closer, crowding into your space, his chest brushing against your shoulder. you should back up, or at least pretend to care, but you just tilt your head, looking up at him with a smug little grin. “what’s wrong?” you murmur, “feeling a little tense?

“fuck off,” he grits out, stepping back like he’s burned. but it’s too late. you’ve got him now.

you cock your head, giving him a slow, taunting smile. “why? afraid you’ll get hard in front of your little friends?”

his eyes darken, jaw clenched so hard you wonder if it hurts. “i swear to god—”

“what?” you interrupt, teeth flashing. “you gonna hit me? break another one of your daddy’s toys?” you wave your hand around the pristine room, the glittering chandelier, the polished bar. “go on, then. show everyone what a psycho you are.”

“you think i won’t?” 

“yeah, i think you won’t,” you say softly, staring right into those burning blue eyes of his. “because you’re all bark and no bite.”

“you wanna see bite?” he murmurs, voice dripping venom. “i’ll show you fucking bite.”

then his hand snaps out, wrapping around your upper arm, and before you can react, he’s yanking you out of the room, down a hallway that’s all shadowed corners. you stumble, cursing under your breath, but he doesn’t stop until you’re both crashing through a side door into some empty back corridor.

“jesus, cameron, take a fucking xanax—” you start, wrenching your arm free.

for a second, you think you’ve gone too far. his whole body goes still, and something flares in his gaze—something unhinged and a little bit terrifying. but instead of snapping, instead of throwing a punch, he leans in, so close you can feel the heat of him against your skin.

you’re shoved against the wall, hard, his body caging yours in, his hands braced on either side of your head. you freeze, breath hitching. he’s close—too close—and it’s too hot and too much and—

“shut up,” he growls.

you should tell him to fuck off. you should knee him in the balls. you should do anything but feel the way you do right now—flushed, breathless, and…too horny for your own good. 

“do you always have to be so fucking dramatic?” you huff, placing your hand in chest in a futile attempt to push him away. you know he can break you in half if he wants to. 

he doesn’t move of course, just stares at you, chest heaving like he’s just run a marathon. he’s got that crazed look in his eyes that should make you run for the hills, and yet you stay put.

and then, suddenly, his mouth is on yours, demanding and angry.

it’s not a kiss—it’s a punishment. his teeth nip at your bottom lip, his tongue sliding against yours with a harshness that steals your breath. you gasp, your hands coming up to shove him away again, but somehow they get tangled in his hair instead, gripping the soft strands as he presses closer, closer— it’s a disaster. you’re a disaster. because you don’t pull away. 

you kiss him back like an idiot, just as desperate, your nails digging into his scalp as you pour all your frustration into the kiss. why does he have to be this hot? in your books, kooks aren't allowed to be hotter than a 5. unfortunately, rafe is a solid eleven.

he tastes like mint and rage, and it shouldn’t feel this good, but it does. god, it does. he breaks away, panting, glaring down at you like you’re dirt under his shoes. “you drive me fucking insane, y’ know that?”

“good,” you gasp, licking your lips. “you deserve it.”

he laughs, a low, harsh sound. “you’re such a fucking bitch.”

“and you’re a spoiled, narcissistic asshole,” you snap back, shoving at his chest. he doesn’t even flinch, just glares harder, and it sends a thrill through your entire body. you’d never seen him like this, so unguarded and it was weirdly intoxicating. 

“i should ruin you,” he murmurs, almost like he’s talking to himself. his hand comes up, fingers brushing your jaw, trailing down your throat. “make you beg.”

you keep your expression defiant. “you think you can?”

rafe smirks, slow and dangerous, and it makes something burst in your belly. “i know i can.”

his hand slides lower, fingertips brushing the hem of your top, and your breath catches. you should stop this again. you should slap him, kick him, do anything but let him keep touching you like that, but you don’t. you just stare up at him, heart racing.

“show me then.”

and then his hands are on you, yanking you forward, spinning you around. you gasp, palms slapping against the wall as he presses up behind you, his body solid against yours.

“you’re a fucking brat,” he growls, his mouth right against your ear. one of his hands comes up, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling just enough to make your back arch.

“and you’re obsessed with me,” you shoot back breathlessly, tilting your head to meet his gaze over your shoulder.

rafe’s grip tightens in your hair, hard enough to sting, and his lips brush your earlobe, “obsessed?” he repeats, like he can’t believe you had the fucking audacity to say it. “don’t flatter yourself, baby.”

but you feel the way his body presses against yours. your panties might be drenched but this man is just as hard. he’s close to you—so fucking close—you feel every ridge of him, and despite every insult he’s ever thrown your way, despite how much he claims to hate you, he’s here. the way he’s breathing tells you exactly what you need to know. 

you twist against him, pushing back just enough to test his restraint. “then why are you so worked up, huh?”

“i think you’re confusing us.”

“sure,” you laugh, even as his hands move down your sides, his fingernails digging into your hips. “that’s why you dragged me out here, right? because you’re just so indifferent?”

his chest brushes against your back with every ragged breath. he’s losing it. you’re making him lose it. and fuck, that feels good.

“i could ruin you,” he whispers again, like he’s trying to convince himself. his hand skim up your ribs, thumb grazing the underside of your tit, and your senses kicks into overdrive. “one word from me, and you’re done.”

“you’re all talk cameron,” you challenge, arching your back slightly, giving him more room to touch you.

you shouldn’t want this—you shouldn’t need this—but you can’t stop. 

his mouth is on your neck, hot and open, teeth scraping against your skin in a way that sends a shudder from your head to your toes.

“fuck you,” he growls against your throat, the words almost lost in the heat of his mouth. “i’m not playin’ your games.”

you bite back a moan, fingers curling against the cold wall. “you’re already playing.”

“you’re so fucking—” he cuts himself off, breathing harshly through his nose. “fuck, i hate you.”

“no, you don’t,” you turn your head just enough to catch his eye. his gaze is wild, and you smirk, taunting him with your lips just inches from his. “you wish you did.”

you know you’re pushing your luck, but then again, when haven’t you?

“you have no fucking clue what i wish,” he growls, each word dripping with so much frustration it makes you laugh.

it comes out like a soft, mocking sound. “ooh, i think i do. you wish i’d shut up. wish i’d disappear. but you really wish you didn’t get hard every time ’m around.”

his jaw ticks, that telltale sign that you’re getting to him. god, he hates you. you can see it in his clenched teeth, his furrowed brows. he hates that he wants a pogue and you find it hilarious.

“don’t flatter yourself pogue,” he snaps, but his voice is strained. his hands tighten on your hips, fingers biting into your skin just shy of painful.

you push back against him just a little harder again, feeling the rigid line of his cock pressed against your ass.

“yeah?” your voice turns breathy. “then why do i feel that?” you grind your hips subtly, just to punctuate the point, and the low sound that rumbles out of him is almost worth the risk of provoking him further.

“because you’re a fucking tease,” he mutters, voice harsh and low in your ear. “you show up, looking like you want it—”

“and so what if i do?”

it’s a dare. he’s holding you, like he can’t decide if he wants to strangle you or fuck you senseless, perhaps both. you know you’ve crossed some invisible line.

“you’re gonna regret this,” he murmurs.

“maybe,” you shoot back, unflinching. “but that’s the thing, rafe.” you twist, just enough to look at him over your shoulder, “i think you’re more scared of what you might regret.”

instead of shoving you away, instead of storming off, he does the one thing you didn’t expect. he laughs.

it’s that crazy sound he makes before he does something reckless every time, the kind that makes people run away. it’s such a humorless sound, it should scare the living shit out of you as he leans in, lips brushing against your neck. “don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

before you can answer, one hand slides up to cup your jaw, tilting your head back so you’re forced to meet his eyes. they’re wild, almost feral, just like you expected.

“tell me to stop,” he whispers, his thumb brushing your lower lip, the touch so gentle it’s almost jarring. “go on, say it.”

you swallow hard, pulse hammering in your throat. you should say it. but you don’t want to.

“make me.” you know he hears you—feels you—because the corner of his mouth lifts in a slow, taunting smirk.

“yeah?” he drawls, thumb slipping from your lip to trace along your jawline, his touch featherlight and maddening. “you sure?”

“prove me wrong. or are you scared?”

“you think ’m fucking scared of you? think i can’t handle a little mouthy brat like you?”

he’s goading you, pushing you like he always does, and every word you had prepared dies on your lips 

“i’d loooove to see you try.”

“oh, you will.”