#a return from dark waters

[rosesradio]

.

[brunchable]

𝙄 𝘿𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙇𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙖 𝘽𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙁𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙 [ 2 ]

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: Friends to Lovers. SMUT: Touch Hungry Bucky, Kiss Hungry Bucky, Bucky just not getting enough of you, fingering, cunnilingus, Oral [M&F], unprotected piv, creampie. Just PURE making love, no kinks. Summary: It's only been a few hours since you've become official and Bucky want to show you just how much you mean to him. A/N: 2 of 2. And I must say. . . JAYSUS. BON APETITIDDIES.

Part One

You were stiff. You were sore. Your arm was asleep. And you felt fucking fantastic.

Maybe in the movies people woke up entwined in each other's arms after a night of spirited lovemaking, but for you, reality was much more awkward. Your head had somehow become wedged behind Bucky’s shoulder, and both his legs were about to slide off the couch altogether. You untangled yourself as best you could, looking down at him as you moved his limbs out of the way.

Bucky was sleeping peacefully, his dark lashes lying flat against the skin beneath his eyes. They fluttered slightly as you pulled free of him, and he stirred.

"Five more minutes," he mumbled, and turned over so he was facing the back of the couch, still caught in mid-slide towards the floor.

You tried not to laugh. God, he was adorable.

You sat up, arching your back to stretch out the sore muscles. Then your breath caught. What time was it? Holy hell, I’m going to be late.

You stood up quickly, and was seized by an ache between your legs so unfamiliar that you nearly sat back down again. Holy crap. It had been way too long. You almost felt like a virgin again. You rose again shakily, noticing that your whole groin felt sore, and so did your hips—probably from throwing your legs up around his waist. God, what a wanton hussy you were, you thought happily.

You went quietly towards the bathroom, checking the clock on the stove as you walked by. It was nearly eight-thirty. Crap. You were supposed to be at work by nine, or nine-thirty at the latest. you'd  have to make the shower a quick one.

You stood under the hot water, letting it pour over your sore muscles. You washed out your hair, lathered up your body and massaged your sore hips as random images from last night invaded your thoughts. Even now you weren't entirely convinced it hadn't all been a dream. Has it really happened? The soreness was real enough. And so were the images flashing through your mind.

Bucky’s body on yours, looming over you, holding your wrists, kissing you with abandon. Taking each breast in his mouth, teasing you with his fingers. Sliding into you, tilting your back and thrusting deeper, faster, harder.

Suddenly a blurry figure appeared on the other side of the glass door. The door slid open and he stood there, looking disheveled from sleep but adorably sexy. And naked, too.

"Hi," he said, a seductive smile curving his lips. His eyes traveled down your naked body, pausing at your breasts and then sliding down to the between your legs where rivulets of water coursed and ran together.

You flushed at the frank inspection but willed yourself not to try to hide from him. You shifted your weight, jutting your hip out provocatively and smiled.

His eyes returned to yours, desire glinting in them. "May I join you?"

You pushed the door back and invited him in. Bucky stepped in and crowded you, not unpleasantly, until your back was up against the tiles. He braced his hands on the wall behind you, and let the water flow over him as he leaned down and kissed you.

You opened to him and kissed him back, winding your hands around his waist and sliding them down his ass, squeezing appreciatively. He smiled into the kiss, enjoying your wandering hands, then pushed forward so your bodies were pressed together, the water slick and warm between you.

"So," he murmured in your ear, his voice barely a whisper above the sound of the water. "So much for that idea."

"What idea was that?" you whispered back, kissing his ear.

"The idea that we could ever be just friends," he said, catching your jaw with his lips as you turned your head. He covered your neck with slow, lingering kisses, trailing his mouth down your and cupping your breast with his hand.

"Oh, I don't know, I think it's a great idea so far," you said coquettishly. "Besides," you joked. "I do this with all my male friends."

He mocked a scowl at you, and gave you  that smile that had always melted you. "Well, that's going to have to stop. You're mine now."

He kissed you slowly, his tongue tangling with yours as he teased and tasted, enjoying your mouth.

You kissed him back, licking and tasting and enjoying him until you felt rather than heard a hum of desire, of pure carnal lust, vibrating through him. He was growing hard against your belly, his cock pressing against you urgently.

He lowered his head further and took your  nipple into his mouth, licking the soft nub until it grew hard beneath his tongue. Pleasure shot through you, and he turned to lavish the same attention on your other breast. You writhed against the cold tiles at your back, arching into him and sinking your fingers into his hair to hold him to you. He smiled as you moaned with pleasure, and laughed softly when he took your nipple between his teeth and made you suck in a sharp breath.

His cock was as hard as it had been a few hours ago, and it surged in your hand as he took your breasts. You gathered some suds into your palm and grasped him again, feeling the iron-hardness of him beneath the silky skin. You began to stroke, gliding fast and smooth, and he groaned from the pleasure of it, collapsing against you and kissing you between his soft, low sounds of pleasure and need.

You kept stroking and teasing, gliding over him in a steady rhythm, and felt yourself growing warm and slick at how hard he was beneath your fingers. You loved that you were doing that to him, making him want you so much. He groaned, his breath jagged and shallow. He tried to kiss you through his mounting pleasure but he had to break off to breathe, to lose himself in the sensation.

"God, baby," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "So good."

You tried not to focus on him calling you baby, knowing it was only his arousal talking. You focused instead on the intense pleasure that was making him say it. You continued stroking him, changing your hand position so that you pulled up with each stroke, teasingly pulling his skin up over the head each time and sinking down to the base, pleasuring every inch of him. Your other hand cupped his balls and caressed him, gently rolling him around in your fingers as he tensed and surged and seemed to fight against you, against the unbearable pleasure you were causing him.

After a few torturous moments he stopped your hand, his breathing so fast and ragged that he could hardly speak. 

“You—don't want—this to end too soon, do you?” he warned, kissing you in between breaths. “Because, my God, you could make me come in seconds if you wanted to.”

“That might be fun,” you said, kissing the edges of his mouth, licking at his lips and his tongue when he opened his mouth to you again.

“For me, yes,” he breathed, breaking away from you. “But I'm not nearly finished with you yet.”

He slipped his hand into your hair and held your head, kissing you with such raw passion, such naked need that you felt a surge of warmth flood between your legs in spite of the cooling effects of the water. He had wrung a soul-shattering orgasm out of you just a few hours ago and yet here you were again, eager for him again. Wanton hussy indeed.

"Do you remember that night, two years ago?" he asked, his voice low and deep. "At the party, when I played that song on the guitar for you, and you asked whether it hurt my fingers to play the steel strings?"

He was watching his own fingers trail over your breasts, over your tightened nipple, down past your navel, as the water trickled over you both.

"Mmm hmmm," you murmured, your eyes closed, lost in the sensation of the water coursing down your body and his hand moving over you.

“And you touched my fingertips…”

Of course you remembered; you'd run your  fingers over the roughened pads of his fingertips, and had watched in delight as he'd twitched a little, and then trembled, just a little, at your touch. You'd kept your touch feather-light and soft, drifting over his fingertips and down his fingers a little, feeling the shiver of heightened awareness in your  own hands.

Maybe you'd been a little too suggestive, a little too lingering, whispering-touching those parts of him that were supposedly hardened against such sensations—but you'd been unable to stop yourself. His hands had been warm and strong and eminently male, and when he'd stiffened and held his breath, as if willing himself not to react to your seductive touch, you'd felt that shiver of awareness deepen into an intense desire.

Such a seemingly innocent touch, just a friend examining the time-worn calluses of a guitar player's fingertips. . .and yet in that moment, even amongst their friends, even with the music playing loud and the laughter soaring above it, you'd felt like it had been just the two of you in that room, touching each other intentionally for the very first time, your hand tentatively reaching out for his, and his reaching to meet your half way.

“You drove me wild.” he said, leaning to kiss your neck. “I got so hard, I was afraid to move. And after that, I kept thinking of all the things I wanted to do to you with these fingers.” He slipped his hand between your  legs and caressed your folds, parting them gently and sliding inside you. “Like this, for instance.”

You moaned and leaned your head against his shoulder, letting him touch you wherever he wanted. His fingers explored you, caressed you, possessed you, expertly as though they, too, knew you were his.

“I just had to touch you,” you breathed against him. “And believe me, this is what I was thinking about too.”

“You stopped me last night,” he murmured, dragging his mouth along your neck. “I wanted to feel you come for me. To finish what you started that night.”

You groaned at the sound of his voice, so low and sexual, so heated with his own desire.

“Let me feel you come for me, baby,” he whispered into your ear, licking your  earlobe. “Please.”

He gripped your hip and lifted you up against the wall slightly, positioning you so he could slide his fingers deep inside you. He held you firmly around the waist, bracing you against the wall, and thrust into you gently, with first one finger, then two, sliding deeper and deeper each time, stretching you, mimicking the size and power of his cock. His thumb played over your clit, sending shocks of pleasure through you as he pressed his forehead to yours and gazed down into your  eyes. You gasped and cried out from the overwhelming pleasure of it even as you squirmed beneath his fingers and ached for more.

He braced you against his thigh and pressed against you while his arm steadied you from behind, holding you completely in his grasp. Bucky had such a way of holding you, letting you know that you were going nowhere, making sure you had no desire to be anywhere but in his arms. You felt safe, and secure, and above all, worshiped.

Bucky bent down and kissed you, sliding his fingers into your with a wild, sensuous rhythm that matched the increasing speed of his thumb as it stroked and rubbed and swirled around your aching clit. His hand was so strong, his fingers curving inside you to caress you, to find that super-sensitive inner spot even as he plunged and drove and took. With his thumb circling your clit in a relentless rhythm and his fingers deep inside you, stretching you, claiming you, you felt completely owned by him, by the hand that possessed every inch of you.

His tongue slipped into your mouth, matching the rhythm of his fingers, swirling, tasting, mutely revealing that he had had another  fantasy, too. The thought of his mouth on you, his tongue tasting you, torturing you, swirling over your clit as you writhed beneath it made you go weak in the knees.

Bucky broke away from the kiss and began trailing kisses down your neck, your breasts, lowering himself to his knees in front of you  while bracing your hips against the tiles with his strong hands.

"Did I mention what it did to me the first time your tongue touched mine?" he whispered devilishly.

He looked up at you so intently, his beautiful blue eyes blazing as the water streamed over his shoulder and down the contours of his chest. You gazed down at him, and for the second time this morning questioned whether  all this could actually be happening. This gorgeous, virile man gripping you, kneeling before you, gazing at you like you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. It couldn't be real, could it?

Then he lowered his lips to your and you knew it was.

Sensation tore through your touch, so delicately gentle at first, and you arched against the wall with a startled cry. You reached down and gripped his shoulder, steadying yourself on one foot as he brought you to your leg up slowly, gently and eased it over his shoulder. The sight of it alone nearly made you come. He moved so languidly, so sensuously, positioning you better so he could enjoy your all the more.

He closed his mouth over your clit and kissed it luxuriously, his lips moving as though he were kissing your mouth. His tongue swirled over you in large, sensuous circles and he groaned against you, tightening his grip on your hip as you moaned against the sudden overwhelming pleasure of it. The tip of his tongue darted out to flick against your  rapidly as he looked up at you again, watching your pleasure, his eyes smiling at you as if he knew precisely how good he was making you feel. Then he fell on you again, his tongue roaming over you, tasting you, luxuriating in your folds and dipping to lap at your entrance.

“Oh my, g-god. Bucky—”

You bucked against him and cried out as his tongue slipped into your and pulsed there, gently, savouring you. Your hand sank into his wet hair and as you gripped his head, you were rewarded with a muted chuckle and a more intense forward surge of his tongue inside you. He liked the moans he wrought from you. He liked being able to make your  cry out and seize him, your head thrown back in agonizing pleasure.

And fuck did you like it, too.

"Oh God," you breathed, your heart thundering in your chest. "My God, that feels so good..."

He withdrew from your and slid his tongue up to torture your aching clit, and just when you began to miss the feel of him inside your he gently pushed his fingers into your again and began to thrust.

Pleasure soared through you and you cried out even louder, and the leg draped over his shoulder began to tremble. His tongue circled your clit again, deliciously slowly, as his fingers slid into you over and over again, a sensual, primitive rhythm that made you  want to grind your hips against the pleasure.

“I'm coming,” you whispered urgently. “You're going to make me come…”

His fingers thrust deeper and faster and he began to lick you so quickly, with such a throaty groan of pleasure that you felt your  orgasm rise, terrifyingly fast and sharp, making you cry out in increasing, panting breaths until you shattered, coming violently around his fingers and that sensuous, irresistible tongue. You shuddered with an aching cry and trembled from the spasms he sent rippling through you. Your body curled forward as you gripped him tighter, your  fingers pulling on his hair from the pressure.

He removed your leg from his shoulder gently as you continued to shudder, feeling aftershocks of pleasure shiver through you. He got to his feet and helped you stand, pressing himself against your  and nuzzling your neck.

“Holy shit,” you whispered, your voice shaking. your  whole body shaking. “That was incredible.”

“That...was just the prelude,” he whispered, kissing you. “I haven't even started pleasuring you yet.”

God, he was going to kill you. Death by orgasm, you thought happily. What a way to go.

He leaned to turn off the water, but he stilled his hand. He looked back at you with a questioning expression, and then understood. You pulled him back towards yourself and he went willingly, stepping back under the stream of water, kissing you deeply, his hands roaming greedily over your  body.

You weren't done with him. He had made you feel like a goddess, worshiped, cherished, adored.

You broke off the kiss and began trailing your  lips down his neck, his collarbone and chest, enjoying the warmth of the water trickling past your mouth. His chest muscles tensed as you kissed them, and as you moved your  lips slowly down his abdomen you felt his whole body go rigid with anticipation. You sank to your knees in the tub and brushed kisses along his navel, his hip bones, and he put his hands on your shoulders to steady himself. Water coursed over both of you, and you delighted in it, closing your eyes against the spray.

“Baby,” Bucky said softly, barely audible above the water.

You opened your eyes and looked up at him. He was about to say something but you smiled and glanced away, focusing instead on the head of his cock, hard and urgent in front of you. He was thick and beautiful, and still as hard, maybe even harder, than he had been when you'd teased him with your  hands.

“I want to taste you,” you said playfully. “All of you.”

You leaned forward and gently licked the swollen tip of his cock. He inhaled sharply, his whole body tensing, and you smiled up at him, letting him know this was for your  pleasure as much as for his. You swirl your  tongue around the head, taking it into your  mouth and suckling gently, teasing it. The skin was soft and smooth, stretched deliciously tight from the hardness of his erection.

You let your tongue play over it, dipping into the opening, making him moan. You drifted your tongue along the ridge, and down to the sensitive skin just beneath the head, licking and tasting, nipping and kissing.

You looked up at him, and his dark eyes were wild with desire. You smiled, and ran your  tongue up and down the length of him, ending at the head and flicking at it delicately, teasingly. He moaned softly, his breathing starting to grow rapid. You rose up slightly to take the whole length of him into your mouth and sucked him, long and hard.

He let out a gasp and braced himself against the wall with one hand, his other  hand gripping your  shoulder.

“Oh fuck—Baby...”

You slid your mouth over his shaft, deeper, deeper, and slid back up the length of him. Your hands came around and gripped his ass, pulling him towards you. He staggered forward slightly as you took him into your  mouth again, luxuriously taking in his entire length, sucking, licking, tasting as you went. The sensation of him in your mouth was almost as overwhelming as his first entrance into your body had been, so unfamiliar but so right at the same time.

You caressed his balls with one hand as you played your tongue over his cock. He groaned, his breathing jagged now, his cock harder than ever. His hand moved from your  shoulder to sink into your wet hair, and he gripped your head with barely restrained urgency. Gently he guided your head closer to him as you sucked. You lowered yourself onto him and slowly sucked your way back up, your mouth gripping him, your cheeks hollowing, as your tongue slid over him with each pass.

His hips began to move as he started to match your rhythm, thrusting into you, meeting your mouth. Bucky gripped your head more firmly and held your head still, driving into you gently.

You let your hand fall and you sat back on your haunches, enjoying the feeling of him sliding in and out of your mouth, controlling his own pleasure, taking what he wanted, and what you were so willing to give. Yet you could tell he was holding back, wanting to thrust harder and faster but restraining himself and settling for a smoother, slower pace.

For you. Bucky was holding back for your sake. This passionate, soulful, virile man was holding back his own pleasure because he wanted to be gentle with you.

The very thought of it excited you, and you increased your own rhythm, encouraging him, moaning with pleasure as he drove into you. You sucked harder, faster, turning your  gaze up to him with an urgent plea in your  eyes. Faster. Deeper. Now, my love.

And he understood.

Bucky groaned, and stepped forward. His hand clenched in your hair and he began to move, faster and harder, plunging deeper, holding your head as he thrust into your  mouth with urgent, rhythmic strokes. He slid in and out of your mouth as if through warm honey, and you felt and heard his pleasure mounting with every ratcheted breath and every desperate moan that escaped his lips.

His eyes watched your with rapt adoration and abject lust, and you could tell that the sight of your taking him fully into your mouth, of your sucking him with pure, greedy abandon and complete acceptance, was pushing him closer to the edge as much as the intense pleasure of your tongue on his cock was. Or more.

He tensed as his rhythm grew faster, his breathing harder, until you felt him tighten and strain so much that you felt certain he was going to spill himself into your mouth. But at the last moment he cried out and pulled back, his cock slipping out of your  mouth quickly. He stood still, breathless, his eyes closed as if willing his orgasm to retreat. Water sliced down his neck and chest, and finally he let out a slow, jagged moan of a breath and opened his eyes. He looked down at you wildly, and reached for you,helping you to your feet.

“Jesus,” he said breathlessly, staring at you as he tried to catch his breath. “I can't...I can't believe how goddamn good that felt. You brought me so close, so fast, I almost couldn't stop it.”

“Why did you?” you asked, running your  finger along his jaw. “I wanted to feel you come for me.”

He groaned against you, his hands roaming over your  body. “I told you, I'm not nearly done with you yet.”

He kissed you hungrily, his cock surging against your violently as your bodies met. you could feel him moving against you, his cock rubbing against you,and you knew how badly he wanted to be inside you again.

As badly as you wanted him inside you again.

He stepped back, his breath still ragged, and pressed his forehead to yours as he closed his eyes and tried to breathe.

“You're not done yet, huh?” you teased gently, letting your fingers sink into his wet hair as you kissed his neck.

“Not nearly.”

“But I have to go to work. Maybe if I'm lucky you'll be here when I get home?”

“I'm not going anywhere.”

He reached to turn off the water and stepped out of the shower, turning to help your step over the wall of the tub. You threw your robe on and cinched the belt as he dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist. You caught him grinning at you, and it was so clear what he was thinking that it made your  laugh.

“What?” you demanded, squeezing the excess water out of your hair with a hand towel. “What are you smiling at?”

Bucky wetted his lips with his tongue, “Fuck it. You're just going to have to be late for work. Come here…”

“Hey!” your eyes widened playfully, jumping away from him. “Are you trying to kill me? Stop!”

Bucky untied your robe and you yelped, trying to slap his hands away. He just kept advancing on you, grinning devilishly. You turned and scampered away from him with a squeal of delight.

He followed behind, still grasping for the robe. You shrieked and laughed and ran towards the bedroom, and he followed, catching up to you and pushing you onto the bed with a resounding crack of the bed frame.

You laughed as he tumbled on top of you, but he silenced you with his mouth, kissing you hungrily as he impatiently pushed your robe aside. His breath was ragged as he nudged your legs apart with his knee, his need too great for the slow, sensual lovemaking of last night. He held his cock against your entrance and smoothly thrusts into you and moaned against your mouth, and you wrapped your legs around him to draw him deeper.

He plunged into you, covering your body and your mouth with the same hungry possession. You were still so warm and wet, so exquisitely ready for him that he filled you easily, driving you relentlessly as he tasted your tongue, your lips, your neck, and groaned from the pleasure your body was giving him.

You tensed around him and he moaned breathlessly, a throaty, male sound of pure ecstasy. He pounded into you, falling into a steady rhythm born of raw, primitive need. Your body tightened around him with every thrust, and waves of pleasure rippled through you, building in intensity up to an almost unbearable pressure, a delicious heat that made you moan into his mouth as he kissed you.

He rose up, his arms braced beside you, to look down as he stroked and withdrew and breathed out his pleasure while his eyes glowed pure heat. He grabbed your rear, tilting one hip up towards him, entering you  on such an angle that a new kaleidoscope of pleasure bloomed throughout you. He gripped you possessively, driving you deeper and faster and harder. His eyes burned, glowing like obsidian, hot and wild and almost frenzied with desire.

“Baby,” he groaned, his eyes pinning you, claiming you, as though he were branding you with your heat.

You're mine...

You're mine...

Your first time together had only been hours ago, but it was as if you had been lovers for years...every fluid flexing of his hips against you hit just the right spot, every deep, powerful thrust of his cock stretched your pussy with a familiar, almost expected surge of pleasure.

“Yes—oh god yes, Bucky—fuck me,” you breathed.

Two simple words and suddenly he was on the edge...buried so deep inside you, thrusting, plunging, your breasts pressed against his chest, the pleasure roaring through his body.

Suddenly he wanted to take you, hard. He wanted to fuck you with abandon, the eyes-closed, head-back, moaning-out-loud kind of sexual abandon that he had so rarely experienced in his life, but which was crashing through his body and mind right now.

He wanted this woman...he wanted to own you, to take you, to claim your body as his....he wanted to fuck you until he'd emptied his balls into you, feeling your pussy clenching and spasming in orgasm around his cock as he came, as you came, as you came together.

He withdrew from you quickly, barely able to catch his breath, and, as if you could read his thoughts, you turned onto your stomach just as his trembling hands guided your hips over. Your hair spilled over your bare back and your ass curved out so seductively it was all he could do not to cum right there, all over your smooth skin. But his cock knew what it wanted, and he pulled you forward to slide into the heaven of your pussy, so wet and tight and swollen for him.

He cried out when he took your again, his cock parting your folds and filling you so completely. The feel of him stretching you, the crest of his head pressing against your  from this new angle...you felt a tremor of pleasure ripple through you and knew you were close, as close as he was. When he leaned over you and began to kiss your  shoulders you shuddered, and when he began to thrust you buried your face in the pillow and moaned.

Your moans of pleasure filled the room and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to last, begging his aching cock not to explode just yet. . .this pace, these quick short strokes as his hips slapped against your ass, your body moving with his every thrust. . .It was almost too much to bear. Bucky buried his faced in your sweet-smelling hair and let his cock plunge as it would, faster and faster, making him shake, making him breathless, making him feel like nothing but a desperate cock as he fucked you.

And fucked you. And fucked you, as you had begged him to...

You could only whimper now, lost to the pleasure of his man taking you like this, fucking you so wildly, almost savagely. The pleasure he was taking from your body, his moans and groans and the growls of pleasure you could feel against your back and in the warm breath at your ear. . . it was pure, primal lust.

You felt worshiped beneath him, as if every thrust of his hungry cock was a tribute to you, every growl and sharp breath an oath. He was fucking you, mindlessly, and yet every part of him was attuned to you, touching you, adoring you.

As his pace grew even faster, his thrusts shallower, you could sense he was about to come, and you felt your muscles tighten around him to heighten his pleasure and hers. His thrusts were so powerful that you felt the orgasm rising in you and you closed your eyes, lifting your head back so he could slide his hand into your hair, gently holding your neck and kissing your jaw with breathy, open-mouthed kisses.

“Oh, God Bucky...I'm coming,” you moaned. “I'm coming.”

“Yes...cum for me baby....cum on my cock.”

“Cum with me....please....I want you to cum inside me, please....please....”

And he could withstand it no more.

Pleasure detonated through him as his orgasm spasmed throughout his body, wracking him with wave after wave of euphoric release. He cried out your name as he thrust and bucked against your flesh, driving his cock deeper and deeper as he came and came and came. It felt like he would never stop cumming, and when he felt your orgasm tear through your pussy and clench his cock in waves, he thought he might black out from the sheer ecstasy of it.

You slammed back against him as the first spurts of cum began to fill you, and felt your  ravaged pussy begin to spasm again and again, milking his cock, pulling his cum deeper into you, flooding you with ripples of pleasure. You moaned and writhed, riding the crest of one orgasm only to feel a second one begin to climb and then crash over you. Breathless, almost sobbing from the pleasure, you let him hold you as he continued to pound into you, draining his balls into you at his will, lost in the utter bliss of a man taking a woman in the most primal way.

When he could bear it no longer, when his exquisitely sensitive cock throbbed within you and the pleasure bordered on pain, he stilled, finally, and shuddered. Sharp spasms of pleasure shot through him as his cock surged one last time within you, his aching balls emptying every last ounce of come. Bucky was almost lightheaded, his chest heaving, sweat glazing his skin as he withdrew his hand from your hair and ran it down the center of your back, needing to touch you, needing to feel your heated skin. You were breathless too, your back moving beneath his hand as you lay your head down and tried to catch your breath.

You felt him withdraw from you, and your  pussy rebelled, clenching to keep him there, as if pleading with him not to go. Bucky groaned softly against your ear as he pulled out and fell on the bed beside you, his arms surrounding you and pulling your back against him. You fit perfectly together, and every muscle in your body relaxed as you snuggled into him and breathed out a contented sigh. You felt his lips on the shell of your ear, kissing softly, felt his slowing breath against your skin as his soft sounds of contentment and pleasure hummed in his throat.

This is heaven, you thought. Pure heaven. your pussy twitched and tingled as you felt his warm come beginning to slip down your  inner thighs. His strong arms surrounded you, his soft lips murmured and whispered and kissed, his spent cock nestled against the curve of your ass.

“There was something I wanted to tell you, remember?” he murmurs, his words brushing warmly against your skin as he kisses a path down to your shoulder. “Last night… something I wanted to say to you. Something I wanted you to know.”

You shift slightly, turning to look at him, your heart pounding as you search his eyes, barely able to breathe. 

“Tell me,” you whisper, your voice almost a plea.

His gaze softens, an unmistakable warmth filling his expression as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek. 

“I love you.”

The words settle between you, simple but perfect, like they were always meant to be there. Your heart feels like it’s soaring, every nerve in your body alive with the thrill of it, of finally hearing what you’d been aching to hear.

You break into a smile, biting your lip, feeling giddy and light, and without a second thought, you lean forward, kissing him softly, your hand finding his as you whisper back, “I love you too.”

And as he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that feels like home, you realize that, for the first time, everything feels right.

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@90-ghost @ibtisams @nabulsi @aces-and-angels @sar-soor @sayruq @fairuzfan @palestinegenocide @vakarians-babe @northgazaupdates @northgazaupdates2

Trapped Family in Gaza Appeals for Help to Survive 🕊️🇵🇸🙏

I Samer Abu Ras, am reaching out to you with a heartfelt humanitarian appeal, after the ongoing war in Gaza has cast its dark shadow over my life and the lives of my family. Our lives were once filled with peace and stability before the onset of this catastrophe, but now, we find ourselves living in a situation described as nothing short of tragic.

My wife, Shurooq, our three children, and I are now homeless, without a source of income, and without hope for the future. My family and I have lost our businesses and our home due to the war, and we now have nothing left but the cold streets and troubled hearts.

My children are suffering greatly as a result of these horrific events. They have lost the security and stability they once enjoyed and are now facing new health and psychological challenges that threaten their lives. As a father and husband, I feel powerless in my ability to provide adequate protection and care for them.

My child, who is a year and a half old, is experiencing hardships far beyond his tender age. Since the war broke out, we had to flee our home and seek refuge in a tent in a displacement camp. My child lives in extremely difficult conditions, deprived of safety and stability. The tent does not provide adequate protection from harsh weather, and food and medicine are scarce. My child suffers from malnutrition and illness, lacking basic healthcare. He cannot play or grow in a healthy and suitable environment. My only dream is to see him grow up in a safe place full of opportunities

In the face of difficult circumstances, Samer Abu Ras and his family find themselves facing serious challenges in their daily lives. They reside in a modest tent lacking comfort and security, suffering from a shortage of clean water and food, and encountering difficulties in accessing necessary healthcare. Despite these challenges, they continue to express hope and resilience in confronting adversity, holding onto hope for a better tomorrow and a return to a more stable and secure life.

I appeal to you today, dear friends, to extend to me a helping hand in escaping this hell. Regardless of the size of the donation, every drop of generosity will contribute to alleviating our suffering and rebuilding our lives anew.

We need your help to secure the funds necessary to travel away from these destructive wars and seek a safe and stable environment where we can build a better future for our children

Let us stand together in these difficult times and let hope triumph over despair by providing support and assistance to those in dire need. Let us be part of the solution and build a better future for ourselves and future generations.

Thank you for listening and for the potential generosity of your giving, and for your generous donations that will change the lives of my family for the better.

With sincere gratitude and appreciation

‏Samer Abu Ras and family.

@heba-20 @soon-palestine @marnota @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @i-am-aprl @nabulsi @sayruq @communistchilchuck @palipunk @palestinecharitycommissionsassoc @faggotfungus @ghost-and-a-half @magnus-rhymes-with-swagness @three-croissants @interfacefox @appsa @akajustmerry @feluka @flower-tea-fairies @90-ghost @victoriawhimsey @ficsforgaza @aria-ashryver @mangocheesecakes @humanvoicebox @plomegranate @queerstudiesnatural @commissions4aid-international @palestinegenocide @ghost-and-a-half @bibyebae @heritageposts @norrriey 🍉🌹🍉✍️

🌹🍉🇵🇸❤️🌹🍉🇵🇸❤️🌹🍉

[your-internet-bf]

We hadn't always gotten along. When our parents got married, we could barely stand each other. How could we get along with some brat we barely knew? Luckily, I had an idea. I bought a clicker - you know, the one they use to train dogs? - and got to work.

I started with "thank you". Every time you said it, maybe at dinner, in the car, at a restaurant, I pressed the clicker. You couldn't tell where the sound was coming from, and nobody else seemed to know what you were talking about. But soon, I started helping you with chores around the house and when we finished, *click*. And without really thinking about it, you'd say "thank you."

A few months passed, and you'd started to notice things about me. I took care of myself. I was clean, and I exercised regularly. You'd hang around when you knew I'd be back from the gym just to catch a whiff of the sweat and metal on me when I returned - our eyes caught once when you got a little too close, and for the first time you saw something primal, a little dark, in my gaze. But it passed in an instant.

We started getting along better, now. So one day, when you were lying on the couch with a snack bowl, I snatched it up and motioned to throw it into your mouth. Well, innocent enough, right? And it wasn't like I was eating much, so it's fine, right? Every time you open your mouth to catch, *click*, *click*, *click*.

Then, I invited you to come work out with me. Every time you did a squat, *click*. I told you it was a metronome to keep your intensity up, but you noticed the bulge in my sweatpants was bigger than usual. Wait, when did you start noticing my bulge, especially enough to know that...?

Finally, it was time. I'd been listening outside your bedroom door for weeks now, and I knew when you'd be asleep. I quietly opened your door and stepped into your room, locking it behind me. You stirred at the sound of the lock clicking, but I wasn't afraid.

I gingerly pulled down the covers and just... stared for a while. I'd never taken the time to really look at how beautiful you are, how gorgeous those curves were. I could hardly stand it. As you lay on your side, I took out the clicker, and *click* it once. Laying on your side, like you were on the couch with the snacks, you obediently open your mouth.

I pull down my pants, my long, thick cock swinging between my thighs. I brush the back of my hand over your cheek, then set it firmly against the back of your head, and push into your mouth.

You wake up almost immediately, but my hand stops you from pulling back as I force inch after throbbing inch down your throat. The more you struggle, the tighter you feel, the harder I push, until you felt your nose press into my hips. You push as hard as you can against me, but I'm so much bigger and stronger than you it doesn't do anything. I don't even budge.

I start to grind into your skull, making you swallow the thick, heavy head of my cock again and again, as I groan in pleasure. I start thrusting harder and harder, making your eyes water as I slam my hips into your face again and again, until finally, mercifully, I release inside you, deep inside your throat. You feel me pulse with your whole mouth, and you struggle to swallow each load of thick, hot, sticky cum while I'm still inside you.

With a shuddering breath, I pull out, letting you breathe properly for the first time in minutes. I watch while you cough and catch your breath, and then I ask, "what do you say?"

You breathe in intending to scream, but then you hear it, just one soft *click*, and all you can say is "thank you".

You stare at me, confused. I wipe my cum off your chin with my thumb, and *click* again. "Thank you", you say.

"I knew it. You're such a good girl, aren't you? Now," I push you onto your back, "spread for me."

*click*

You raise your legs to either side, exactly like you're doing a squat.

"I don't - I don't understand," you whimper, legs still in the air.

"You don't have to," I reply, reaching one hand between your legs to feel how wet you are.

"You're soaking, little girl," as I bring my hand up for you to see... Then make you taste it. I reach back down and slip in two of my thick, strong fingers, and cover your mouth with my other hand as you moan. I press up in just the right spot, rubbing in tight, quick circles so deliciously that you can't help but arch your back and grind into me. You feel the pleasure build and all thought leaves your mind; the only thing that matters is my fingers inside you, the scent of my hand over your mouth, and the lingering taste of me.

But before you can finish I pull my fingers out, pressing up and out, leaving you twitching and gasping. "Not yet," I mutter, and I move myself down between your legs. I line up my cock, slapping it down on your tummy first. It reaches your navel, and you feel a wave of fear that only makes you wetter. I pull back, then start pushing in.

It's thick, thick, thick, and heavy. I stretch you out wider than you thought possible, pressuring you in every direction, spreading your aching cunt and making you feel full inside for the first time in your life. Long, deep strokes, moving your whole body with every thrust, reaching inside you, my breath coming fast and hard.

And you hear it again.

*click*

"Thank you," you choke out between sobs.

*click*

"Thank you," you moan.

*click*

"Thank you," you plead, tears in your eyes.

My strokes come faster now, slamming inside you like an animal as you continue to thank me for raping you. Finally, finally, finally, you feel me tense up and slam deep, deep, deep inside you, pressing your whole body into the bed, as I cum again. Huge, hot, sticky white loads of my cum shoot inside you, filling you, as my breath comes in gasps, and as I do you feel it too, now, the wave of pleasure cresting, and you cum, your legs squeezing together, your face screwed tight, moaning with the release of months of tension. And as you cum, you hear a new sound, a familiar sound, but it's deeper than the others...

*click*

And you cum harder, knowing I'm training you like a bitch in heat.

I climb up next to you, and just gaze into your eyes for a moment. Then I smile. "Let's go again."

*click*

[ilikeevilblondes]

Breaststroke

18+ MDNI!

Summary: Joel, single dad extraordinaire, is struggling to teach his daughter how to swim. You end up teaching Sarah over the course of a few weekly swimming classes. One fortunate day, Joel accidentally stumbles upon a rather intimate situation involving you in the shower rooms after hours. He’s about to leave, but right before he can, he hears his own name spilling out in a desperate moan from your lips.

TL;DR: It’s more fun to stay in the YMCA (shower rooms) (because that’s where Joel fucks you.)

W.C: ~7.7k

Warnings: Singledad!Joel x swimmingteacher!reader, softdom!joel, accidental voyeurism, mutual masturbation, blowjobs, praise, fingering, unprotected p-in-v, shower sex, pull out and pray, implied age gap, Joel’s got that daddy humour (no outbreak!)

Note: waiter! waiter! some plot with my porn, please! sorry, you freaks, mama had to stretch the narrative before the rawdogging. and sorry for the late upload, the flu was not gucci. hope y'all enjoy as always, though! and if you got any reqs, feel free to send them my way 🤓

@pedrospurplerain

According to HealthyChildren.org, most children in America begin to learn how to swim by their fourth birthday. Basic abilities like floating and treading water can be ingrained in their motor skills at that point, and by the ripe age of five or six, most children will have been able to freestyle across any urine-defiled public pool.

Joel sighed as he watched his five-year-old angel scream and hiss at the local YMCA pool, refusing even to dip a toe into the chlorinated abyss.

“Sarah, pumpkin, you’re not a cat.” He sighed, pinching his curved nose bridge.

Sarah merely shot him a dirty look, the dirtiest a toddler could muster. She crossed her arms over her chest, the bright orange inflatable armbands around her upper arms squeaking as she did so.

“I don’t wanna go in there, daddy.” Sarah humphed.

Joel shook his head, looking up at her from where he sat in the shallow area of the gym’s pool. His little treasure, bless her heart, was stubbornly standing over the ledge and peering down at him with both fear and unwavering defiance.

“Y’gotta, pumpkin.” Joel ran a hand through his wet hair.

Of all the dads in the world, Joel would not say he was among the worst percentile. He certainly tried his best to do anything and provide everything for his little girl; working as many shifts as he could to pay for her school (his kid somehow, thankfully, didn’t get his brains and was starting first grade ahead of schedule), moving into a ‘nicer’ neighbourhood, and spoiling her with all the stuffed toys and lego sets her little heart desired.

Being a single dad wasn’t easy, to put it simply. Joel would’ve thought, owing to karmic nonsense, the universe could have been a bit nicer to him for the measly crime of forgetting to teach his daughter how to swim. But there he was, staring up at a child more hydrophobic than a rabies survivor.

“Can we go home, Daddy? Please?” Sarah stomped her little foot down onto the tiled floor.

“We will, sugar, I promise. Just, not until you at least try to step down here.”

Sarah shook her head wildly.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” She said, more decisively.

“Says who?” Joel raised a dark brow.

“Me.”

“Remind me again, pumpkin, are you the adult or the child in this relationship?”

“You’re the one in the kiddie side of the pool, Daddy.” Sarah giggled, revealing a toothy grin.

Joel sighed through a smile. God, this kid was too smart for him. She was gonna be the death of him.

Mumbling something to the effect of ‘smartass’ under his breath, Joel treaded to the end and hoisted himself up, towering over his three-foot-nothing daughter and dripping chlorine-infected water down onto the ground.

“You wanna switch places?” He crossed his arms over his broad, bare chest, nodding his head toward the pool.

“Nope!” Sarah smiled.

Joel was about to give up for the day and take his troublemaker home only to return the next weekend, when he suddenly felt a tentative finger tap his shoulder.

He whipped around to see a girl, much younger than him—and much shorter, too, dressed in the standard red lifeguard one-piece uniform. 

“Sorry to intrude,” You began, biting your lip. “I couldn’t help but overhear.”

Joel blinked, not realising he had to reply to your remark like a normal fucking human would. Instead, he opted for the less popular, uncivilised caveman method of furrowing his brows and blinking madly.

He was too distracted by the way your swimsuit clung tightly over your body. Too mesmerised by the droplets of water sliding in slow motion down your curves. Not to mention that disarmingly pretty smile of yours. 

God, he’d been too single for too long.

“Hello!” The reason for his singleness beamed up at you and waddled closer. “I’m Sarah.”

Your smile stretched wider as you bent down to meet her eye level and introduce yourself in return. Sarah repeated your name back to you delightedly, like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

After making a comment about how ‘cool’ her floaters were, you straightened up and met Joel’s coffee-brown gaze.

“Anyway.” You absentmindedly tucked a stray piece of wet hair behind your ear. “Um, well, I overheard your situation. And, uh, just wanted to let you know that the gym hosts free introductory swimming lessons every Saturday afternoon. I teach the classes, actually, and you and your daughter are more than welcome to come, mister…?”

By some miracle, Joel was able to move his mouth and properly communicate this time.

“Miller. Joel Miller.” He managed to say without so much as a stutter, smiling politely at you and sticking out a hand.

You took his hand in yours and shook it.

“Nice to meet you, Mr Miller-Joel-Miller. That Italian?” Your laugh was a sweet sound and, at risk of being completely predictable, music to his ears.

“The only Italian in me, sweetheart, is from the canned ravioli we had for lunch today.” Joel chuckled. “And we’d be more than happy to come, wouldn’t we, Sarah?” 

To punctuate his claim, he flashed Sarah a look.

A frown cut into her soft features, but she relented. 

“Yes, we would.” Sarah sighed dejectedly.

“Great! Um. Here’s the flier.” You produced a colourful leaflet and held it out to Joel. He took it. “It has the times and details and, uh, that’s my phone number on the bottom, there.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” Joel pocketed it. “We’ll be there.”

“I look forward to seeing you two then.” You smiled again.

Joel would’ve fallen to his knees if you had stayed longer with that damn smile of yours. But you turned around to speedwalk towards the other side of the pool, blowing your whistle and reprimanding a bunch of teenagers running across the slippery poolside.

And if he thought the front of you was stunning, he was quickly shown that your back view was just as providing.

“You’re staring,” Sarah observed, tugging at his arm.

Joel cleared his throat.

“Let’s go home, pumpkin.” He ruffled her hair, much to a fit of giggles, and led his daughter away from the outdoor pool.

—-------

Saturday afternoon did not come quickly enough. 

After a week of late nights spent finishing drywall and early mornings making Sarah’s lunch—because there was no way in hell she was going to eat whatever junk-filled shit the American school system provided in cafeterias—Joel was tired, to say the least.

By three o’clock sharp, he had arrived at the pool with his daughter dressed to the nines in a robot-themed swimsuit and bright green goggles that suctioned so hard into her little face that she looked wide-eyed and cartoonish.

And when four o’clock had rolled around, Joel was happy to report that his daughter had finally worked up the nerve to get in the pool. With your help (and some floppy-haired assistant coach), Sarah had also managed to do some basic swimming manoeuvres without clinging to the side for dear life and frothing at the mouth.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Joel approached you after the session had officially ended, and Sarah was dried off and warm. “Just wanted to thank you. And, uh, Coach Bryan for, you know…”

“No thanks necessary, Mr Miller.” You winked, then bent down to Sarah, who stood beside her father. “You did great, Sarah. Really.”

Sarah smiled sheepishly. Joel chuckled at her bashful demeanour and ruffled her hair affectionately.

“Same time next week, Coach?” He asked.

“Yes, sir.” You saluted him and walked off toward the shower rooms, a towel around your shoulders and a spring to your step.

Joel shook his head, smiling, and took Sarah home in a better mood than he had been that morning.

—-

Joel quickly learned that the swimming lessons were beneficial to both him and his daughter. Sarah was speedily conquering her fear of water, and Joel was… well, Joel spent a lot of time talking to you when you weren’t in the pool. And afterwards, too, when the rest of the kids had already left and there were no other parents to chat your ear off.

“You’re taking a gap year?” Joel mused after one particularly smooth sailing session, taking off his sunglasses and hanging them on the hem of his shirt.

“Yep. Just taking a break after college so I can figure out what I wanna do in life.” You shrugged. “Is being a contractor any fun?”

“Well, sweetheart, I doubt you’d like it very much.” Joel smiled, glueing his eyes to yours with steely resolve. 

He was not going to look down at your body this time. He was not going to ogle the tight fit of your one-piece. He was better than the average man.

Besides, you were definitely too young for him. Possibly even young enough to be his daughter. You’d likely recoil in disgust and horror and, possibly, contact the local authorities to capture him, the creepy older man, if he were to ever make a move.

“Eh. I was open to the idea.” You laughed, shaking your head. “But I guess it’s dominated by big, strong hunks like you, huh?”

“I mean, I—” Joel began, but cut himself off upon realising what you had just said.

He blinked. Did you just flirt with him?

As if sensing that Joel was getting somewhere other than friendly banter with her swimming teacher, Sarah jogged up to the two of you.

“Daddy, I’m hungry. Let’s go home!” She pulled at his wrist.

Joel cleared his throat, offered you a quick goodbye, and led his daughter outside back to their car.

—-

“I promise it’s funny.” Bryan nudged your shoulder, giving you a very indiscreet once-over.

Joel was shamelessly eavesdropping on your post-lesson conversation as he towelled Sarah’s unruly hair nearby. Not to be nosy, of course, just to find out whether he was your boyfriend or not. Out of pure curiosity, really. No ulterior motive whatsoever…

“I somehow doubt that.” You hummed, no amusement evident in your unimpressed tone.

“Okay, so, there’s this ginger, a brunette, and a blonde—”

“I’ll stop you right there, Bryan, is the punchline, by any chance, ‘breaststroke’?”

“Well, shit.” Bryan sighed.

Joel chuckled to himself, giving Sarah one last tousle with the towel before settling it over her shoulders. 

He concluded you either hated your boyfriend, or he wasn’t your boyfriend at all. 

Joel preferred the second option.

—-

“I’m just getting some water. You okay with the kids?” You pulled yourself out of the pool, glancing at Bryan.

“Yep. All good here,” He called back.

With a nod, you draped your towel over your shoulders and made your way towards the deck chair that held your things.

It seemed that the heavens were smiling on you that day, too, because none other than Mr Miller himself occupied the chair beside yours.

And what a sight he was.

Sun-bathing, his sunglasses resting over closed eyes, and his broad, bare, tanned chest exposed to all. 

“Having fun there, Mr Miller?” You smiled, taking a seat on your chair, bringing your water bottle to your lips.

Joel lowered his sunglasses and very discreetly let his gaze travel down your body. 

You bit back a grin. He always thought he was so subtle.

“Absolutely, coach. Need to set a timer, though, or I’ll end up medium well-done.” Joel sat up, facing you.

You snorted at his dad-humour.

“Tan looks great.” You commented, wiping your brow with your towel.

“You think?” Joel smiled, reaching for the can of soda on his side table and taking a sip. “Thank you very much, sweetheart.”

“No problem at all, Mr Miller.” You licked your lips, your gaze momentarily caught on his … form-fitting trunks. “Well, I better get back to it.”

“Yeah. Wouldn’t want to keep your boyfriend waiting.” He pushed his sunglasses back up his aquiline nose.

“My—oh! Oh. Bryan? No. Ew,” You held back a gag. “No. No. God, no.”

Joel chuckled.

“I think you may need one more ‘no’ to prove your point there, darlin’.”

“No.” You played along. “Him and I are strictly friends. Besides, he isn’t my type.”

“He isn’t?” 

“I like my men like I like my cheese.” You shrugged, standing up.

“Don’t say smelly.” Joel laughed.

You opened your mouth but decided to leave your preferences shrouded in mystery as you began walking off.

Well, until you threw him a look over your shoulder, catching him in the act of staring at your ass, but pretending not to notice.

“Aged.”

Joel choked on nothing while you innocently walked away like you hadn’t just made a heavily suggestive remark.

—-

“Daddy? Can I go talk to Amanda for a second?” Sarah asked, her gaze flickering over to a plait-wearing blonde girl nearby.

“Yeah, okay, sugar. Be quick, though. Tommy’s coming over soon.” Joel squeezed her shoulder before letting her run off, her wet flip-flops squeaking against the tiled poolside as she approached her friend.

Joel shook his head and smiled. He was so proud of his girl for overcoming her phobia. Maybe he needed to treat her to ice-cream one of these days–

“Hi, Mr Miller.”

After craning his head, Joel found you standing behind him. Bright-eyed and wearing that same, impossibly tight, lifeguard swimsuit. Thank God for nylon.

“Hey, coach.” Joel offered you a lopsided grin. 

“I just wanted to say, I’ve been really impressed with your daughter over these past few weeks.”

“She’s a fast learner.” Joel moved beside you, still facing Sarah and her little friend but keeping his eyes trained on you. “Unlike me.”

“Does she get it from your wife, then…?”

Joel couldn’t shake his head faster. “No wife.”

And there went his eyes, dragging down your slightly wet body. Christ, it was like you jumped straight out of a Baywatch episode—keep it together, Miller!

“Oh.” You coughed. “So that’s why all the moms flock around you.”

Joel let out a short laugh. “I think you’re exaggerating, sweetheart.”

You took a quick glimpse at the hoard of middle-aged women unabashedly staring at the wide-shouldered man next to you before returning your sights to the wide-shouldered man himself.

“I don’t think I am.” Your lips pulled upward in a small smile. “Well, anyway. Just wanted to catch you before our final lesson next week.”

“Our final lesson’s next week?” Joel sputtered out, sounding way less calm and collected than he had intended.

“Yeah. Unless you want to learn how to swim, too.”

“I think I’m all covered in that department, darlin’.” Joel smiled. “But thank you. For everything. I know this whole shindig is free, but I just wish there was some way I could repay you.”

You clicked your tongue and, if Joel caught that correctly, lowered your voice.

“I’m sure we can find some way for you to pay me back, Mr Miller.” You said innocently, but your half-lidded eyes told another story.

Before he could so much as utter out the first syllable of a reply, Sarah came darting back.

“Okay, Daddy, let’s go!” She took her father by the hand and spared you a glance. “Bye, coach!”

Joel tried to hide both his shock from your very obvious innuendo as well as his disappointment from his daughter’s very poor timing.

He rubbed a hand down the lower half of his face and nodded at his daughter. “Let’s go then, pumpkin.” He gripped her hand and turned to you with a slightly dazed smile. “I’ll see you next week, sweetheart.”

“That you will, Mr Miller.” With a quick wink, you spun around on your heel and made your way toward the shower rooms.

—-

As fate would have it, barely half an hour later, Joel found himself sighing unhappily and looking down at his daughter as he attempted to contain his frustrations.

“We just got home—what do you mean, you left your goggles at the pool?” Joel said through a deep exhale.

“Sorry, Daddy, I didn’t mean to forget them.” Sarah shuffled her feet, her eyes locked on the floor in front of her and her fingers twisting the bottom of her t-shirt.

Tommy stuck his head out from the kitchen, one hand clutching a can of Bud Light and the other braced on the doorframe.

“Yeah, Joel, she didn’t mean to.” He piped in, unhelpfully.

“Shut up, Tommy,” Joel grumbled, shooting him a quick glare.

His brother just smirked and took a sip of his beer.

Joel sighed and turned back to Sarah, pinching his nose bridge. “Look, pumpkin, it’s fine. I’ll just drive back to the pool and get ‘em for you, okay?”

Sarah frowned. “Will you be back in time for dinner?”

“Yeah, Joel, you better be. You’re the one making it.” Tommy let out a dramatic huff.

Joel ignored him.

“Won’t take but a hot minute.” Joel ruffled Sarah’s unruly curls and pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head before turning away toward the front door.

“Say ‘hi’ to sweetheart for me, if you see her!” Sarah smiled up at him.

Joel paused mid-step, his shoes halfway on.

“Hi to who, now?” Tommy leaned closer.

“That ain’t her name, pumpkin.” Joel chose not to look directly at Tommy as he huffed out another sigh and yanked his shoes fully on.

“Ain’t that what you call her, though?”

“Now, who are you callin’ ‘sweetheart’, Joel Miller?” Tommy wore a shit-eating grin on his face.

Joel decidedly ignored him, believing it to be the best course of action.

“Watch my kid, Tommy!” He called as he stepped out of the house.

—--

The pool area was mostly deserted by the time Joel returned to it, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over the lengthy stretch of lane-roped waters.

Joel walked a slow lap around the perimeter of the pool, scanning the tiles and lounge chairs and the lone lifeguard tower for any sign of Sarah’s goggles.

Nothing.

Turning around, Joel’s eyes landed on the entrance to the womens’ locker rooms. He huffed out a heavy sigh, running his hand through his grey-flecked hair. He would have preferred to not snoop in there in fear of startling any lingering guests, but he decided that there wouldn’t be anyone this close to closing time on a Sunday and, moreover, didn’t want to come home empty-handed and disappoint his daughter.

So, on he went.

The locker rooms were quiet when he tentatively stepped inside, the scent of chlorine and cheap soap clinging to the air. 

Fortunately, it seemed that he was the only one in its vicinity.

And, even more fortunately, Joel immediately spotted Sarah’s bright green goggles lying by its lonesome on a bench near the showers.

Gotcha.

He was ready to make a beeline for them and head quickly home, but upon taking a few steps forward, Joel’s ears caught the distant sound of a shower running.

Turning his head toward the source of the splashing sounds, Joel’s eyes immediately noticed a swimsuit hanging precariously off the shower curtain rod.

But not just any swimsuit. It was a red one-piece with what appeared to be ‘lifeguard’ in bold, along the front.

It was your swimsuit. 

You were in the shower.

Joel pursed his lips. Just his fucking luck. Of course, the inappropriately young girl he tried not fantasising about for weeks was the only other person there.

Mentally chastising himself for even entering the locker rooms in the first place, Joel pivoted sharply and began making his way toward the exit.

He didn’t get very far, though, because, after two intentionally light steps, he heard his own name drifting from the steaming shower.

“Joel…”

He stiffened. Evidently, he was caught. He’d have to apologise profusely and somehow testify that he was not, in fact, a perverted Peeping Tom—

“Joel,” You sighed, followed by … shit, was that a moan?

And at that moment, Joel realised that, alongside the splashing of water echoing from the stall, there was the unmistakable clap and squelch of—

“Joel! Oh… fuck,” Your breathy moan carried easily down the short hall.

You were fucking yourself to the thought of him.

Shit, shit, shit.

If Joel were a better man, he would already be in his car, driving home. He would have forgotten this encounter had ever occurred, tucked it deep into the depths of his mind, granted you a curt farewell for the final lesson the coming week, and proceeded to never see you again.

But Joel wasn’t a better man.

Judging by how quickly his dick came to life to rest, half-hard, against his thigh in his swim trunks, Joel was an awful person.

Well, he couldn’t come home nursing a semi, now could he?

Yeah. Reaching down to pull his throbbing cock out of his waistband was the right thing to do.

At least, that’s what he told himself as he leaned against a corner and slowly slid his fist down his stiffening length.

“Joel! Fuck, your cock feels so good!” Your pitchy whine floated down the room, amplified by the generosity of the tile acoustics.

Joel’s dick twitched in his hand. 

Out of habit, he tightened his grip around his base and fucked up into his fist, squeezing his eyes shut and pretending it was your tight cunt he was jutting in and out of.

And it wasn’t hard to pretend, either. What with the sinful noises you were making a few stalls away, and the desperate pleas of ‘that’s it, Joel, fuck me harder!’

With pearls of precum dribbling down his tip and smearing along his hand with each thrust, Joel felt himself near his release. Judging by the increasingly airy quality of your whines, you were facing the same predicament.

Joel continued to fuck his fist, picturing you in various filthy scenarios. 

You, slowly wrapping your dainty hand around his hard-on and eagerly taking over.

You, on your knees, choking on his cock. 

You, tits smushed against tile as Joel fucked you with reckless abandon under the hot torrents of the showerhead.

Ramming brutally into your greedy fucking pussy, watching as his come-soaked dick disappeared in and out of your tight channel—

“Fuck!” Joel cursed aloud after a particularly enthusiastic thrust.

Suddenly, the water stopped. So did your noises.

Joel stilled. Oh, shit.

“Hello?” Came your voice, meekly. “Is … Is someone there?”

As silently as he could, Joel released his hold on his cock and carefully tucked himself back in his trunks.

Shit. What was he going to do?

Almost immediately after he regained his decency, the shower curtain slid halfway open with a faint metallic rattle, and you cautiously peered out, hiding most of your body behind the vinyl barrier.

“...Mr Miller?” You said, uncertainly, as if half-convinced he was some kind of dreamlike apparition.

Joel cleared his throat and took an instinctive step back.

“Uh—yeah. Just, uh… goggles. Sarah’s goggles.” He stuttered, holding them up weakly. “Her goggles. She left them here. The goggles.”

“Well, thank god you clarified that.” You smacked your lips, a sarcastic bite to your tone. The snarkiness soon faded from your expression once you added, with knitted brows, “you’re in the womens’ showers.”

“Yeah, I—” Joel winced. “I know.”

Silence.

After a moment or two, you opened your mouth to say something else, but the words died in your throat as your eyes fell on Joel’s trunks.

More specifically, the raging bulge making itself known in his lap.

“You’re hard.” You stated, your cheeks flushing a pretty shade of pink.

Joel’s eyes shot wide open. He glanced down, too, and sure enough, he was hard. It was almost as if he was fucking his hand to the thought of you only moments before. Oh, wait, that’s because he was!

To preserve the last shred of dignity in Joel’s inexecusably shameful body, he threw his hands over his groin and attempted to stammer out a valid excuse.

“Sorry, sweetheart—” No, he wasn’t. “—I, um… well, you see, I…”

Your eyes found the faint traces of precum on his right hand.

“Were you … jerking off to me in the shower?”

Yes, yes, he was.

“Frankly, darlin’, I think the better question here is, were you jerking off to me in the shower?” Joel coughed.

Your eyes trailed over his body, lingering again on where he covered his hard-on.

“I was.” Your stare found his. “Your turn, Mr Miller.”

Joel sucked in a breath through his teeth. There was definitely no backing out now.

He nodded slowly. Reprehensibly. 

Shame churned within him as he desperately wished for the ground to open up at his feet and swallow him whole, possibly even spitting him back out into the fiery pits of hell where he so clearly belonged after what he had done. Unfortunately for him, the earth, indifferent to his suffering, remained stubbornly solid beneath him, leaving him stranded in his own mortification.

“Look, sweetheart, I can’t express how sorry I—lord almighty.”

Instead of letting him scramble to finish whatever bullshit he was cooking up, you decided to pull the shower curtain all the way back.

Joel gulped, taking in your newly-exposed bare body, from the soft curve of your breasts to the thickness of your thighs to the seam of your … fuck, to the seam of the same pussy you were probably fingering just moments before; glazed in glistening beads of water under the cool fluorescent lights. 

You were fucking gorgeous. 

So gorgeous, in fact, that Joel felt his cock fully spring to life at the sight of you, standing naked and dripping-wet from the rain of showerhead.

“Let me… let me help you out.” You bit your lower lip, your eyes hazy.

“H-Help me out?” Joel breathed, staggering backward, his hands still persevering to conserve his modesty.

You slowly approached him, stopping when any semblance of personal space was lost, and dropped down to your knees.

Jesus Fucking Christ. 

Joel heard himself swallow.

“Don’t you want this, Mr Miller?” You looked up at him, your eyes pleading and almost doll-like from that angle.

While waiting for his response, your hands softly wrapped themselves around his, guiding them away from his lap to meet his tenting swim trunks head-on.

Joel, meanwhile, was busy trying to convince himself this wet dream of a situation was really happening whilst simultaneously refraining from spending his load in his trunks, because the vision of you, bare and waiting patiently on your knees, looked downright sinful.

“Doesn’t matter if I do.” Joel shook his head slowly, not registering the fact that his grip on the goggles loosened to a point where they fell to the floor in a dull clatter. “This… this is wrong.”

“The way I see it,” You hummed, your hands finding gentle purchase on his hips. “I’m naked. And already wet. And you’re…”

Your eyes flickered down to his bulge and wet your lips. Upon seeing this, Joel’s breath hitched in his throat.

“Ain’t there some—some rule against, I don’t know, a coach fraternising with a parent in this way?” Joel furrowed his brows, distractedly taking your chin in his hands and tilting your head upwards.

“No.” You eagerly let him direct you, moving at his will. 

“You sure?” 

“Positive.” The corners of your mouth pulled up in a small smile.

“What if someone comes—yeah, fuck it, I ain’t gonna keep pretending like I don’t want this.” Joel shook his head, his eyes dragging over you unabashedly.

“Oh yeah?” Your smile only widened.

“Go on then, darlin’.” Joel purred, his voice a low and rough timbre, his eyes overtaken with want. “What was it you said a while ago…? Help me out.”

With his less-than-reluctant approval, you tossed him another heart-stuttering wink, slipped your fingers past his waistband, and pulled him out.

And, fuck, you were not disappointed.

Joel was big, to say the least; in both length and girth, and you may have felt your cunt quivering at the mere thought of the possibility of taking him inside you later, but you were quickly overtaken by need upon seeing the drops of precum spilling from of his head.

With a hand wrapped around his base, you stuck your tongue out to lick a stripe up his length, tasting the salt of his skin and his arousal.

At your actions, Joel inhaled a sharp breath.

“You gonna finish what you started now?” Joel mused from above you, closing a fist around your grip on his cock and bringing it closer to your parted lips. He gently tapped your cheek with his free hand. “Open up for me, sweetheart.”

And you gladly did so, taking his tip into your mouth and swirling your tongue around his head like a fucking lolipop.

“Fuck,” Joel gritted his teeth, tossing his head back against the wall.

Taking his expletive as a sign to continue, you proceeded to hollow your cheeks and take his length deeper, as deep as physically possible without making you choke. 

“That all you can take?” Joel tutted, caressing your cheek.

Much to your determined efforts, you only managed to fit a little more than half of him in your mouth. Because, fuck, was he big.

You whined around his cock in response.

“Shh,” Joel murmured. “‘S okay. ‘S okay, sweetheart.”

His deep brown gaze met yours, and for a second, you could have mistaken the emotion swimming in his eyes as affection. 

“Nice and slow, hm?” Joel said through a satisfied exhale, his brows furrowed at the sensation of being enveloped by the warmth of your mouth. 

His fingers threaded through your hair, coming to grasp at your roots, but remained stationary, waiting for you to make the first move.

You looked up at him through your eyelashes and held that eye contact as you began moving your head back and forth. Seeing his eyes briefly flutter in pleasure, you flattened your tongue against the underside of his cock, feeling it twitch as you continued your movements.

“Fuck, sweetheart. That’s it.” His grip in your hair tightened.

You started to bob your head up and down at a quicker pace as you sucked him greedily, your hand moving in deft strokes along the stretch of his length your mouth couldn’t entertain.

Joel cursed under his breath and guided you on and off his cock in a steady rhythm as he fisted your hair.

And, fuck, he let himself thrust into your mouth once or twice, but upon hearing you gag, resolved to let you take charge of the speed entirely.

“Sorry sweetheart,” Joel breathed. “Sounded pretty chokin’ on my cock, but I guess I went too far, hm?” He sighed, caressing your cheek again.

You moaned with his cock heavy on your tongue, signalling your eagerness to die of asphyxiation from a fucking blowjob, and begun to take him even further into your mouth, feeling his head touch the back of your throat.

“Shit, darlin’.” Joel groaned. “That’s a good girl. Taking it so well.”

A strangled sound escaped from your otherwise occupied throat as you continued to deepthroat a man old enough to be your father.

Truly realising the situation you found yourself in, you felt a needy sensation thrum from in between your legs. Whilst continuing to bob your head around his cock, your hand went to trail down your front and relieve some of that tension you ached to be rid of, rubbing your clit furiously.

“Oh, my poor girl.” Joel cooed, seeing this. “Come on, now. Up you get,” He gently pulled you off his cock (wincing at the loss of your mouth) and up to stand in front of him.

“Not good?” You breathed, resting a hand on his chest while his hands settled on either side of your waist.

“No, sweetheart, it was very good.” Joel dipped his head down so his mouth was less than an inch away from yours, every word releasing as a warm breath against your lips. 

And then he leaned down to capture your mouth in a desperate, hungry, horribly sloppy kiss, licking into you and no doubt tasting his own arousal on your tongue.

You didn’t even register he was walking you backward until your back hit the shower wall.

“Just wanna fuck you now,” Joel mumbled, his half-lidded stare drifted down your bare form before flickering back up to meet your eyes.

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” You smirked, pulling him back into another frenzied kiss.

Joel smiled against your lips.

“So mouthy,” He tutted in that authoritative, paternal voice you’ve heard him use before, in between eager kisses. “I’d like to teach you a lesson, sweetheart, but I’m afraid I’m too fuckin’ impatient myself right now.”

At the sound of that, you clenched your thighs together.

The slant of his mouth trailed down your jaw to your neck, sucking and biting at your wet skin, humming in pleasure as he did so. Simultaneously, his big, calloused hand made their way from your waist down to your lower abdomen, and lower, still, until you felt his fingers ghost over your slick entrance.

You gasped.

“Mr Miller–”

“‘Joel’, darlin’. It’s ‘Joel.’” He mumbled against your neck, his stubble scraping lightly against your skin. “Heard you moanin’ it in here a while ago, I’m fairly certain you know how to pronounce it.”

“Joel,” You obliged, biting your lower lip as you felt Joel’s fingers meander nearer to your core.

“Yes, sweetheart?” 

“You don’t have to… you know,” You glanced down in between both your bodies.

Joel followed your gaze and saw his own fingers hovering close to your aching mound.

“Think I do.” He clicked his tongue. “Need to get ya ready. Wouldn’t wanna hurt that pretty pussy of yours when I… well, to put it bluntly, darlin’, I don’t wanna hurt your pretty pussy when I’m fuckin’ you in a little bit.”

“Oh,” You breathed.

“Yeah,” Joel hummed, nudging your cheek with his nose. “That sound good to you, sweetheart?”

You nodded almost too avidly.

“Good,” Joel sighed, his fingers skimming over your aching cunt and just barely dipping inside your folds. “Just relax, darlin’. I gotcha.”

That was the last of the preamble before you felt one of his fingers slip inside, dragging up and down against your walls.

Normally, if left to your own devices, you were barely satisfied with a singular digit of your own. But here you were, gasping and clenching around just his middle finger.

Content with your reaction, Joel kissed your neck and slipped another finger to crook alongside the first in an even rhythm that began to spark a familiar warmth in your gut.

“There we go.” He mumbled against your skin.

“Fuck,” You whispered as you felt his thumb settle on your clit.

You felt Joel smile against your pulse point. And then, with his other big hand, he gently held your face and titled it to the side to pepper kisses along your jaw.

“You can take another, can’t you? Yeah, you can.” Joel hummed, and before you could respond, you felt a third finger slip inside, stretching you wider. 

Your eyes squeezed shut as Joel’s fingers curled inside you at a faster rhythm while his thumb graciously swiped at your clit.

Blood pounded in your ears. Your breathing shallowed. You were so, so close.

“Joel, please…” 

“Please what? C’mon, baby, use your words like a big girl.”

His fingers only sped up, dragging against your walls so deliciously and filling you better than your own hand could have ever done.

You inhaled.

“Please don’t s-stop.” Your breath hitched in your throat. “I’m so close.”

“You wanna come for me? ‘S that it?” Joel cooed, his breath warm against your skin and right beside your ear.

“Please,”

“Come for me then, sweetheart. Let me hear you,”

With a scream of his name, your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave, sending you into a light-headed bliss as you clutched his big upper arms.

His fingers only began to slow once your cunt stopped pulsing rapidly around him, and when you caught your breath again, he tenderly slipped them out.

“Made a mess of my fingers, huh?” He mumbled, staring down at how his hand glistened with your arousal.

You felt your cheeks redden.

“I’m sorry–”

“Don’t fucking be,”

And you watched as Joel stuck a finger in his mouth and sucked your slick off it like it was a world-class dessert.

“That was hot,” Was your breathless response.

Intelligent.

“Oh yeah?” The corner of his lips tugged upward as his eyes danced from your own to your parted lips. 

“Yeah,”

A soft, low laugh rumbled in his throat.

“Come here,” Joel sighed, placing a hand on the small of your back and another on the side of your face, leaning down to devour your lips in another messy kiss.

His tongue slid inside your mouth as if starved, licking against your tongue and letting you taste your own pleasure. All while the hand on your face brought you closer and gently stroked the curve of your cheek.

After a few moments, Joel broke the kiss almost regretfully.

He barely pulled away, his lips closely within reach of yours, and his breath mingling with your own as he spoke in a deep, gruff rasp.

“You still want this, sweetheart?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

Joel smirked. “A simple ‘yes’ would’ve sufficed.”

Before you could form a response to his slightly snarky remark, your breath was stolen from you at the sight of Joel tugging down his trunks fully and stepping out of them.

Glancing down, you found that he was still incredibly hard. Almost painfully, by the look of how his cock practically bounced up to his navel. Clearly, your recent oral assistance did nothing to tame the lust in his body.

Joel crowded you up against the wall once more, his tall frame easily looming over yours. One of his big hands went to caress your jawline, angling your head up toward him, and the other went to your thigh, wrapping your leg around his waist.

“Been a while for me.” He sighed, a hint of embarrassment peeking through his tone. “You tell me if I get … carried away, yeah?”

Instinctively, you hung your arms around his wide shoulders, bringing him even closer.

“Yes, sir.” Your lips quirked upward.

“Good girl,” He hummed, his thumb absently running along your bottom lip.

Then, the hand cupping your face went to guide his aching dick to notch against your entrance, sliding against your wet mound.

And, with a shaky inhale slipping past his lips, he sheathed himself inside you. 

“Fuck, you feel good,” Joel muttered lowly.

You let out a whine at the feeling. 

Despite being barely halfway in, Joel was already proving to be more than sufficient, especially from the way your velvety walls were already pulsing wildly around his length.

“I know, I know, I know,” Joel sighed, his thumb caressing where he held a grip on your thigh. “‘S okay, sweetheart. Shh, you can take it.”

In response, you nodded.

And Joel drove himself the entire way, balls-deep, his greying pubic hair tickling the inside of your upper thighs. He gasped in your ear at the feeling of the first full thrust and at the sensation of your channel clamping desperately around him.

He filled you up so fucking well.

“You doin’ okay? Hm?” He mumbled, leaving lazy, aimless kisses along your neck.

“Need more.” 

“Oh? She wants more, huh?” He smirked against your skin. “That what you were imaginin’ in the shower?”

“Y-Yeah,” You whispered.

“Flirtin’ with me for weeks now, and here you are bein’ all shy.” Joel tsked. “Don’t worry, you’ll get more, darlin’.”

Joel began sawing in and out of you at a relaxed pace, letting out low groans of satisfaction. 

With every sloppy thrust, you heard the distant wet thud of your back against the shower tiles, sounding in a steady rhythm. But, despite each measured roll of his hips sending white-hot shivers throughout your throbbing cunt, you found yourself dangerously craving even more.

“Harder.”

“Harder?” Joel hummed coyly.

“Joel,” You whined.

“Careful what you wish for, sweetheart,” Joel mumbled against the corner of your mouth.

You only realised you were moaning obscenely loud when the echo had bounced around the room, and Joel was muttering something encouragingly into your skin.

“That’s it. Y’sound real fuckin’ pretty.”

Joel’s thrusts had picked up the pace. The only sound competing with the volume of your moans were the crude wet slaps of his body against yours.

Slap, slap, slap.

You thanked your lucky stars the shower rooms were deserted after the swimming lessons, because you were sure even if someone happened to walk in on you two fucking like wild rabbits, you wouldn’t let him stop.

And some part of you knew that he wouldn’t want to, either. Not with the way he was breathing airy curses beside your ear and mumbling about how ‘fuckin’ tight’ you were and other such filthy ramblings.

After a particularly harsh thrust, you felt his pace falter and his dick twitch against your walls.

“Fuck,” He whispered sharply.

Out of the blue, Joel pulled out, leaving your slick mound vacant for a heartbeat or two before he spun you around roughly, forcing you to brace yourself against the wall.

And, not long after, he fed you the entirety of his cock again in one deep thrust.

“Joel!” You gasped. 

Your hands, stretched out in front of you and anchored against the wall, scrambled to find a grip on the smooth, slippery surface.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He said from somewhere behind you, beginning to ram into you at a brutal pace as he held you in place with an iron grip on your hips. “Needed—fuck… Needed this.”

With your tits pressed against the tiles and his length kissing your cervix after every drag against your pulsing walls, your vision began to blur and your lower gut began to flutter. 

You were very fucking close.

As if reading your mind, one of Joel’s hands trailed from your hip to your front, sliding down until he brushed your clit. And then he began rubbing the sensitive nub in sloppy semi-circle motions, tutting sweet words as you whined nonsensical syllables.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let me hear you,” He cooed soothingly.

You let out a pitchy whine, “feels so good.” 

“That right?” Joel mumbled distractedly, using a rough hand on your neck to turn your head toward him despite the awkward angle, and claimed your lips hungrily, licking desperately into your mouth as if it was the last thing he’d ever do, and letting out hoarse noises of appreciation as he did so.

His hips continued to jut into you, setting an erratic, jerky pace.

Slap. Slap-slap. Slap. Slap-slap-slap.

You arched back against him and unintentionally broke the kiss when the overflowing pleasure spiked incredibly high.

“J-Joel,” You breathed.

The man, who was single-mindedly pistoning in and out of your splayed legs, hummed a sound of acknowledgment in response, his warm breath ghosting over your cheek.

“Joel, I’m close,” You whispered, the heat of both your bodies meeting where your back leaned against his front. 

“Are you?” He replied almost casually.

His fingers only sped in their motions, swiping at your clit almost feverishly as he continued to rut animalistically into you; each thrust stretching your aching cunt impossibly wide and oh so easily finding your cervix—

“Fuck!” Your chest tightened.

“Ask for it.” Joel’s gentle yet commanding tone nearly made your knees buckle. 

That, and the manic force at which he was fucking into you.

Slap–slap-slap-slap—

“Go on, baby. Ask.” His nose nudged at the side of your face, breathing in your scent as he tutted lowly, “hate to see you all worked up like this.”

“Shit—please! Can I come, please?” You acquiesced.

You felt the muscles of his rugged face pull up in a small smile against your cheek and his dick twitch inside your tight walls, sending shivers down your spine.

“Be a good girl and come for me then, sweetheart,” Joel said in between strained breaths. “Come all over my cock, I gotcha.”

Your climax came rippling over your whole body, a prolonged resonance that sent you into the territory of overstimulation—much more powerful than your first orgasm—as neither his fingers nor his cock slowed down in their frenzied pursuits. 

So, there you were, chanting his name like a prayer and clenching tightly around his relentless length.

When the fluttering of your cunt subsided, Joel hurriedly pulled out and wrapped a hand around his throbbing cock, fucking up into his fist frantically and cursing under his breath. You all but folded against the wall as you felt his loss, sticking your ass out and waiting for the inevitable.

Soon, his breath caught in his throat, and you felt hot ropes of his come spill over your back.

“Shit.” Joel sighed, gently rubbing along your sides. 

He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder once he recollected himself a few moments after, still softly trailing his hands up and down as both of your breaths evened.

“You okay over there, sweetheart?”

You nodded weakly, unable to voice your satisfaction with your brains all fucked out.

Joel huffed a short laugh. “C’mon, I’ll clean you up.”

Somewhere behind you, the shower handle groaned with a faint squeak. A dull clunk followed, and then, with a sudden rush, water erupted from the showerhead, dousing the two of you in a sputtering cascade.

Gently, Joel tugged you away from the wall to stand directly under the jet of water, softly helping you wash away any reminders of your reckless impropriety.

He pressed reverent kisses along your jaw, down your neck, and around your collarbone as you got cleaned up.

There was no hidden, lustful agenda to this, as far as you could tell. You assumed it was either a result of his years of fatherhood or some testament to his overall caring nature, but either way, you weren’t complaining. You happily let your eyes fall closed as sheets of warm water streamed down your body, all while Joel’s lips tentatively found yours, then your neck, and his strong hands moved along your body.

“Um…” Joel began after he had turned off the shower, looking at you with his big, soft eyes. “I know this is the completely wrong order of things, but would you like to–”

“Yes.”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You didn’t even know what I was gonna say.”

“Were you gonna ask me out on a date?”

“Yeah,” Joel laughed bashfully. "Is that... is that okay?"

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his neck, and rising on your tiptoes to meet his lips in a lazy kiss.

“The answer’s yes.” You mumbled without breaking away for too long.

You felt Joel smile against your lips.

[mssorceressupreme]

Hate and Love | F.W

———

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: in the mission of transporting Harry safely to the Burrow, you and Fred get thrown off-track as his broom breaks, resulting in an overnight detour at a hotel.

Warnings/content: minors DNI 18+, halfblood!reader, One Bed Trope, enemies to lovers, boner!alert, oral!freceiving, p in v, grumpy x sunshine (if u squint), raw penetration (wrap it plz), cumming inside, orgasm denial, fluffy ending, fighting death eaters, dom!fred, sub!reader

Wordcount: 5.8k

———

You stood near the wall, arms crossed, in the house of number four Privet Drive, the place where it all began for one of your closest friends, Harry Potter. The group of you were gathered in the empty living room, discussing the highly dangerous plan of transporting Harry safely to the Burrow.

Beside you stood the twins, listening intently as Mad-Eye Moody instructed orders.

Seven of them had just taken polyjuice potion, resulting in seven 'Harry's', all in accordance with Moody's plan.

“Right then, we’ll be pairing off. Each ‘Potter’ will have a protector and to make it simpler for you, I'll choose the pairs.” His mismatched eyes scanned the group, assigning pairs, and an aggravating pit settled in your stomach once Moody called out your name, “Y/N, you're with Fred.”

Your head snapped toward Fred, who groaned audibly.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He muttered, but George nudged him softly, urging him to be tolerable while they changed out of their regular clothes.

“Yeah yeah, happy to be paired up with you too.” you rolled your eyes, the sarcasm in your tone apparent.

Fred and you had never gotten along. Since your days at Hogwarts, the two of you had been like oil and water—always at odds. He thought you were too uptight, too rule-abiding, while you found him utterly insufferable, reckless, and far too smug for his own good.

But for Harry, you’d endure today. He'd done a great deal to help you throughout your years at Hogwarts, so it was only fair of you to return the favour.

“Head for the Burrows, we’ll rendezvous there!” Moody finished. The room stirred with movement as everyone prepared for what was to come.

Outside, the night air was cool as you mounted Fred’s broom behind him. The scent of his cologne, something warm and woodsy, hit your nose, and you hated that you thought it smelled decent, inhaling a bit more. You hesitated for a moment before wrapping your arms around his waist, well, 'Harry's' waist.

Fred stiffened slightly at your touch, “Don’t get too comfortable back there.”

“Oh, believe me, I won’t.”

Before you could snap back another remark, he kicked off into the sky, soaring above London, splitting up from the others.

Everything was eerily silent for a few moments. The flight seemed too smooth for your liking. You kept an alert eye, constantly scanning your surroundings.

You caught a shadow in the corner of your eye, and you whipped your head around, squinting your eyes at the figure in the dark.

"What the..." You muttered.

"Fred go faster...." You ordered, losing sight of the shadowy figure.

"Why don't you come fly the broom then." He retorted, clearly annoyed.

"Fred! I"m serious!" You yelled, gripping his waist tighter, as he exhaled before picking up the pace.

"In case you forgot, I need to be able to breathe to fly this thing properly." He grunted as you practically squeezed every breath out of him.

"Right, sorry," You loosened your grip ever so slightly, "...it's just, I swear I saw something."

You turned around again, catching a glimpse of a shadowy figure. The shadow was no longer a mystery figure but a person, or, three people rather.

Death Eaters.

"Oh shit! Fred! They're here!" You took your wand out and began fighting with them.

Spells shot through the night, streaks of green and blue illuminating the sky like a twisted fireworks display. The death eaters had appeared out of nowhere, zooming in, attacking viciously as they trailed behind you on their brooms.

“They’re following us!” you shouted over the wind, turning back around to gauge Fred.

“Oh, really? Thought we were just out for a lovely evening flight,” he shot back sarcastically, dodging a hex just in time.

You rolled your eyes but focused on firing spells behind you, hitting one death eater square in the chest and sending him spiralling downward.

"Stupefy!" You shouted, casting the second death eater off his broom. Two down, one to go.

Just as you felt a moment of victory, another spell whizzed past, striking the broom.

The wood splintered with a sickening crack. "Uhh, Fred?" You called out, glancing at the broom.

“Hold on—” Fred barely got the words out before the broom snapped completely, and the two of you plummeted toward the Thames River.

You hit the water hard, the impact knocking the wind out of you. You kicked frantically, breaking the surface and gasping for air. The coolness of the water had your body in shock, shivering as you forced yourself to stay afloat.

Fred emerged a second later, coughing.

Glancing above, you saw the third death eater laughing maliciously as he flew off, leaving you and Fred. He must've figured it wasn't the real Harry, given that you called him 'Fred'.

“Great! Look what you’ve done!” you accused, treading water furiously.

“What I’ve done?! That was you—you were supposed to be fighting them off!” he retorted, his wet hair plastered to his forehead. He had transformed back into his original self, the fiery redhead Fred you knew.

You groaned, swimming toward the embankment where a set of stone stairs led to dry land. Your fingers were frozen as you pulled yourself up, collapsing onto the pavement. Fred followed, shaking out his drenched hair like a dog.

“Brilliant. Just brilliant,” you muttered, clutching one-half of the broken broom while he had the other. “Now how are we supposed to get to the others?”

Fred sighed, pushing his hair back. “Let’s just go somewhere dry first.”

You nodded begrudgingly, too cold and exhausted to argue.

When you emerged from the river, it was given that pedestrians would stare at the two of you strangely. Swimming in the Thames River wasn't exactly the most normal thing to do, let alone at this hour.

Though, in this particular instance, more of them were starring at you, rather than Fred.

Fred cleared his throat, eyes darting down to your chest then back up before averting his eyes immediately.

You furrowed your brows, glancing down, only to remember that you were wearing a white shirt along with the worst possible undergarment to pair with it, a black bra.

You felt your cheeks heat up, as you covered your chest, "Let's just go..."

Fred shook his head, taking off the grey jacket he wore and putting it over you, "Here."

Though still wet, it offered the coverage you much needed and you were entirely grateful. "Thanks." You muttered softly, as you two began walking.

"Figured you wouldn't want to walk around flashing the whole of London."

The two of you walked in silence as you tried to figure out a way to get to the others. “We can apparate—” he started.

“Absolutely not. There are muggles everywhere,” you snapped, nodding to the late-night pedestrians strolling along the streets.

Fred scoffed, shooting you an eye-roll. “Alright, Professor McGonagall.”

You ignored him, scanning the area. A small, dingy-looking hotel caught your eye. Without another word, you trudged toward it, Fred trailing behind. The receptionist, a bored-looking woman in her mid 40s, barely glanced up as you approached the desk.

The hotel looked cheap enough for an overnight stay. All you needed to do was clear your mind and get a good night's rest before figuring things out in the morning; yes, that sounded ideal to you right this moment.

“Two rooms, please,” you said firmly.

She tapped at the keyboard, chewing on some gum as she did so. “We’re fully booked.”

Your heart sank. “What about one room? With two beds?”

"Sorry, we're full." She continued typing, then clicking on the mouse as she looked around the screen, "It's peak season honey, we're always maxed out."

"Please you've got to have at least one room, with two beds, anything?" You pleaded, desperate for whatever you could acquire.

"We'll take whatever we can get, you've got to have something." Fred added, backing you up as he stood closer to you.

She checked again, then looked at you, eyes lighting up. “Ah, it seems that we do have one left with two beds, but the heating is broken, that's why we didn't offer it to customers. Actually, I was supposed to call the maintenance guy, but he's my ex, you see, so it's a bit of a rough story. I always thought he loved me, you know, how could someone not, I mean look at me? I'm gorgeous. He was supposed to come by today but we—”

"We'll take it!" Fred interjected swiftly, clearly exhausted. "Thank you."

Relief flooded you as you he paid with muggle money. You were surprised he even had some on hand, but after all, he was a businessman.

"Interesting, all this muggle stuff eh?" Fred mused, as you both entered the lift, his eyes darting around as he observed his surroundings.

"I suppose so, yeah. I guess I was lucky enough to be born a half-blood, you get the best of both worlds." You shrugged, as though hotels and 'muggle elevators' were the most natural thing in the world.

"Alright then, you lead the way, Ms expert." He mocked, gesturing for you to lead the way once the doors opened.

You scoff softly, marching down the hallway before finding your room number. Fred reaches seconds after you, looping his arm around your body to swipe the keycard.

He placed an arm on the door to open it, letting you in first before closing it after he entered.

But the moment you entered the room, your jaw dropped.

One bed.

“What? She said there were two beds.” You blinked, looking around the room in confusion.

“She must’ve meant the couch,” Fred said, nodding toward the small, lumpy-looking couch a few inches beside the bed, by the window.

You swallowed, “Right, well, who's sleeping where?” Honestly, at this point, you didn't even mind taking the couch, as long as you could get some rest.

Fred's eyes darted from the bed to the couch, exhaling exasperatedly before finally looking at you, "I'll take the couch."

"I didn't know Fred Weasley had manners?" You gasped, faking your amusement.

He shot you a glare, grabbing a towel as he did so, "Could you be any more aggravating?"

You tried to think of a witty comeback, something, anything to get a reaction out of him. But alas, you were lost for words. He did have a point though.

Come to think about it, you realised that you might've only been behaving this way because you were not used to him being so much of a...gentleman. This was foreign to you.

"I'll have the first shower." He shifts past you, nudging your shoulder, which sends heat through your bodies temporarily.

“Be my guest.”

You hear the lock shut, and seconds later, the water starts running.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you took in your surroundings. This was no five-star hotel, but it was presentable and decent enough for an overnight stay. The walls are dark grey, with ambient lighting all around the room. Navy blue sheets grace the double bed, with a soft brown leather footer in contrast. There is a tea tray and a kettle, on top of the dark brown desk that sat in the corner of the room.

Minutes later, the door clicks and unlocks.

Fred steps out, a white towel hanging around his waist. His hair is wet, and his body glistening with water droplets. Your eyes couldn't help but drift down, his body was incredible defined, a stark contrast to your school days when he was merely a boy, now, he was a man.

Oh, he definitely works out. You noticed his arms, much larger and buffer than they used to be.

"All yours." He jerked his chin to the bathroom.

You gulped, brushing past him before hurriedly entering the bathroom and locking the door.

Wow, since when did Fred Weasley get so, attractive?

The hot water was a blessing, washing away the cold. You stood under the steamy shower for a couple of minutes, taking in as much warmth as you could.

With no new clothes to change into, you wrapped yourself in the plush hotel bathrobe, sighing in frustration. It appears there was only a kids sized one left, and you had no choice but to wear it. Whatever, it’ll do the job for tonight.

You hung your wet clothes on one of the bathroom racks, and you saw that Fred did the same, you placed your clothes beside his.

You were humming to yourself when you stepped out, relieved to be in some dry clothes, dancing a little as you strolled to the bed.

When he heard you walking, Fred glanced up, something flickering in his expression, though you're not quite sure what.

“That bathrobe is way too small for you." He remarks, laying with his legs out on the couch, two arms behind his head as he rests.

"What was I supposed to do, wear my wet clothes to sleep?" You respond as you hop into bed, tugging the covers and snuggling in.

"It could be an enlightening experience." He hummed, as he shut his eyes, adjusting himself on the couch.

"You try it then." You counter, scoffing at his idiocy.

The curtains are drawn, and the lights are dim. Silence fills the room as you both unwind for the evening. Before you shut the lights from the switch beside your bed, you call out, "I'm going to off the lights now, need anything before I turn them off?"

"Yeah actually..." He perks his head up, turning to face you.

"What?" You ask, listening keenly.

"For you to be quiet." A small smile played on his lips as he laid back down.

You rolled your eyes, before hitting the lights.

"Good night." He cooed.

You lay there, tossing and turning, but you couldn't seem to fall asleep for the life of you. It didn't help that the room was so cold, due to the heater being unfixed.

Minutes passed in silence before you turned your head slightly. Fred was stretched out on the tiny couch, his long legs dangling uncomfortably over the armrest.

It was evident that he was way too tall to fit on all that, he did not look the slightest bit comfortable.

“See something you like?” Fred smirked, feeling your stare though his eyes were shut.

“What? No! I was just—”

“Just what? Admiring this handsome face?”

"Honestly Fred, how conceited are you?" You sat up now, shooting daggers at him. As much as you hated to admit it, he was, in fact, handsome. Annoyingly so.

Truth be told, had he not been so irritating, you might've actually considered dating him.

You loved the Weasleys, Ginny was like a sister to you, Ron, your close friend, George, always on the lookout for you. He even took you down to Hogsmeade for a meal and bought you treats when you cried over one of the Slytherin boys rejecting you back in your fourth year.

But Fred, oh Fred, you could never see eye to eye with him. You only ever tolerated him because his family was so warm and welcoming.

A tiny part of you felt guilty that he was forced onto the couch, despite being the one that paid for the room.

You wanted to offer the place beside you to him, seeing that the bed was larger than anticipated once you were actually tucked in.

"Well you are staring, something you need?" He countered, his eyes are still shut, arms still behind his head.

"Well, I was thinking...." You hesitated, "well, you could sleep on the bed. It's actually more spacious than I thought."

His brows shot up, and he opened his eyes, turning to face you. “In the bed? With you?”

“Don’t make it weird, Fred,” you huffed. “The couch looks uncomfortable.”

"Are you, being nice to me?" He teased, the urge to take back your offer growing stronger.

"Don't make me change my mind, Weasley."

After a beat, he groaned. “Fine. But don’t hog the covers.”

"Please I sleep like a log, it's not like I'm going to cuddle you or anything."

"Cuddle me eh?" He mused.

"Not bloody likely, besides you're too annoying to be my type." You retort.

Fred stood up, walking to the other side of the bed. He slid in beside you, and the bed suddenly felt too small. You kept your back to him, but quickly got up and put one of the spare pillows between you.

"See this line? Don't cross it and you're good." You commanded, and he chuckled lightly,

"Alright alright." He raised in hands.

You turned away from him, back to him as you attempted to fall asleep. You hadn't realised how far you were from him, you were practically tipping over the edge of the bed.

You scooted inside a little, bumping into the pillow wall you put.

After what seemed like hours of tossing and turning, you sighed in defeat. The room was cold, and the blankets were not much help.

You couldn't help but wonder if you were the only one awake. You extended your arm behind you, trying to find the pillow 'wall' you had put up. But with all the tossing and turning from the two of you, the pillow must've slipped out of place and down the lower half of the bed somewhere.

As you extended your arm behind you, you accidentally came into contact with Fred's back, and he shifted slightly before turning to face you instead.

It's dark, almost pitch black, but with the small glimmer of light, you can see that his eyes are shut. Curious you called out, "Fred?" you whispered. "Are you awake?"

"I am now, no thanks to you." He fluttered his eyes open, facing you.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I just wanted to see if—"

"Don't be." He sighed, "Couldn't sleep a wink either. This room is bloody cold."

"The blankets aren't doing anything." You exhaled, agreeing, before an idea popped into you head.

"This might sound silly, but, if we revert back to old fashioned methods, we could, um—actually it's stupid, nevermind." You began, but quickly dismissed it.

"Go on, I'd like to hear what genius solution you've come up with."

"It's dumb, I don't think you'll like it."

"Try me." He replied.

You hesitated again before suggesting, “We could—uh—use body heat.”

He stared at you momentarily, it looked as though he thought about it, considering it before responding, “Absolutely not.”

"Okay, whatever, I just thought it was a feasible option. These robes aren't exactly pyjama material either." You say, trying to tighten your robes, with the hopes of warming up your body.

You both fell into silence again your back facing him once more, before Fred spoke up, "Come here."

"What?" You turned around.

"I suppose, we could try the body heat thing."

"Oh so now you want to try my idea?" You raise your brow, scoffing as you shift over slowly, and he extended his arm, pulling you in.

"Don't get any ideas, I just need to sleep and call it a day." You firmly spoke, pressing your back to him, as he faced you. You felt his heat, no doubt, it was working, and you were starting to warm up. In all the places apparently, your cheeks, and an area of yours down there. Your heart pounded as his hand rested against your back, his breath tickling your ear.

"Let's do shoulder-to-shoulder." You suggested, trying to hide your flustered-ness.

He didn't argue, respecting your decision. The two of you lay there, facing the ceiling as your shoulders touched. Though not as warm as before, it was still warmer at least.

You turned your head, Fred's face illuminated by the dim light coming through from the curtains, his jawline ever so chiselled. Merlin, he was undoubtedly a handsome chap. You shut your eyes, trying, yet again to enter a slumber.

As you laid there, eyes shut, Fred opened his, gauging you. He smiled softly as he took in your features, rolling his eyes fondly as he saw you breathing slowly.

You swore you were about to cast some sort of sleeping spell, because you still could not fall asleep for the life of you. You keep moving, accidentally brushing against Fred's body countless times but you couldn't help it, you needed to find a comfortable position.

You move your arm around the blanket, trying to find a comfortable position for yourself until you accidentally graze something, unexpected.

You freeze.

Did you actually just graze that?

Was he....?

You slowly turned to face him, your body merely an inch away from his. You see him shut his eyes, heavily breathing, his Adam's apple bopping up and down from swallowing hard.

"Would you quit moving so much?" He whispered, trying to contain himself.

"I....Fred, I didn't mean to." You pause. "You're still awake?"

"10 points to Y/H (your house), captain obvious."

You furrow your brows, turning on the bedside lamp which offered the tiniest bit of ambient light in the dark room.

Your gaze flickered down, and well, you saw, a little friend poking up from the sheets beneath him.

"Is that, because of m—" You swallowed not daring to finish the sentence, looking at his hard on. "I'm sorry shouldn't have moved so much."

"Alright, it's okay, it's not a big deal, so what it's normal right. I didn't mean to accidentally keep grazing or grinding on you, I was merely trying to find a comfortable position. Listen, I'm not weirded out or anything, you can go sort it out. Who am I to judge? This time tomorrow we'll all be at the burrow and I'll be sharing a room with Ginny and 'Mione, so it's fine, we can—" You began ranting out of nervousness, but Fred had enough, opening his eyes to sit up with you,

"Merlin, Y/N. Ranting like you're so innocent, moving around like that? On me?" He leans in closer, growling, "I bet you'd really want to know what got me provoked in the first place, yeah?"

You gulped, inspecting his features as he leaned in closer to you, now an inch apart, "You aggravate me, pushing my damn buttons all the bloody time. Maybe if you weren't such a whiny brat complaining about everything, I would've fucked you an hour ago till you were silenced.” He ranted before continuing,

“You want to know what got me so hard? You waltzing around in those darn bathrobes that are far too small, exposing every inch of your body, your cleavage is practically begging to be seen. I can't keep my fucking eyes off you. Ever since Hogwarts, it was always you, grating on my last nerves. I thought I hated you so, until I realised that there was a fine line between hate and attraction."

"Fred..." your eyelids flutter; how did his voice get so low and sensual? You could feel yourself throbbing, growing wetter by the minute, and you found yourself growing more needy for him.

"Bloody hell Y/N, you've got me wrapped around the irritating finger of yours."

"Just shut up and kiss me Fred." You breathlessly whisper, not realising that you'd been holding your breath the entire time.

After waiting for what seemed like forever, he wasted no time pouncing on you. His hand is behind your neck and he pushes you down onto the bed, hovering on top of you.

Fred's lips meet yours furiously, desperately, never in your life has someone kissed you this passionately before. You open your mouth, and he slides his tongue in, a desirous clash of tongues. He savours every inch of your mouth and it makes you wonder how long he's been wanting to do this for.

"May I?" He asks for permission as he tugs at the belt of your bathrobe.

You nod, too breathless to speak as you gaze up at him. Fred undoes your robes, leaving you clothe-less on the bed. He does the same, kneeling between your legs which are spread open and on either side of his waist. You subconsciously give him doe-eyes as he does so, merlin, he looked so deliciously attractive.

"So fucking beautiful, all this hidden from me all these years?" He leans down and gently kisses your neck while gripping your waist, sucking on a sensitive spot which earns a moan from you.

"Going to leave hickey's on you so everyone knows you're mine gorgeous."

"Who said I was yours?" Every so daring you retort, though you lacked conviction.

He chuckled lowly before sucking on another sensitive spot, leaving a reddish mark on you, "Fred..." you moan again. His kisses grow more wet and fervent as he plants kisses trailing down your body. His hands move from your waist to your breasts, massaging them gently as he continues further down your body.

You're barely able to control the obscene moans slipping from your mouth, any attempts at suppressing them growing more difficult by the second. You didn't even care that people around you might hear.

"You're soaking wet, and yet you say you're not mine." Fred cooed, his eyes glued to your heat, coated with glistening wetness.

You revel in the fact that he can barely take his eyes off you, you glance at him, eyes half-lidded, clouded with lust. Once he catches sight of your lustful eyes, desperate for him, he can't tear his gaze away from you. He slowly leans down, sensually licking your coated slick.

Your sensitive cunt throbs even harder upon the contact from his tongue, "Fred please..." You whine, throwing your head back onto the pillow.

He traces the shape of your vulva, pressing kitten licks on your needy clit, causing your legs to clamp around his head. He doesn't break eye-contact, as he continues to work his mouth around your core.

He continues sucking your clit, his tongue working his way on your swollen pearl.

You tangle your hands in his head, tugging lightly. Your body can't help but arch into his face due to the overwhelming pleasure, as he continues indulging in your cunt. "Merlin Fred!" You cry out as he suckles on a particularly sensitive spot.

"You taste so damn good love, so sweet unlike that bitter mouth, hm?"

"I'm yours Fred....all yours..." You whimper, succumbing to his words.

"Say that again." His voice low, commanding, you could feel the heat from his mouth near your throbbing cunt.

"I'm yours, Fred." You moan, as he continues straight into your core.

The feeling is heavenly, both hands tangled in his red locks as he gives you the most pleasant head you've ever felt in your life. Once he stops assaulting your clit, he lifts his head and faces you, his eyes smiling up at you, as though you are the most beautiful person he's ever seen.

Oh, you're so close, tilting over the edge of something mind-blowing. He leans down and gives your clit a few more kitten licks, planting soft kisses before pulling away, just as you were about to cum.

"Don't stop," you whimper, "I was so close...."

"Fred?" You plead, again, but he sits up and crawls to you, now hovering over you his hands on either side of your head. "Please let me cum...."

"You will, darling." He cooes, leaning down to your ear, "Around my cock."

You felt yourself throbbing yet again, upon his words. What the hell was he doing to you, causing you to feel this weak beneath him? This powerless? Your sharp, witty tongue, nowhere in sight.

"Please Fred, I need you." You whine, begging him for more.

"What ever happened to, 'I despise you'?" He hovered over you and you sat up, meeting his lips. Giving him a passionate, hungry kiss before pulling away,

"There is a fine line between hate and love, and I think today I've learnt that you've been sitting in the wrong category all along."

He smiled, brushing a hand on your cheek as he gazed down at you lovingly, "Took me so long to realise that you're the only person I've ever felt something with."

"Took us bloody ages." You roll your eyes fondly, before giggling as he pecked your forehead gently.

You gazed up at him with doe-eyes, and him down at you, to your lips then back up, his mouth parted slightly as he took in how breathtaking you looked beneath him. Shit, you were always beautiful to him, he'd only now realised.

"Need you inside me Fred." You plead softly, desperately, which only fuelled his desire for you even more.

"Anything for you, love."

You never thought you'd admit it, but he has a fucking incredible dick. You assumed he'd be packing because he was 6"3, but the sight of it made you drool. Bloody hell, he had every right to be so smug.

His slit was already leaking with precum, his eyes lock onto yours as he lowers himself. Your legs are still on each side of his waist, he grabs his dick and teases it along your wet entrance, sliding it a few times to coat it with your slickness.

You involuntarily buck your hips, desperate for penetration as you whimper. He slowly lowers himself down, and finally into you.

At first, you hiss at the pain upon being stretched out by his hugeness, you could feel him stretching your walls, registering that fact that he was fully inside you now.

"Fuck...." he moans, letting out a groan, "So tight for me hm?"

"Freddie...." You moan as he begins moving, rocking his hips slowly. You get used to the size of him, filling you to the brim, every slight bit of movement causing your walls to tense around his dick, rubbing within you sensually.

"I know baby, I know." He responds softly, continuing at this pace.

With every rock, his breathing increases, your soft pleas and his eager pants filling the room as he speeds up, going faster and harder.

Your moans start to get louder, getting more deafening by the minute. Fred leans down to plant kisses on your neck, and pecking your lips occasionally, you moan into him as he drives himself further into your core.

"You're doing so well baby." He coos into your ear, murmuring praises as he continues to thrust into you.

Fred doesn't stop pounding into you, you move your hands to his back, your nails practically digging into his skin from the pleasure.

Skin slapping against skin, you feel every jolt of his body into you. He's fucking you so gently but hard at the same time, treating you as though you were the most fragile thing on the planet.

"Baby..." You whimper, eyes fluttering shut, as he continues thrusting into you deeply, you are overwhelmed with so much pressure that you might cry, but it just felt so damn pleasurable.

"I'm getting close Fred." You pant, breathing heavily, as he picks up his pace.

"Look at me." He demands, and you open your eyes, gazing into his hazel ones. For once, they aren't filled with irritation, or the usual annoyance you were used to seeing, they were more gentle, admiring you, it was a look of love.

"Fred, I'm so close!" You cry out, feeling an orgasm coming closer, "I'm gonna—" you can barely finish your sentence, the pressure. on your g-spot and the intense penetration becoming too much for you to handle, along with the gaze of hazel eyes burning into you.

You let out an obscene moan as your walls clench around him, you jerk harshly, causing him to let out a guttural moan. It's a pleasurable ache, your entire body pulses beneath him.

"Gonna come inside you baby, that okay?" He asks, and you nod, to breathless to speak.

Seconds later, he comes undone, squirting his juices inside you. The world slows down as you enter your state of euphoria; you're entangled in pure bliss as you come down from your high. Your body is still electrified from the feeling before.

It takes a while for you to fully settle down. You slowly flutter your eyes open to find yourself engulfed in Fred's buff arms, your breathing in sync. The two of you lean against the wooden bed-frame, and you lean your head on his shoulder, while he cradles you.

You glance down at your body and notice that it's covered in marks, which looked bloody hot. Merlin, you really were Fred's now huh?

"So much for body heat." You chuckled softly, as he stroked your back gently.

He laughs, and you feel the vibrations of his chest, "The best kind of heat if you ask me." He says which earned an eyeroll from you.

Fred plants a soft kiss on your head, "Y'know I'm not one for apologies, but I was a bit of a jerk to you back in Hogwarts, and I want to apologise."

"It was a two-way thing, Freddie, suppose I should apologise for being one too. Merlin, you did grate on every last one of my nerves though." You tease.

"Always a pleasure." He grinned down at you, engulfed in his arms as you looked up at him, sharing a moment of sweet silence as you put the past behind you.

A ray of moonlight shone through the tiny gap in the curtain. You turned your head, glancing out the window as you pondered about the others back at the burrow.

"What're we going to tell the others when we find them tomorrow?" You giggled, taking in the state you were both in.

"I have a feeling they won't be surprised." Fred confessed.

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone in my family thinks we have a thing for each other, especially Ginny. Won't stop talking about us that sister of mine."

"Since when?!" You were amused, the two of you were the epitome of the word hate back in Hogwarts and to hear a statement like this shocked you.

"Since school apparently." He laughed, shaking his head, "I thought it was silly too, but look where we are now."

"Just wait one day, you'll eventually get married." He mocked Ginny's tone, mirroring her facial expressions too, and you couldn't help but laugh.

"Please, you and me?" You raised a brow, teasing him, though biting back a fond smile.

"Neverrrr." He scrunched up his nose, holding you closer as you both now laid down in bed, safely in each other's grasp.

Finally comfortable, you found yourself drifting off into a much-needed slumber. The same could be said for Fred, it was safe to say the body-heat idea turned out better than anticipated.

And with this newfound love, perhaps the broomstick breaking was a blessing in disguise.

[aviawrites]

wait for me (sinners)

!s: smoke x female!oc

summary: Rue has worked for years to forget Elijah Moore and what he left her with before he ran to Chicago. But when she sees his ambitious twin in the square, all of their history comes rushing back. (3.1k)

a/n: it has been so long, but Sinners is truly a movie in its own category. i also need to preface that i am black for this story. anyway, as always, ur interaction is greatly appreciated, ily<3

warnings: swearing, n word use (by smoke and stack), mentions of child loss, abortion, sex, racism

in this story, our characters name is: Rue

Elijah Moore and I never had a complicated relationship. Hell, Smoke might even say we had none at all. But for years after he ravaged me in that car outside of the bar, I thought about him every night. We were together, I’d say — Boyfriend and girlfriend for as long as his grief consumed him. But the moment Annie found out, Smoke disappeared from my arms and was at her feet, begging for forgiveness. I don’t blame her, not in the slightest — I can only imagine that those were some of their darkest times.

Elias, on the other hand, him and I had a complicated relationship. When I found out that Smoke left a piece of himself in me, there was no way I could tell him, not after what he’d just been through. So I went to the closest thing to him, Stack. And although what we had is never to be considered romantic, there was something there — Familial, even. He knew it, Mary knew it, and for that very reason I was never allowed within an 100 foot radius of the twins until the day they left, not if I wanted to feel welcome.

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📍 Train Station || 12:00pm

The feelings from all those years ago bubble up inside me and form a twist in my gut when I see that all-too-recognizable burgundy top hat. My feet move before my mind can stop them, and in no time I’m approaching my old friend.

Stack flashes a gold toothed smile. “I’ll be damned.”

I return the nicety, pulling him in for a warm hug.

“Word spreads fast,” I nod. “Y’all still got the same appeal you had all them years ago.”

“You don’t have to tell me that, darling. I know it.” His cocky smile takes me back, the only thing differentiating him from his brother being his energy.

“Do I even want to know why you came back?”

“You heard it as good as I did." He gestures toward little Preacher Boy and the old man. “We’re opening a Juke Joint tonight, right there down at the old mill.”

“Y’all never could stay still. Chicago wasn’t change enough for you?”

He shrugs. “Figured we should deal with a devil we know. Besides, we miss the tricking.”

“Mmm,” I hum. “Well if Miss Pearline back there is singing, I might just pay this Joint a visit.”

Stack looks past me and at the polka dottted woman walking away from Preacher Boy. 

“Shit, if that’s what it takes for you to come, it’s done.”

Always so charming.

He ogles me, his eyes scanning up and down my exposed arms.

“What’s this?” Stack rubs his fingers over the dark ink lining my skin — Art ranging from numbers to symbols to simple symmetric images. 

“You know I’m an artist, boy.” I pull my arm back, scoffing. “Figured I’d get a few permanent ones to remember a few things.”

“And you talking about we couldn’t stay still. I’ll be visiting to get a look at those paintings of yours one of these days.” Stack’s grin begins to fade as he looks over my shoulder. 

Preacher Boy walks up and nears his cousin. “This white woman’s been staring at you—“

“Yea, I see her…”

He shoos Sammie away and tries to walk me off, but I’m already well aware of what shark is in the water — I can hear her heels clicking behind me.

“Now is this Smoke? Or is that Stack?”

I turn my head. “Hi, Mary.”

No response. Only a rough shoulder check as she stands in front of me and nears Stack.

He looks over her head and at me. “I’ll holler at you, Rue—“

Mary interrupts. “No, you’re not talking to fucking Rue right now. You’re talking to me.”

Stack huffs, looking back down at the woman dressed in pink. I give him a ‘have fun dealing with that’ look before turning and catching my train. 

Of all the women wrapped around the twins’ fingers, Mary has got to be the most spiteful of them all. For no good reason, though. Contrary to her belief, I never once slept with Stack, never even thought of it. But as far as she knows, I kissed him all the way to where the sun don’t shine, and then some.

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📍 Juke Joint || 10:00pm

This old mill has lit up under the construction of the twins. People hoot and holler as Pearline ignites the stage, turning into the musical beast I knew she would the minute she started singing. Having no dance partner, I simply clap along, moving my body to the beat alone. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the same damn burgundy hat that I saw only hours ago.

I can feel Annie’s eyes burning holes into my skull as I sit at the bar, Stack walking up to me.

“Now who the hell did y’all rob to afford this place? Ain’t this being sold from the Klan?” I shout across the bar, my voice being drowned out by Pearline’s Pale, Pale Moon.

Stack shakes his head. “Not Klan, just crackers. You know we got money, girl. Don’t do that.”

“Yea, well blood money don’t count. So how much you got now?”

He pulls his pockets inside out, amusing me.

I chuckle, placing my money on the bar. “Y’all have blackberry bourbon smash?”

“I don’t know if I can do that for you…” 

His fake frown quickly turns into a grin as he takes the money, relaying my order to Grace.

“Fancy motherfuckers,” I mumble.

“What was that?” Stack eggs me on.

My eyes scan the bar, but all I can focus on is that hateful scowl on Annie’s face.

“I said all these women hate me.” 

Stack scoffs. “Only those particular women.”

That’s more than enough for me I think.

He leans in, his lips grazing my ear.

“You know none of these girls got shit on you, Rue. They ain’t half as strong either.”

A small smile grows on my face, matching Stacks. He goes to hand me back my cash, but I slide it back to him.

“I don’t need it,” I front.

“Yea? Well me neither. So you gon’ fucking take it.”

I roll my eyes, pocketing the change and standing with my drink. I’ve barely made it away from the bar when cigarette smoke cascades from over my head. Instinctively looking up, I finally see him. 

Smoke stares down at me from the balcony with that hard expression he always wears. It’s so strange, seeing that rock solid glare. When we first met in a dingy bar on the side of a dirt Mississippi road, he hung his head low and seemed to always have glossy eyes. I didn’t believe him when he told me he was Smoke. When he fucked me that night, and many a nights after that, it was slowly — With passion, and often tears followed the act. But now his eyes are as dry as a dessert and they pierce a hole through mine. 

He takes another blow of his cigarette before turning his back to me, retreating into a room. I have no choice but to follow him, even if it’s just to get yelled at to go away as he did the last time we met. I take my time, downing my glass of bourbon as I walk up the stairs. I can’t pinpoint exactly why, but my heart thumps in my chest just before I open the door, all of the thoughts of what we could’ve had rushing back to my mind like they did eight years ago.

I enter the dimly lit room, closing the door behind me and leaning on it.

“Hi, Smoke,” I say lowly, unable to read his face.

“Why you here, Rue?” he grumbles, a roughness to his voice. “I’m already stressed the fuck out with this opening shit. Stack ain’t helping.”

“I don’t want no trouble. Just came for the music.”

“You being here is plenty trouble enough.” He scans my body the same as his brother, blowing his cigarette again. “You can’t find music no place else?”

“You want me to leave?” I ask honestly.

“Yea, I want you to leave. You think those women down there want you to leave too or are we acting stupid tonight?”

“They never even tried to like me, Smoke,” I sigh, my legs bringing me closer to him. I place my hand on his bicep, like I did all those years ago. “They got no idea what we had.”

He puts his hand on mine, pulling it off. “That was a moment of weakness, Rue. Whatever you think we had is gone now." 

I blink to avoid tears from forming. My first ever love, my first ever relationship being chalked up to a moment of weakness chips away at my heart. If it’s what he has to tell himself to dig out of the deep guilt he feels, so be it. But he won’t sit in front of me and act like what we had wasn’t real — Like it isn’t still there.

“So you're saying if the Juke was going good and Annie wasn't watching you like a hawk that you wouldn't entertain me? Wouldn’t consider us?"

Smoke shakes his head. “No, I really wouldn’t.” His brows furrow as he looks at me, seeming to remember a detail that he had previously forgotten. “And your cheating ass can take your business elsewhere.”

I can’t act surprised, not anymore. We allowed him to believe my infidelity as truth, Stack and I. Letting him think I went after his brother was easier than letting him know what Stack was really helping me do…At least it was in the moment. But as he stands in front of me now, I want nothing more than to ease his pain, calm his anger, and tell him the truth — Even if solely to stop him from loathing me so greatly.

“I didn’t cheat on you, Smoke.”

“Bullshit,” he stops me. 

“No, listen.” I step toward him. “I respected what you and Annie had, Smoke. I really did. And I understood that the loss of your baby caused you to make decisions that you might regret, even if that decision was being with me. So when you told me to leave you alone, I did. But I didn’t know if that still stood when I found out that we had a baby…”

The words feel odd coming out of my mouth. I tried so hard at the time to disconnect myself from it, calling the baby a thing inside my stomach rather than what it was: Mine and Smoke’s child.

His brows have smoothened out now and he’s actively listening, his eyes flashing from my face to my stomach and back to my face.

I continue. “I didn’t visit Stack all those nights to get at him. Smoke, I never wanted anybody but you. But God put it on my heart to give you and Annie peace, so we went at it alone. No one knew. He paid a few women to make the drink without telling them who it was for. It only took a few hours for the bleeding to start…”

My voice trails out. I’m unable to finish as flashbacks to that night replay in my head. My mama held me tighter that night than she ever had before…I hated Smoke that night more than I ever had before.

Tears line his eyes now.

He chokes on his words, his voice now much lower. “Don’t you lie to me, Rue…” 

“I wouldn’t lie, baby,” I assure him.

I hold my arm out for him, revealing the tiny footprint tattooed on my wrist, a small E underneath it. 

“We couldn’t be sure, but I had a feeling it was a boy. Ezra, I was thinking. Stack hated the name but…” I shrug. 

Smoke runs his thumb over the tattoo, holding my hand in his. He attempts to discreetly wipe his tears, but I see them all the same. Looking up at him, his face can only be compared to the face he made when we spoke about his late baby, which wasn’t often at all. A mix of anger, sorrow, and fear. 

Perhaps he’s considering what could have been, just like I used to — Just like I still do. I used to curse God for putting me in such a position. A second chance for Smoke to be a father, but at the worst of times. I’d have dreams of talking to a clone of myself, telling her that she owed it to Smoke to tell him about the baby. It’s only now that I really see the consequences of my decision.

Smoke looks at me, and then at the door. It’s as if a switch has flipped and he’s forced all of those emotions to turn into one…anger. He reaches for the door, but I lean against it.

“Smoke, it’s already done,” I tell him, holding my hand against his chest. “I just couldn’t take you hating me no more.”

“Move out the way, Rue,” he says, not hearing a word I say.

“I don’t want to cause a scene. Please.”

“You think I give a fuck about causing a scene? Move out of the fucking way.”

“Smoke, it hurts enough as it is—“

“You’ve got one more time, woman.”

“There’s nothing we can do now!”

He wraps a hand around my arm, yanking me just enough to pull me away from the door and swinging it open. I run out behind him, but he’s already looking down the overlook.

“STACK!” he shouts down, the name echoing through the building. 

Everybody looks up, including Mary and Annie. Stack stares up at us, blowing smoke through his nose, before turning back to the crowd. He tells them to resume, nudging Sammie to keep playing. After a moment of silence and a few stray whispers, the music begins again and Pearline starts her singing. Mary holds Stack close, asking him not to go — But as always, the twins do what they want when they want. As Stack rounds the corner, I retreat back into the room, unprepared for what reaction he might have.

He’s barely entered before Smoke pins him against the wall, his forearm over Stack’s chest.

“The fuck?”

“Is it true?” Smoke demands, maintaning his cig in his pinning hand.

I close the door, shouting over the music. “Smoke, stop!”

He ignores me, continuing to press his brother. “Un-uh, I asked you a question, nigga. Did you know she had my baby?”

Stack’s eyes shoot from Smoke to me. I can only nod, giving him permission to tell the full truth as I just did. Stack relaxes, putting his hands up.

“I only did it to protect you, mane.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“You gon’ let me go so I can explain?” 

Smoke lingers before reluctantly letting his brother go with a shove. He puts a hand in his pocket, staring Stack down.

He gestures his cig at his brother. “Talk.” 

Stack smoothens his suit, lighting one of his own. “You know I don’t like that shit, Smoke—”

“Talk.”

He sighs, putting on a smile once more as he tries to explain calmly. 

“When y’all two broke shit off we didn't know we were even going to Chicago, Smoke. Shit, I still thought you and Annie were gonna get married and buy you a house. Rue said you told her to stay away to make that happen, so I helped her stay away. Now we both know she’d never forgive you if you had a baby with another woman.”

“But my baby is none of your fucking business.”

“I was trying to give you a life, nigga,” Stack urges. “Annie is where that life was at. Fuck I look like throwing Rue back at you when you didn’t want her?”

“My baby, Stack.”

Guilt boils inside of me. I never allowed myself to entertain the idea of keeping the baby. There was no way I’d bring him into this world without a father, and Smoke had Annie, so I thought I had no choice. But seeing him blink back his tears now makes me second guess every moment that the baby was inside of me.

Stack thinks carefully about his next words, his smile having faded as he sees how serious his brother is taking this.

“I’m sorry, man,” he shrugs, his tone softer now. “I did what I thought was safest for all y'all, you hear me?” 

Smoke is about to speak when a hard knock pounds the door. 

“Stack?” Mary’s familiar voice rings out from the other side.

“Now I gotta get back to the Joint.”

I hold my head low. “Bye, Stack.”

He heads toward the door, but not before turning to his brother one more time.

“We good?”

Smoke looks from me to Stack, giving him a small nod.

“Get out of here ‘fore I say no.”

Stack only smiles, swinging the door open. I stand beside him, greeting Mary.

“Oh my— Not this trifling bitch again, Stack.” She rolls her eyes.

“Come on. Lay off, Mary.”

“I think you owe her a goddamn apology,” Smoke intervenes, standing behind me.

I mumble, “it’s fine, Smoke.”

Mary scoffs. “For the fuck what?”

“For how you been treating her all these years.”

“How I’ve been treating her? You’re the one who fucked her for a month before running back to Annie.”

“You best watch your mouth, Mary.” He blows smoke toward her. “It’s not too late to pay one of them bitches downstairs to drag your ass out.”

“I’d like to see you try, Smoke—“

“Alright,” Stack interrupts. “Let’s go.” 

He pushes Mary away before closing the door behind him. I assume my previous position, leaning against the door — a much thicker tension in the air now.

“If you hate me even more after this, I understand.” I break the silence. “I don’t blame you. I just couldn’t let the truth belong to me and him alone anymore.”

Smoke stares at his feet, deep in thought. It’s become increasingly harder to tell what this man is thinking. He drops his cigarette, stepping on it.

“Now why would you do that on these new floors-“

His lips are on mine before I can finish, his hungry hands pulling up my dress. It’s automatic, the way my arm wraps around his neck, my hand nearing his crotch. He begins kissing down my neck, but I pull away. He stares at me, eyes wide.

“This isn’t a moment of weakness, is it?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I don’t need a moment of weakness to do what I’m about to do to you.”

I smile, bringing his lips to mine once more. 

Annie will hate me if she finds out, she might hate Smoke even more. But like I told him before, she has no idea what we have. And if I want to fuck my sinner one last time in this Juke Joint, that’s exactly what I’ll do. 

[sheloveschai]

bathing with ambessa (18+)

dom! ambessa x fem! reader

older woman/younger woman, slight exhibitionism, thigh-riding, sub! reader

i cannot get this woman out of my head sitting on her lap (or her face) would solve so many of my problems URRGGHHH

“breathe, child.”

water sloshes against the sides of the luxurious bathing pool- a shuddered gasp echos back off the blue and gold mosaic walls of the room.

a bead of sweat rolls down your spine as a partially nude worker dumps another vessel of water near your bodies, and with it, a veil of steam rises giving the illusion of intimate privacy from the guards on standby.

ambessa, in all her esteemed glory, lounges lazily with her head tipped back over the edge of the pool- a warm cloth draped over her eyes. a goblet, which lays in a large rugged hand, is filled near to the brim with a rich red wine.

the other rests on the hollow of your throat- a calloused thumb ever so gently brushing over your slick skin.

“good, little one,” the warlord practically purrs. a grin graces her lips as she feels your hands slip from her shoulders and down to her submerged abdomen, your hands pressing against her scarred v-line for leverage.

her hand, in return, glides from your throat, over your shoulder, before disappearing down under the water to rest on the curve of your rocking hips- not guiding, not pushing, just to simply rest upon.

“such a needy little thing,” she hums. “taking what you so desire.”

a shaky exhale escapes your lips at her words. her low and husky voice adding to your sinuous desires. your nails ever so slightly dig into her intimidating physique as your cunt throbs in need.

with your slick folds spread open over the impressive muscle of her thigh, your clit rubs deliciously over the bumps and ridges of her battle-won scars.

your wanton gasps and whines ring throughout as your head tips forward in deadweight- causing your gaze to connect with the older woman’s breasts.

just beneath the water you can make out her soft nipples. her breasts are heavy and ripened with age, and though not littered with scars won over battles, stretch marks ripple over them like hieroglyphs seen carved into ancient monumental displays.

your hand moves quicker than your brain and suddenly you’re cupping one of her breasts, raising it up and out of the water- exposing it to the colder air. you practically watch in awe as her dark nipple hardens between your fingers as you press and flatten the heavy globe against her chest.

and without a second thought, you’re lurching forward and enveloping her nipple into your warm mouth. you would’ve swallowed her whole if you could’ve, but instead you resort to swirling the sensitive bud around your tongue; licking, nipping, sucking as though you were trying to milk her.

“look at you,” ambessa rasps, a hint of humor underlaying her lust. “starving for my body. my, you’d do anything to have a taste, wouldn’t you, child?”

a low groan rumbles out of ambessa’s chest at the feeling of the scrape of your teeth, the wet heat of your tongue. in an effort to take more of her breast into your mouth, your knee presses against the slick folds of her cunt as you slide further down her thigh.

and the fearsome warlords back, ever so slightly, arches off the edge of the tub.

“like a kitten in heat, you are” she taunts, though there is no covering how she bucks her hips up in order to grind her aching pussy against you.

she begins to move in time with you, the friction your knee provided sending bolts of pleasure straight to her core.

her position of leisure and relaxation did not slip, though. with her legs still spread wide, head tilted back, ambessa had the clear headedness to bring her steel goblet up to her lips without spilling a drop of the red liquid.

with an air of authority, she licks the remnants from her now stained mouth, stretching her arm back over the edge of the pool to set the cup down- without a tremor to be seen.

with both of her hands now free, she removes the cloth from her face, revealing her dark lust-stricken gaze.

her hand slowly delves between your legs, separating your slick cunt from her thigh. she teases you for a moment, smirking as she rubs your aching nub with a feather-light touch, before pressing a digit to your entrance.

“there you go, sweet girl,” ambessa praises, sliding another thick digit along her first, your walls fluttering around the intruding appendages. “now you may have my touch.”

her thumb continues to rub slowly circles on your clit as her fingers pump in and out of you at a relentless pace.

“cum for me” she murmurs huskily as she gazes down at your desperate form still suckling at her tit. “show me how my body brings you pleasure.”

she could feel your body tensing, your muscles coiling tight as she worked her fingers inside you. she could tell you were close, the way you desperately clung to her- the way your walls squeezed around her, urging her deeper.

and it wasn’t until she curled them just right, hitting that spot inside you that had you seeing stars, did you cum.

your body convulsed, muscles squeezing around her fingers as wave after wave of pleasure came crashing down upon you. ambessa held you close as you rode out your orgasm. your body shook, breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

she could practically feel your heart pounding against her chest. and as you slowly came down from your high, you pressed soft kisses and licks into the bitten skin of her breast.

“enough, child” she grunts, finally pulling you away from her raw nipple. “i desire your mouth elsewhere now.”

[failbettergames]

Announcing Mandrake

You are the last of the Mandrakes, a sorcerous line of gardeners. At long last, you’ve returned to your family's abandoned home. Make friends, tend your gardens, and put down roots. Fish, gather and delve in the wilds. Make a place for yourself, and uncover the mysteries your family left behind.

The Lost Arts of Horticulture

Horticulture is a cursed and forbidden practice... except to you. You come from a long line of sorcerers who practiced the green and growing arts, and you’re able to grow such marvels as: runner beans! Cherry trees! The humble turnip!

And as your skills grow, you'll be able to plant stranger seeds, like thunder-calling taran, or rhewyn, which waters your gardens for you. Perhaps you'll even grow a goose-tree! (Where did you think geese came from? Other geese? Preposterous.)

Place beds, decorations and resting spots. Find, plant, nurture, grow and harvest plants both mundane and magical, and gradually expand your gardens into the tangled grounds of your family's abandoned castle.

A World to Inhabit

Discover a beguiling new world inspired by British history and folklore. A world of old, wild powers, of uncanny spirits that reside in those places mortals dare not go; of deep histories, and deeper mysteries.

You won't just work in your gardens. Forage for resources in the nearby woods and along the beach. Go fishing (but take care not to be cursed by the river). Delve into dangerous mines in search of bright minerals and stolen secrets.

Breathe life into the Mandrake lodge with your choice of furnishings and renovations; acquire old books, and spend the evenings reading in the candlelit comfort of your study. Learn to cook. Meet your neighbours, become entangled in their lives, give them gifts and learn their stories.

Fireside Menace

Long ago, the world changed. The Covenant of the Hearth decreed that the day belonged to humanity, but the night... the night belonged to other things. Now, all earthly lights save hearthfires go out when the sun sets, and the Mara ride the night-winds. Don't go out after dark – the night is not for you. 

For now. (After all, what self-respecting sorcerer follows the rules?)

Human, Humble Magic

Magic in Mandrake isn't about flashy fireballs and shimmering shields, but about folkloric ingenuity, whimsy and patience. Grow a cherry tree from seedling to maturity in seven days rather than seven years, then fashion your sorcerer's staff from its wood. Befriend a river. Eavesdrop on the dead. Spend a haunted night at the Butcher's Oak. Drink tea with the god who lives in your chimney. 

A Host of Lavishly-Realised Characters

Welcome to the village of Chandley. It's small, it's complicated, and everyone's got their own story. 

Meet Rosen – bee-keeper, candlemaker, rook-speaker – the even-handed village leader charged with steering this troublesome community of eccentrics. Or Gideon, the sombre hunter who makes pacts with the wild powers of the woods. Befriend Nessa, the village smith, whose kindness conceals the scars of an old tragedy; and Thackery, the effusive Voicer, who keeps technology that no-one – least of all he – fully understands. Visit the lighthouse, where Jory and Ruan Vicory live with young Tamsyn: the girl they saved from the sea, and who still hears voices calling to her from beneath the waves...

Chandley may be small, but it's old, thick with secrets, and set in its ways. Is it ready for the return of a Mandrake?

Beyond the firelight

Encounter the spirits, gods and bogles that live alongside the people of Chandley: the smiling revenant imprisoned in a tree, who claims he knows you (even though he's hundreds of years dead). Lonely, long-armed Granny Jakes in her hidden orchard, who offers you a sip of a drink that the world has forgotten how to make. The Regent of the Woods, bearer of a white crown. The shy thing that whistles an old tune in the depths of a mine no-one has worked in decades. Hroame, who is sometimes stone and sometimes not.

Come along with us

If you’d like to hear from us when we release Mandrake or upload a demo, please consider wishlisting the game on Steam.

Because Mandrake is complex and has some very unusual features, we’ll be seeking ongoing feedback from players. At first, that will be through playtests on Steam, and later we’ll be releasing Mandrake in Early Access.

If you’d like to hear about playtests or just learn more about the game, you can follow us here or sign up for our monthly newsletter, which covers music, internet ephemera, art and film recommendations, strange historical anecdotes, pigeons, various mines/caves/catacombs, and sometimes also updates on our games.

About Failbetter Games

Should you see this and not know us! Founded in 2009, we’re an indie game studio known for quality storytelling and highly atmospheric art. You might know us from our other games: Sunless Sea, Sunless Skies and Mask of the Rose, which are set in the world of our long-running browser game Fallen London. In a break from studio tradition, this is a game where you can't eat people.

[aeyumicore]

misty invasion - no restraint

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: xavier x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with some/little plot

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 5k words (jesus i even cut 1k out)

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, spoilers AND alterations to ‘no restraint’ (xavier’s misty invasion card), switch!xavier, slightly dark!xavier, super possessive!xav, so much pussy eating, nose stroking clit, cumming on pussy then using as lube, mating press, sensory play but not actually, thigh biting, ankle kissing, foot massage, slight finger sucking, slight dub-con somno at the end, use of y/n

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: video | ao3 | sylus's version | raf's version | zayne's version

━ ✧.˖ A/N: sorry this is late! I’ve been dealing with some harassment but won’t get into that here. You guys have been waiting so patiently for this one and i’m so excited to finally share it with you guys. I love writing and it’s incredible to have people to share my passion with, so please enjoy xavier fuckers!

part three is our dear xavier! idk how this one got so long i cut 1k words and its still 5k LOL somehow longer than sylus’s? i haven’t written for xavier in sooo long so this was both challenging but fun! I miss him <3 I wrote xavier as more dark!xav than the soft xavier, but there’s definitely a good mix of both

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

As a Hunter, you’ve had to thoroughly train your senses to be as adept and and accurate as possible, to keep yourself, your fellow Hunters, and the citizens of Linkon safe.

Sight. The ability to track every micromovement a Wanderer made and react in milliseconds. Being able to quickly spot things that don’t belong, indicating something more sinister.

Hearing. Being able to detect even the mutest of sounds. The muffled shuffling of leaves, a slight creak in the wind that could warn you of incoming danger.

Smell. The almost imperceptible scent of different species of Wanderers, each one specific to each genus, able to provide valuable information on what to expect.

Touch. The distinct textures of your different UNICORN issued tools and weapons, the simplest grooves and ridges helping you quickly discern what is what in moments of life or death.  

What you hadn’t necessarily needed was the sense of taste, but that wouldn’t be a sense you’d need as a Hunter. Right?

In the soft glow coming from the protocore you and him had confiscated from an illegal protocore trade, Xavier sat at the foot of the bed you’d be sharing tonight. The soft orange light emanating from the protocore casts a vaguely romantic atmosphere around the two of you. It was suffocating and addicting all at once.

Perhaps it was your fault, you’d teased him, claiming the protocore in question had dulled your senses, a side effect from its unique Protocurves. A clear and obvious lie. 

But you hadn’t expected him to respond so boldly. 

To test your sense of sight, moving from his spot across the hotel room to approach the foot of the bed, sitting so closely that you could see the droplets of water dripping down his bare chest, gliding along the grooves of his muscled abdomen.

To test your sense of smell, leaning in so teasingly close to you that the soft clean smell of his pheromones, akin to fresh laundry blowing in the spring breeze, invaded your very essence. 

To test your sense of hearing, whispering dangerously sultry but innocent words under his breath to taunt you, seeing if you could hear how much he wanted you. 

To test your sense of touch, reaching out to grasp your face into his fingers, warm from the hot shower he’d taken. So daringly caressing your warm cheek in his palm, with a heated desire that you knew could consume you whole. 

It was truly all enough to drive you utterly insane, at the point of no return, nearly jumping him right then and there.

Perhaps Xavier could see that, deciding to give you a temporary reprieve from all the “sensory tests” to complete a test of his own 

His voice is a faint murmur, “Before the rain stops, is there anything you want to do?” His words sound less like a question and more like a plea. Bordering on a demand. 

At his words, your eyes trail to the body lotion you’d set on the nightstand next to the Protocore. You’d just been about to apply it before Xavier had come out of the shower. You bite your lip at the thought of his strong hands rubbing the expensive cream into your aching muscles. Xavier’s eyes follow yours, and he smiles gently, standing up to grab it from the side table. 

He unscrews it, the soft scent of strawberries wafting in the space between you. Under the soft glow of the Protocore, Xavier’s face is flushed, his breath unusually heavy. His eyes are focussed on the body lotion, but you can just barely see the stormy heat behind them. 

“What, are we testing your senses now?” you tease him, sitting up with your hands hugging your knees. 

Xavier sits back down on the bed, the mattress dipping at your feet. Your toes brush against the soft silk of his bathrobe, the knot even looser now, leaving far too little to imagination. His voice is gentle, but urgent, “The Protocore’s Protocurves can…dull a person's senses.” 

He places his palm gently on the underside of your thighs, pulling your bare calves toward him. His touch is impossibly soft, yet strangely enough it leaves your skin burning. You let your body be guided towards him until his chest is practically pressed against your knee. With your bare calf in his hands, it makes it difficult to think. But you do your best to speak, “So…are you affected by it too?”

As Xavier smears the lotion across your flushed skin, he murmurs, “Maybe.” He takes another scoop of the cream into his fingers.

“It’s possible…I won’t be able to feel you anymore from now on.” His eyes are trained on your leg as he speaks, fingers wandering from your knee to your exposed thigh. Though you both know his senses were, and would be, perfectly fine, the longing in both his low voice and dark eyes felt completely real.

As his hands rub into your skin, his fingers briefly find their way under your nightdress. He leans down, resting his chin on your knee. He practically hugs your legs to his chest, the opened jar of lotion still in hand. WIth his curious fingers on your thigh, under the lace hem of your nightdress, you try and distract him from your flushed face. You take a small dollop of the lotion in his hands, teasingly brushing it to his nose.

“What’s the fragrance? Can you smell it?” Xavier’s face on your bare knee doesn’t move, but his eyes flit up to yours, dark and amused. 

He has a barely perceptible smirk, fingers stroking small shapes into the area where your lace nightie meets the skin of your exposed thighs, “Strawberry.” He sounds uncharacteristically self-assured, his chin moving down so that he can smell your skin. 

You shiver as you feel the cool inhale of his nose against your knee. His lips ghost along your leg as he breathes in the scent, lingering for so long you’re nearly quivering against his hold. His hand grips your thigh possessively as he murmurs, “Or maybe...that scent…is cherry.” The way he buries his face into your legs, inhaling so deeply, is nearly enough to have you passing out.

He comes back to nuzzle his chin into your knee, glancing up at you in an expression that is eerily dark and soft all at once, “Was I right?” His words are gentle but there’s an exhilarating taunt underneath them. It only makes you want to taunt him back.

You reach for his ear, noticing it’s unusually peachy pink, stroking along the soft lobe, “Here’s another test. What do you think my hand is doing right now?” Xavier’s eyes close at your touch, his breath heavy and hot against your thigh. His brows furrow, and if it weren’t for the way he leaned into your touch for more, you’d almost think he was in pain. 

As his eyes flicker open to meet yours, you take his cheek into your hands. There’s a vague haziness in them, almost like he’s having a hard time keeping them open, drunk off even your slightest touches. He sits up, leaning into your hand.

“You need to do it harder,” he urges, desperation making itself known in his sultry voice. Your hand trails down his ear, tracing the sharp edge of his jaw and making its way to Xavier’s bobbing neck. 

Your fingers move intentionally, trailing down to his collar until they rest on his chest, “What about now?” 

Though his chest heaves, his blue eyes smolder with an unbridled confidence, “...Too gentle.” He looks at you with an unspoken plea in his eyes, begging you to touch him more. Harder.

You let your shaking fingers toy torturously with the reddened skin on his sharp collarbone, swirling your fingertips on his pounding chest. You bite your lip, enjoying the way his breath comes out in needy pants, the look of desperation on his parted lips growing stronger by the second, “If you still haven’t felt it…”

Xavier continues your thought, cerulean eyes filled with a desperate longing, “If I haven’t felt it…” You gasp as he grabs your wrist forcefully, bringing it back up to his face.

His grip is commanding, caressing your palm with his soft cheek, his breath fanning the inside of your hand. His movements are almost imperceptible, until you feel his lips closing over your middle finger. You’re unable to stop the shiver as his tongue grazes against your trembling finger, his lips caressing your skin in his mouth.

Xavier desperately hopes you keep your eyes trained on his, and not the embarrassingly prominent tent under his thin robe, throbbing for your attention. His breath is hot as he pants against your finger, “...does this mean I’m a lost cause?”

You pull your hand away, unable to withstand the effect his lips enclosing in your fingers is having on your body, your thighs clenching together under your own robe and nightgown. 

“What should we do?” you murmur before softly clutching his shoulder, pulling him closer until you can whisper into his ear for a little hearing test. You let your lips graze his reddened earlobe, before whispering.

“Xavier.”

It comes out far more sultry and seductive than you’d originally intended, betraying your body’s true desires. Xavier apparently shares those same desires, because as he hears you gasp out his name his body has a visceral reaction. 

His heart pounds so rapidly he’s almost sure you’d be able to hear it, his muscled chest rising and falling in an irregular rhythm. His face looks almost anguished, fighting an internal war against himself. He glances towards you, his eyes dark with unbridled desire. 

“Oops. Looks like something broke,” you grin cheekily, thoroughly amused by his reaction, fueled with confidence. 

Xavier’s eyes are so dark they’re nearly black as they drink in the sight of your beautiful smile, as you sit with your knees up on the mattress. The next thing you know, Xavier’s is pushing you down, your back hitting the plush mattress and your robe fluttering open to reveal your flimsy nightdress. 

Xavier stands above you, before his hand comes down to grip the mattress beside your head, pinning you down. His eyes trail up your body, savoring every exposed centimeter of soft skin, before boring into your beautiful eyes. His body is pressed gently into yours, and you can very much make out just how excited he’s become. The area between your thighs moistens at the feeling of his arousal pressed into your stomach. 

“Your sensory test isn’t over yet,” he grunts, his face tortuously close to yours. His eyes are hooded dangerously, an imminent threat reflected in his ocean blue eyes. He leans forward, so close his torrid breath fans against your parted lips.

“Let’s do a taste test,” he murmurs, eyes shutting as he finally closes the distance between your lips in a toe-curling passionate embrace. His tongue prods at the seam of your lips, which you happily part to give him access. He moans into you as he indulges in how delicious you taste, quickly addicted to your soft and warm tongue against his. 

When he finally pulls away, he’s a complete and utter mess. His breath is uneasy and rapid, his body contorting with the rhythm of his pounding chest. His fingers have found their way into yours, effectively pinning you securely against the bed under his hard body. 

“Xavier…” you gasp, squeezing his fingers, “Even someone like you can lose your composure, huh?”

As your bodies heave together, Xavier takes thick and deep lungfuls of your scent, his face buried into your neck.

“One doesn’t need that much composure,” he groans before diving back into the crook of your neck, lips latching onto your pulse. 

As he holds you, gently suckling at your neck, you prod him, “What are you thinking of?”

Xavier hesitates, his lips hovering centimeters above your skin, before murmuring, “Something…indecent.”

You bite back your grin, thoroughly enjoying how needy he’s becoming. With his body still atop of yours, you bring your lips to his ear letting your wet lips stroke against his earlobe. 

“Xavier…” you purr, “Tell me what you’re thinking of.”

You can see Xavier’s neck throb with a thick gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing harshly. It’s then he decides he’s done playing games. 

He sits up eerily calmly, until he’s on his knees at your feet. His fingers trail down your bare thighs, to your calves, and to your feet. You squirm at his fleeting trail of touches, squeaky moans of anticipation slipping from your lips.

As his hands slide down your legs, he lifts your foot into his hands, fingers kneading your aching sole. You moan, your eyes squeezing shut at just how wonderfully Xavier knows your body, knows how to touch you. 

You’re so caught up in the feeling of his hands on your ankles that you don’t notice the way he cups your calf, raising your leg into the air as he caresses it. It’s not until the distinct feeling of his warm lips meet the bottom of your calf do your eyes screw open.

Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the sight before you, Xavier placing a feathery trail of kisses down your calf all the way to your foot. As he tenderly kisses your ankle, his eyes open to watch you with a hungry gaze. 

“The Protocore’s effects…I think we need a stronger test,” he mutters, his mouth rubbing against your ankle still. He sets your leg on his shoulder, gently spreading your thighs apart. 

You blush as your legs part, leaving little to imagination as Xavier situates himself between your legs, one propped on his muscled shoulder and one hooked above his forearm, “Xavier?”

He doesn’t respond, eyes trained on the glistening patch of dampness that adorns your panties. It takes all of him not to drool right over your half naked form right then and there. As his head lowers to kiss your thighs, you tremble at his proximity to your throbbing cunt that leaks with desire and arousal.

“I-Is this…strong enough?” you squeak, his tongue lapping slow circles around the areas his teeth graze. His fingers dig into the plush of your thighs as he indulges in the taste of your legs, eyeing the beautiful way your panties are creasing against the lips of your pussy. He can practically feel the heat coming off you and it makes him bite hard. 

You squeal, your back arching up and fingers reaching down to pull at his soft hair. It’s impossible not to enjoy the sharp graze of his canines and the contrastingly adoring caress of his tongue. Too distracted by the pleasure, you don’t feel the embarrassing slick dripping down your thighs.

But Xavier does.

He detaches his lips from your thighs, briefly admiring the handful of flowering red bruises littered against both your plush legs. 

“It’s…stronger. But this…” he trails off, and that’s when you feel his fingers hooking your soaked panties to the side. You yelp as his fingers languidly swipe at your folds, coating himself in your arousal and bringing it up to his mouth. 

You watch in a mixture of embarrassment and desire as he slips his fingers into his mouth, his tongue swirling around his digits and eyes shut in utter bliss. 

When his blonde lashes finally flutter open, his hazy pupils are dilated amongst the sea of azure, piercing into your own.

“This, I can taste,” he grins gently at you. It’s so effortlessly Xavier, yet something sinister lurks beneath his soft smile. Something that makes you shake to your very core.

You don’t have time to ponder the darkness behind his smile, because Xavier is gripping you by your hips, bringing the apex of your thighs to his waiting mouth, salivating at the beautiful sight of your exposed cunt. His eyes flit from your core to your eyes, your upper body propped up on your elbows as you watch his heated gaze devour you. 

“Please…” Xavier rasps, his voice guttural and desperate. The proximity of his face to your weeping cunt lets you feel his hot breath fan against your quivering pussy, “Please let me.”

You’re speechless, so you nod fervently, gripping his soft hair, pulling him impossibly closer. Xavier wastes no time, burying himself into you. You gasp, spine curling at the force of his demanding lips against your cunt.

You’d think Xavier had been starved for days, the way he latches onto your lips, his tongue eagerly lapping at your slit, savoring every drop of your sweet essence. You thrash at the unrelenting pleasure, as Xavier’s bruising grip holds you in place. 

“Let me enjoy you, please,” he groans, nose rubbing into your clit deliciously, “Who knows if I’ll ever be able to taste you again?”

You whimper at his filthy words, trying to stay still as he ravishes you with his skilled tongue. The lewd slurps and moans that come from him are enough to drive you to the edge of insanity, unable to contain your furious writhing. Xavier only digs his fingers harder into the plush of your thighs, doing his best to keep you in place.

Xavier moans into you, the vibrations of his pleasured sounds thrumming straight into your body. He doesn’t let a single droplet of your nectar go to waste, his tongue lapping diligently. There’s absolutely no shortage of it, as his pointed nose brushes against your clit, his tongue stroking sweetly into your lips. 

“You taste like heaven, Y/N,” Xavier moans into your folds. The vibrations of his filthy words send you reeling and you can barely hear him, only able to respond in the whiniest moans, too wrapped up in the pleasure his mouth so skillfully brings you. 

“Xavier!” you cry, toes digging into the ropes of muscles on his back.

You can vaguely feel one of Xavier’s hands abandon your thigh, moving to free his cock from under his loose robe. You can’t see much, but you can see the way his forearm jerks up and down, the veins in his arms bulging as he pleasures himself, fueled by the taste of you. 

“O-oh f-fuck!” you cry, your back arched, the soles of your feet pressing into Xavier’s back, “Xavier…p-please don’t – nngh – stop!”

Through your widely spread legs, you can see just how aroused Xavier is by your pleas. His fingers can barely wrap around his thick girth. They move up and down effortlessly, coated in his copious pre-cum. It honestly looked like he already came with just how much of his slick was smeared on himself. He’s so impossibly angry and red as he thrusts into his own fist, your tongue unconsciously licking your lips at the sight. 

You’re only snapped out of your mesmerized staring when his lips latch onto your clit, tongue lapping eagerly against the throbbing nub of nerves. His lips suckling at your clit, tongue stroking so sweetly, is just enough to have you coming completely undone all over Xavier’s face. 

You try to pull always as you feel the warm gush coming, but Xavier only holds you down harder with his arm wrapped around your thigh, his hands jerking up and down his leaking erection even more desperation. With nowhere to run, your body thrashes erratically in his forceful arm. Your back arches into the air, your head digging into the plush mattress, as you squirt over Xavier’s insistent tongue. 

You’re well into the depths of overstimulation, feebly pushing his head away, whispering brokenly, “X-Xavier. S’too much, please.”

But he can’t seem to hear you, too wrapped up in your taste, in you. Your body curls in a stinging pleasure as he continues to devour you, positively starved. 

The lewd slurps of his face in your wet thighs, your unabashed moans and cries of ecstasy, the taste of your release against his greedy tongue, and his forceful grip on his cock drive him to his own orgasm. 

He forces himself to pull away, his lips wet with your slick, your body collapsing but still slightly elevated with your calf thrown over his shoulder. With his position kneeling at your feet, your right leg still by his neck, his cock spurts right onto your quivering and overstimulated pussy. 

“H-holy,” Xavier groans breathlessly, hands still jerking himself up and down as rope after rope lands on your glistening cunt. His spend is so deliciously hot against your sensitive skin that you can’t stop the full body tremors that wrack your body. His copious streams of cum start to drip off your quivering cunt, pooling on the mattress beneath you.

Xavier leans forward, clutching your thigh as his body heaves with an overwhelming  satisfaction. His fingers dig into your already bruised thighs, his breath heavy and desperate. 

You want to giggle at his ruined state, stroking his back teasingly with your toes, your calf still resting on his shoulder. Your fingers reach for his ear to caress his cheek and tease him with your words from earlier, “So little composure. Adorable”

Xavier’s gaze, longing and soft, twitches. Before you know it, your back is flat against the bed once more, both your legs pressed against your chest. Your feet hang in the air above your head, Xavier’s heaving body pressed on top of you, something hard and wet pressing into your still trembling core.

Out of sheer surprise, you cry out, “X-Xavier?” Your hands instinctively come up to cup his face.

Xavier doesn’t speak, his eyes trained on your cunt as he runs his tip up and down your folds. When he finally looks up at you, there’s a dark almost feral look in the storm of his cerulean eyes. A look of unbridled animalistic heat. 

He bends down, his beautiful face dangerously close to yours as he smirks, “Isn’t this what you wanted, angel?” 

You shiver at his unusually edged words, eyes widening as you nod gently. Unable to deny the truth of his words. You knew it, and he knew it. You absolutely always wanted him, especially when he was this unhinged. 

Xavier smiles, it’s deceptively gentle as you can see the dangerous glint in his eyes, “I know, Y/N. So, please. Let me give it to you.” Though he begs, you can tell he’s not really asking. Not that you minded. You’d give him absolutely everything. 

So you nod, peering up at him through your eyelashes. Xavier smiles, finger stroking your cheek. With his other hand, he takes his cock, rubbing his cockhead into your sopping folds, smearing his cum messily around. He’d spurt so much milky seed onto your pussy that it quite literally felt like a bottle of lube had been squirted onto you. 

“You’re perfect,” he whispers. For a brief second, the bright light returns to Xavier’s eyes as he adoringly watches you, with so much affection in his azure eyes. It’s gone just as quickly as it comes, his cock splitting you apart as he thrusts into you. 

You cry out, unable to do anything but take him, your legs caged against both your bodies. The mating press he has you in is so mean, his hard strong body so imposing as he thrusts into you. It’s so easy for him to slide inside you, his cum on your skin even slicker than lube. 

Xavier’s breathy moans wash over you at every single mean thrust, his smoldering eyes never leaving yours as he ruts into you like a madman. A man positively starved. And only one thing could satisfy him. 

His hands press into the mattress beside your head, his entire body boxing you in, with only your thighs separating you. You wish he could hold you closer, press deeper into you, as deep as his cock was currently in your throbbing pussy. 

“X-Xav…” your squeal. The position he has you in gives him easy access to your most sensitive spots. Xavier only moans in response, not typically a man of many words when it comes to being buried in your guts. 

Which is why you’re surprised when he grits out, “Mine.”

You’re so surprised, mind so clouded with his massive girthy cock, that you gasp out, “W-What?”

Xavier’s smirk is faint, almost imperceptible, “You’re mine. I would never leave you.”

His pointed thrusts make you cry out in pleasure, losing your train of thought again. His smile grows more confident at your inability to speak, “Isn’t that what you told James? That your partner left you?”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, before realizing he's talking about the man you’d been flirting with for information at the protocore trade, “J-James? You – hnngh – y-you mean Henrik’s idiot – nngh – bodyguard?” 

Xavier drives into you with an even more mind-numbing intensity at the mention of another man. You can see his jaw twitches, his eyes swimming with shadowy emotions.

“What do you think he took you up to the sixth floor for?” he growls, uncharacteristically and darkly gruff, “For this?” 

To punctuate his point he slams his pelvis into your ass, the lewd pap sound of wet skin against wet skin deafeningly loud. 

“It’s too bad for him. You’re mine.” His words are a sweet threat, with no violence and all the passion in the world behind them.

The raw possession in his voice makes you approach your orgasm far too quickly. Your thighs shake uncontrollably at the strain, but even more so at the pleasure Xavier drives into your gummy walls. His cock is so thick that your body burns with pleasure as he stretches you to your limit, your walls sucking him tightly, unwilling to let go. 

Xavier moans at the unbelievably incredible feeling of your walls tightening against him, trying to wring him into you. Xavier’s thrusts become more erratic as he comes closer to his own release, and you’re desperate to cum with him, your orgasm impossibly iminent. 

You know just how to send him over the edge, as you take his jaw into your fingers, his chest pressed into the fat of your thighs as he folds you quite literally in half. Xavier looks surprised but lets his face be guided to yours, his eyes still holding glimmers of shadows held back by a thin shred of restraint. 

“Xavier,” you whisper, trying to keep your orgasm at bay so you can experience simultaneously with the blonde haired man deliciously rearranging your guts, “I’m yours, always.” 

Xavier’s eyes darken, his eyebrows furrowing, as his body responds to your sweet words. His thrusts are harder, rougher, and all the more forceful and demanding. He’s utterly desperate to feel you cum atop his cock, his beautiful girl. Entirely and completely his. 

“Yeah? Then cum for me, please.” His voice is a guttural growl, matching the animalistic intensity of his body pounding into yours. But he stutters just a bit, as you can practically feel the veins in his thick cock throbbing against your pulsing walls.

With Xavier’s intense eyes on yours, your body folded mind numbingly against his hard chiseled body, his filthy possessive words fanning across your lips, it’s impossible to keep your orgasm back any longer. 

You cum with a strangled cry of his name, your elbows bending so your fingers can furiously claw at the sheets by your head. Xavier moans out at how tightly your cunt grips him amidst your climax, absolutely forcing the orgasm out of him. 

You’re a moaning whining mess as Xavier fucks his seed into you. Even after his first orgasm, there’s so much cum, both inside and outside. The area where your bodies are joined is a sticky mess of cum and saliva.

Xavier is no better, the grunts and babbles streaming from his own mouth an absolute symphony to your ears.

“That’s it, love,” he rasps, “So good for me. Such a good girl. My good girl.”

You stroke Xavier’s soft blonde hair as his thrusts slow to an eventual stop. His softening cock is still in you, and you wince as you can vaguely feel it slipping out. Your hips scream in discomfort, your thighs still pressed firmly into your chest as Xavier gasps for air above you. 

You whimper as he shifts, and instantly Xavier is back to his usual soft self, fawning over you, “Are you okay?” It’s honestly insane how quickly he switches, because as his blue eyes search yours, you notice the darkness is gone. All that’s left is that starry glimmering sea of ultramarine, soft, concerned, and loving.

“H-heavy,” you whine, tapping at his thick shoulders. Xavier’s off of you in a flash, his soft cock slipping out as sits on his knees before you. He hovers over you, careful not to put any weight on you, as he brushes your tangled hair off  of your sweaty forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing along your flushed cheek, “Was I…Did I take it too far?”

“No, never,” you mumble happily, draping your arms over his neck. Through his gentle smile that could move the stars, you can see how exhausted Xavier is, but he continues to stroke circles into your skin. His hands reach down to massage your bruised thighs, hickeys littering every inch of you. The serene intimacy of the moment is enough to lull you towards sleep, despite the mess between your legs. 

–

You must’ve nodded off for a few minutes, because when you open your bleary eyes you see Xavier between your legs, carefully wiping the sticky mess away. 

“Xav, s’okay,” you whisper sleepily, stirring in his careful hands and barely able to string together complete sentences, “Clean tomorrow, sleep now.”

“It’s okay, angel,” he murmurs, his voice so warm and dreamy. He holds you gently in place as he continues to wipe you off, “Go back to sleep.”

Your eyes flutter closed at the feeling of his hands soothing your aching muscles, losing the fight against sleep, “You don’t feel tired?” 

Xavier chuckles, the sound meeting your ears even in your half-conscious state, “I can still feel. But I think I may need another…taste test.”

You can hear the mischief in his voice even if you’re too exhausted to open your eyes.

“Just sleep honey, let me take care of you.”

Something about the playful heat in his voice makes you doubt he’s just going to be cleaning you up with the warm towel he had in his hands. And the thought of that excites you beyond belief, even as you succumb to sleep. 

© aeyumicore 2024.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

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[hidingwhere]

Simon Riley who still has black marks and smudges over his eyes and face whenever he returns him from a mission.

You refuse to let him sleep on your bed until it’s off incase it rubs off onto your pillow cases. You sit on the counter in your bathroom, taking a warm flannel and wiping it over his eyes.

However, you have to resort to make up remover when it doesn’t budge with just the warm water. You’re scrubbing his face, trying to be gentle but also trying to remove the paint quickly as he’s basically falling asleep while standing up.

You keep having to tap his shoulder gently and say his name every few seconds whenever he sways forward slightly in exhaustion. His hands are resting on your waist, occasionally squeezing subconsciously.

Eventually, the black has pretty much gone. Only dark patches are visible and you’re confident it won’t rub off on your pillow so you let him finally go to bed. He groans from fatigue and latches onto you when you finally join him, falling asleep in seconds.

[lovebugism]

✶ ┄ HOLY GRAIL !

part one | part two

summary: in ancient rome, where survival is determined by the whims of a mad ruler, the empire's beloved general gives you – his first and only love – to the crazed emperor to ensure your safety. (6k)

pairing: marcus acacius / fem!reader, emperor geta / fem!reader

contents: established relationship, strangers to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of war and violence, mentions of sex work, swearing, smut 18+ (dubcon, m receiving oral, unprotected sex, cuckholding, exhibitionism) (this is a pretty dark fic so pls heed the warnings!!!)

Marcus Acacius was the name on the lips of a thousand fallen empires. His ledger ran a deep scarlet color, which dripped like proof from his sword. The war had destroyed the General over the years — had turned the man into an empty thing filled only by untamable ghosts. The relentless battle had wrung his boyhood from his body like a slow, merciless death. Any remaining innocence has since been replaced with violence.

Rome made a legacy of his grotesque evils, turned him into a saint. Marcus Acacius did not want to be a saint. He did not want to be angry; he did not want to be cruel. He only wanted to love and to be left alone with his tenderness. His mouth filled with blood instead.

You loved him like all doomed, grotesque things are meant to be loved. In the dark. In the shadows of war. In the depths of the soul.

“This is me,” he confesses, the great General Acacius, returning to you like a ghost to its haunt. “This is who I am.”

His golden armor is sullied from a victorious battle, tainted now with blotches of soil and dried blood that’s not his own. His dirtied, unholy fists tremble at his sides as he fights the urge to cross the threshold of your quarters to meet you. Marcus knows he doesn’t deserve to be held by you now. Not when he still wreaks of death.

He can still feel the breath of a fist on his bruised cheek, but the way his sword felt plunging through the beating heart of an enemy soldier plagues him most of all. 

“Love turned on me long ago— It is not a burden I compel you to carry.”

So, please, do not love me, he doesn’t say. I only know how to destroy you.

You smile at him, eyes soft with sympathy, and cross the threshold of longing with an admirable effortlessness. You cradle his weathered, war-torn face in your palms, willingly staining your delicate hands with the blood stained there.

“I love you despite. So I imagine I’ll carry it anyway,” you coo to him, gentle eyes locked firmly with his heavy ones. “And I’m certain you love me in return, regardless of what you think the siege has made of you.”

“There is naught I can do about it,” Marcus admits, words heavy with choked-back emotion. He melts into your touch but continues to deny himself the want to hold you back. “Not while I still oversee this campaign. Not while there is a war to be won—”

“We love each other, don’t we?” you interject, pleading eyes searching for emotion behind his dark, stoic gaze. Marcus swallows hard. His scruffy chin scrapes your palm as he nods once in response. You grin and say the unforgiving truth out loud. “So fuck the war.”

You pull him down by his face to press a kiss to his unclean lips. Marcus rests his shaking hands over your waist and lets you build cathedrals in his mouth with your tongue. The blood in his teeth turns to holy water. 

Marcus long understood that bringing you to the city would be his last act of love.

Keeping you in the heart of Rome was the only way he could ensure your safety, with the surrounding towns still under merciless siege. The people there were docile, and loyal most of all to the General who had won them a thousand wars. They would not hurt you because it was not in their kind too, and because they feared General Acacius’ wrath as much as they respected his mercy.

This was known to everyone in Rome except its Emperors.

Geta and Caracalla ruled together following their father’s untimely demise but shared not a brain between them. They were boys, after all, the oldest being hardly two-and-twenty –– it was in their nature to talk more than they listened, and to pretend as if they knew the world despite never leaving the city walls. 

They were as cruel and as stupid as anyone who wished to rule an empire would be.

But the two of them relied heavily on their General to keep the restless public at ease. It made it easier for Marcus to bring you with him, knowing he had the trust of the most powerful men in Rome. He knew Geta kept meticulous care of his most precious gifts — all Marcus had to do was get you there, really, and the Emperors would do the rest for him. 

It was simple, but it was not easy; though he imagines no war ever has been or would be. Both of you had survived, yes, but neither of you had been spared. Bringing you here was a testament to that, which you seemingly could not comprehend. You were as soft and green as the countryside he plucked you from, too naive for politics.

Marcus tells himself that this was the merciful decision, anyway, as he gives you a tour of Caracalla’s labyrinthine gardens — the place farthest from the feasting hall where the noblemen dined. Hidden behind climbing leaves, free from prying eyes.

“I can’t imagine why you would be so apprehensive in bringing me here. It’s beautiful,” you marvel aloud as you walk ahead of the man guiding you. 

Your sandals pad faintly along the cobbled trail as you skim your palm over the bed of blooming roses. The petals feel like silk against your skin. You pluck one from the soil, careful to avoid its thorns, and hold it up to your nose. You turn to face Marcus with the crimson flower resting on your cupid’s bow.

“And it smells better, too,” you quip softly, tilting your head to your shoulder as you smirk behind the budding rose.

Marcus just barely manages to bite back his own grin until you reach out for him, tapping the delicate flower against the bridge of his strong nose. He exhales hard through his nostrils in place of a laugh.

Your giggling comes carried on the breath of a warm summer breeze — a symphony of salty ocean, dainty florals, and the pretty oils you’d bathed in. The wind billows through your thin, white gown and creates music with rustling leaves. You squint one eye when the setting sun peeks through the swishing tree limbs, bathing you in a golden-hour aura. 

You’re as beautiful as sin. Sweeter than death. Smiling at him like this is the beginning of something that died the moment you entered the city walls.

Marcus clears throat and gently guides your hand away. His cautious eyes flit around the vacant garden. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder, you find, despite being the strongest man in all of Rome. You feel safest at his side, so you don’t know why he always looks so frightened.

“I know you are drunk on youth and immortality, petal, but we cannot get ahead of ourselves,” he advises, all stiff and stern, though the term of endearment spills effortlessly from his mouth. “We’re in the city now. So we must play the part. Like we discussed.”

He speaks to you with an unintentional sort of vagueness that makes you bow your head like a scolded child. Your arm falls limp at your side. A scarlet petal slips from its stem and hits the unforgiving stone.

“I know,” you murmur with a poorly hidden frown that conveys otherwise. Your sheepish gaze flits from the ground to Marcus’ unwavering stare and to the ground again. “I just thought— whenever we were alone, that we might—”

“We aren’t alone. We must behave as though the city is full of eyes. Understand?”

“I can’t,” you confess, peering up at the General from beneath your lashes. 

Marcus’ chest stings, like the fiery sun blazing his newly-fashioned armor. “What do you mean you can’t?” he bites emotionlessly.

He looks like a corrupt sort of angel in this light, unnaturally handsome and hopelessly wartorn. He was as hard as the earth below your feet — a statue made of clay, iron, and marble — cold to the touch and melting only for you. 

His heavy eyes were so brown they looked almost black, and they shone with a perpetual sort of gloom. His gaze swam with the prophetic darkness of a man who’s seen too much, though you often felt like you could drown in its void. For a man so adept at killing, he looked at you with a remarkable softness.

It wasn’t as shallow as physical desire. It was something far more cruel. You wanted Marcus Acacius the same way flesh wanted to knit itself together over a healing wound. It was simply in your nature to love him. 

“I mean, it’s impossible,” you ramble with a concerned furrow to your brow. Your grip on the flower’s papery stem tightens until the bulb rattles with the force. “How am I to be here with you but not touch you? That’s like asking the seasons not to change— It’s unnatural, and it’s cruel—”

Marcus swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His hands begin to ache with the urge to touch you. He balls them into fists instead.

“It’s the only way I know to keep you safe!” he confesses, words sounding heavy in his mouth. His eyes flit across the garden in a paranoid search of something that isn’t there. “Emperor Geta will take care of you. I know he will. And his brother is a half-wit, but he is kind when he wishes. He’ll take a liking to you, I’m sure of it—”

You interject his anxious rambling with a stubborn shake of your head.

“I can’t be someone else’s,” you murmur, voice as wet as the tears glittering in your wide-eyed gaze. “I don’t know how.”

“You will learn,” Marcus tells you with an emotionless stare. Not because he’s sure you will, but because he knows you have to. “For me.”

Your pretty features swirl with anguish. “Marcus…” you whisper his name in a feeble whimper caught in your throat.

He does not soften at your emotion like you’re used to. He’s practiced apathy for so long that it comes naturally to him now. He bites his tongue to keep from kissing you and lets the blood stain his teeth all over again.

“If not for your own sake, then for mine. The Emperors would have my head if they understood the pretenses I brought you under.”

You flinch at his words, perhaps finally understanding the weight of the unforgiving world in which you live. The surest example of such cruelty stands before you now, in the only man you ever loved now using your purest devotion as a means to keep you pliant. But your anger for the merciless arrangement is long eclipsed by your yearning.

“Then I will,” you tell him, rigid with a glacial disposition Marcus hasn’t seen before now.

The choices here were few. Either you were slaughtered outside the city walls by soldiers and pillagers, or you were slaughtered within them — in the metaphorical sense that burns physically in your chest now. 

Being without Marcus feels like a fate worse than death, but you want him so desperately to live. So much so that you’ll fall on the sword of your longing and bleed out at his feet. Knowing that you’re under the same sky would have to be enough for you. 

You can’t tell which it is — sacrifice or self-slaughter — but Marcus knows it isn’t as poetic as all that. 

Death is death.

Emperor Geta staggers drunkenly down the spiral stone steps of the west wing of his castle. The path to his chambers is illuminated by several dwindling torches hung along the brick walls. The subtle squeaking of his leather sandals sounds much louder in the quiet — filled only by crackling flames, a distant dripping noise, and the song he slurs under his breath. 

The latter ceases suddenly when he stumbles to a stop at the sight of General Acacius. The man stands like a statue outside his bedroom door — arms crossed behind his back, old spine perfectly straight — like the obedient guard dog he is. 

The thought makes the Emperor’s lips curl into a crooked smile. “What are you doing here, dog?” he calls to the General as he approaches him, voice echoing down the soulless corridor.

“Your nameday present, your majesty—” Marcus answers and tries not to make a face when the Emperor stands before him. The bittersweet scent of wine stains his breath, overwhelmingly so. Geta was never one to practice temperance. “—I was told to see that you got it.”

The younger man hesitates. “From my uncle?” he wonders aloud.

Marcus nods wordlessly in response.

Geta pauses for a moment. His wide, glassy eyes flit over the General’s shoulder to the arched doorway behind him. His stomach swirls at the thought of what may lie inside. The last nameday present his uncle sent from overseas was a monkey his younger brother has grown much too attached to.

“Well… What is it?”

Marcus swallows hard and steps aside. “Look inside, your majesty.”

Geta takes a deep breath in and swings the creaking door open. His bedroom is lush with crimson silk and golden candlelight, familiarly fragranced with cinnamon and sweet myrrh. It’s accompanied by something foreignly floral, a feminine rosy-lavender that catches his attention before his eyes ever find you.

He steps through the threshold and finds a strange girl standing by the window, before a platter of fruit and wine — bathed half in the silver beams of a full moon, and half in flickering orange flames. 

White silk adorns your frame, so delicate it’s nearly see-through. One of your shoulders is mouthwateringly bare, and there’s a slit in the fabric that rises to your hip. You look as pure as a dove, though you’re so obviously built for sin.

The ground sways beneath Geta’s unsteady feet.

You crunch audibly into an apple before you realize anyone’s there. The juice runs down your chin before you swipe it away with the back of your hand. Only then do your eyes lock with the Emperor’s, who seems equally stunned to see you there. You tense and say nothing as you hide the bitten fruit behind your back.

“It’s a woman,” Geta observes to no one in particular, though his dark eyes have not yet wavered from yours.

Marcus stands behind him and nods — hands still clasped behind his back, heart still pounding against his ribcage. “Yes, your majesty. In plain terms.”

“Well,” the Emperor glances over his shoulder. “What does she do?”

“Whatever you want,” the General answers, though the words taste like vinegar on his tongue. He swallows the bitterness down like bile and leers at you, looking upon his lover as though she were a stranger. “You need only ask.”

Geta, satisfied by his answer, turns back to you. His initial surprise has ebbed into something more pleased, diabolically so. His pink lips curl into a sneer as he walks slowly towards you, eyeing you up and down with curious eyes — a predator stalking its prey.

“Is that true?” he asks you, voice ringing through the quiet room. “Or is he confusing you for a dutiful hound?”

“A dutiful whore, your majesty,” you correct with an acquiescent smile, following the story as Marcus intended. 

The half-truth comes easily to you. Not a lie exactly, but not the whole tale either. You’d spent many of your years working in a brothel on the outskirts of Rome. You were a young woman, unmarried, without family or viable prospects — whoring seemed the most obvious decision then, though it feels so long ago now. 

You’d waited your whole life for something, for Marcus, though you hadn’t expected it to kill you when you found it. You won’t die a saint if the crazed Emperor decides to take your head, but perhaps you could be a martyr. Perhaps that’ll be enough.

Fear beats through your body like a second heart, but your eyes never waver from the Emperor’s. It’s easiest to meet his gaze. He feels more like a human that way. 

There are flecks of gold in his dark eyes, and dark strands in his gold hair. He’s got stubble on his long neck, spots on his broad nose, and wrinkles on his forehead. Not quite as perfect as the pristine white-gold armor would let on.

His eyes flit down your form once more. Something sparks in the deep brown of them, a flicker of silent realization. He spins suddenly on the heel of his sandal to flash Marcus an accusatory glare.

“Is she your whore, General?” he lilts into the heavy silence. His brows raise when he receives no answer from the man across the room. “The question was not rhetorical, Acacius.”

“No, your majesty. She is not mine,” Marcus answers, then clears his throat when the words get stuck there. It’s like he’s plunging a knife through his own heart. He can feel the cold sting of the sharpened blade and the burn of the blood on his skin. “Though, I don’t believe whores belong to anyone.”

A boyish chuckle spills from the Emperor’s mouth. “No. They don’t,” he says with an airy giddiness. “Not before now, anyway—”

Geta spins back again, pleated skirt fanning around his pale thighs. His smile fades with an eerie swiftness. “What are you waiting for? Undress,” he commands with a wave of his ringed hand.

Your wide eyes flit instinctively past him to Marcus, who still idles in the doorway. Only then does he realize how long he’s been staring at you. He forces himself to glance off in another direction, but his gaze keeps finding yours — like a magnet, or a planet with its own gravitational pull.

Your eyes lock, and the only thing you hear is each other, though neither of you has spoken a word. This is the only way, you hear his voice in your head as clearly as your own. This is the only way to stay together. The only way to survive.

Geta mistakes your fear.

“Don’t worry about him, little dove,” he coos, and taps the bottom of your chin with his fingers — as soft and petaled as your own. He smiles when your attention turns to him again, speaking loud enough for the General to hear. “He’s only the guard dog. And good boys get scraps, don’t they, Acacius?”

Marcus’ face screws like he’s tasted something sour. He’s grateful the Emperor isn’t looking at him to see it. “They do, your majesty,” he monotones.

“So you will watch. And report to my uncle how his lovely present fared,” he calls to the older man, though his eyes remain locked with yours. You tense when his pale hand reaches suddenly for your face. He holds your cheeks in his fingers until your lips jut in a soft pout. “Let’s hope I don’t have to send him back your head, little dove.”

He says it with an absentminded effortlessness, as though it’s something he’s done before. 

Still, you manage a small smile and blink up at him with innocent eyes. “What good is a dead whore, your majesty?” you quip.

Geta’s grin widens.  “Precisely. Now undress.”

You reach for the singular sleeve of your slip with trembling fingers. Your right hand sweeps across your left shoulder, skin blazing with fear and anticipation. The fabric trails down down down your arm before falling to your feet in a puddle of milky white silk. Your bare body glows silver and gold between moonlight and flame. 

Goosebumps pebble over your skin despite the humid summer night as Geta circles you like prey. His eyes trail slowly down your form in time with his rhythmic steps. The sound of his sandals scrapping the stone floor, crackling candlelight, and subdued breathing are the only sounds in the quiet room for several long moments.

The Emperor disappears behind you, and you forget how to breathe. Your wide, wet eyes find Marcus once more — pleading, though for what, you cannot say. His face reveals nothing but wrath burns in his gaze.

Geta reappears at your right side. You smell grape wine on his breath when he nears you, breathing heavily through his mouth as he reaches out to touch you. His ringed hands smooth over your collarbone. Your breath catches in your throat. He smiles as though your fright pleases him.

“You’re skittish for a whore,” he muses, playful in a way that makes your stomach wrench. “Are you sure the General didn’t bring me a virgin?”

You swallow hard as his hand trails down your body. Over the swell of your breast, skimming his thumb over your taut nipple, before tracing the expanse of your ribs. His fingers run down your stomach and past the thatch of hair between your legs. They dip finally between your thighs. 

Geta hums a faint moan at the velvet feeling of your pussy. The way your lips part for his fingers, silky skin warm and wet to the touch. 

“I’m whatever you want me to be, your majesty,” you answer, breathing hard through your nose when he pulls his hand away — a warmth you find yourself begrudgingly grieving.

“I need only ask…” the Emperor coos, running his middle and pointer finger over your bottom lip. They shine with the honey you leak despite yourself. Your mouth parts, and he rests the pads of them on your tongue. “…Do I not?”

You nod wordlessly through the salty fingers in your mouth, trying to imagine their Marcus’.

Geta smiles when he parts from you. “Undress me,” he demands. 

You work at his tricky armor with nervous hands and bated breath. 

You unclasp his cape first. The white fabric, now free from its chain, falls heavily to the floor behind him. Your fingers have gone noticeably clammy as they struggle with the sleeves of his tunic. It takes you a beat too long to loosen the laces at his shoulders. The cloth falls finally and puddles around his feet, leaving his lean body on display before you.

His torso is lean and mostly hairless, save for splotches of chestnut on his sternum and stomach. His skin is smooth and flushed from the alcohol. His stomach is slim but noticeably full. The Emperor is well-taken care of, though his subjects outside the keep suffer from the consequences of war.

Your trembling fingers curl around the hem of his loincloth. His pale skin is warm to the touch, boiling with desire while you freeze over with fear. You crouch before him as you drag the garment down his scruffy thighs. You hear Geta sigh above you when his half-hard cock meets the cool summer night air. 

He’s paler there compared to the rest of his golden body, though the mushroom tip glows a faint strawberry-red color. A vein trails in jagged lines to the base of his heavy cock, fading as it reaches the thatch of dark blonde hair at his pubic bone. He’s not nearly as thick as Marcus, though not many people could hope to be — but he is long and thin and soft like velvet.

“How do I look?” Geta wonders as he steps out of his loincloth. He tilts his chin to his chest to peer down at you, on your knees to untie the intricate laces of his sandals. You blink up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. “Without my armor,” he adds, then repeats. “How do I look?”

You realize, then, that he wants your praise. Though you’re unsure why, you’re not in any position to deny him of it. “You’re a— a very handsome man, your majesty,” you respond cautiously, with a wavering smile.

You hear his breath catch at the compliment. The corner of his mouth flickers upward, and his nostril flares as he takes a deep breath in. 

“Well, go on, then,” he insists suddenly, nodding his head to egg you onward. “Good whores don’t keep their masters waiting, do they? You don’t want to see me impatient, little dove.”

You wrap his stiff cock in a tentative fist, averting your gaze as you give an experimental kitten lick to the bulbous, strawberry tip. Your tongue swipes away the pearlescent pre-cum beading there. The salty tang is foreign on your tongue, sweeter and thicker than you’re used to.

You imagine your lover when you take the Emperor’s cock in your mouth. A practiced form of dissociation that comes naturally to you now. 

You focus on the way the stone floor digs into your knees as you cup his balls in your hand — a desperate attempt to finish him quickly. Geta shudders when you swallow him whole, burying your nose in the coarse thatch of hair at the base of his cock. His head tips back as he groans at the ceiling.

“You are a proper whore…” the Emperor moans with a delirious smile. He tilts his flushed cheek to his freckled shoulder to sneer at Marcus, then frowns when his eyes meet the back of him. “Are you distracted, General?”

The man keeps his back turned and his eyes trained on the wall, counting the bricks there to distract his racing mind. His mouth snarls at the Emperor’s words. His hands ball into fists as he fights to keep his composure.

“Just giving you your privacy, your majesty.”

“Nonsense!” Geta laughs, loud. “You should watch! You should observe— so you know what to tell my uncle.”

Marcus can hear the mischievous lilt in the younger boy’s voice. Like it’s all just a game to him. Like you’re just a whore to be played with, and like Marcus’ only hope of companionship is warfare. Both might’ve been true once, but not since you find each other.

The general smacks his lips against his teeth. “As you wish,” he deadpans and spins on the heel of his sandal.

He’s strangely grateful to find the Emperor’s body obscuring your own. Geta’s lean, pale form towers over your kneeling one — back muscles flexing, hips thrusting, fingers knitting in your hair.

But Marcus can still hear the sounds of your mouth on the other man’s cock. The room fills with heavy breathing, wet noises, and the Emperor’s unabashed whines. Embers of envy burn in the General’s empty chest. A wildfire of want and wrath rages behind his ribcage.

You swallow with Geta’s cock in your throat and squeeze softly at his balls. You hear his breath hitch just before a lengthy moan spills from his parted mouth. Several loads of salty cum spit down your throat a second later. The man shows you little mercy as he holds you by your hair, keeping your nose pressed to his pubic bone. You take shallow breaths through your nose and try not to choke.

You pull off of him when he lets you go. A string of saliva threatens to keep you connected. You take a deep breath in and swipe at your swollen mouth with the back of your hand, staying on your knees while the Emperor tilts his head back. He exhales a breathy laugh of relief at the ceiling. You peer up at him with wide, wet eyes, still so uncertain of your fate.

“Proper whore, indeed,” Geta muses, almost to himself, as he drops his heavy head once more. 

His flushed chest sparkles with a foreign feeling at the sight of you beneath him — eyes teary and fearful, lips swollen and rosy, features flushed with sweat and sex. His cock jerks, still sensitive but threatening to harden again. He grips himself with a loose fist.

“On the bed,” he instructs suddenly, then grins madly at your shock. “You didn’t think I was done with you, surely. Not until I mount you like a mare, anyway— Treat you like the bitch in heat you are…”

Geta cups your warm cheek in his free hand. His touch is strangely gentle as he cradles you there, right before he smacks gently at your jaw to urge you upward. 

Your bare feet pad towards the bed, then. Geta swats your ass as you go and laughs when you squeak in response. You fight the urge to look at Marcus, lest you see the rage burning in his eyes — lest he see the heartbreak swimming in yours. 

Marcus watches you crawl over the silken sheets, both of you sporting similar far-off gazes. He feels a bit like a ghost now. An empty, invisible thing, doomed to watch the rest of the world go on without ever being able to live in it. It’s dreadfully symbolic of how he’s lived most of his life, and how he’s spent the years loving you. Because even if a ghost is full of love, the only thing it knows to do is haunt.

The silk pillow feels cool under your burning cheek. The mattress dips under the Emperor’s weight when he kneels behind you. His ringed fingers smooth over your ass and down the arch of your back. He treats you with an uncharacteristic sort of tenderness, as though he were molding you out of clay.

“You are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” he whispers under his breath. “And timid, too… I like that…” 

Your pussy clenches at his words despite yourself. Geta’s chest swells with pride accordingly. “You don’t have to be scared, little dove. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Despite his words, he does not bother to ready you for his cock when he positions himself at your pulsing entrance. You hadn’t expected him to, of course — not many men were as kind as Marcus in that way, who often treated your pleasure as if it were his own. But the slick sticking to your thighs has made your pussy more than pliant. Your velvet walls swallow Geta’s cock with a pulsing vigor.

The Emperor groans as he fucks into you, savoring every inch as he buries himself to the hilt. His ringed fingers dig into the plush of your waist, as though you were a toy he didn’t want getting snatched away.

“Look at the hound!” Geta giggles boyishly to himself. “He’s itching for a feel of you— I just know it.”

Marcus remains as still and stoic as the battalion trained him to be. He reveals nothing on his face, though his skin prickles with flames of envy beneath his armor. 

Marcus Acacius was not a jealous man. His love for you was a testament to that. He visited the brothel you boarded in and spared the same coins as every man in the establishment did. But it was different now. Because the Emperor does not deserve you, and he forces Marcus to watch as if he knows it, too.

Something within him seethes, like a feral animal trapped behind his ribcage, desperately clawing its way out.

“Look at him,” Geta snaps when he sees you staring at the wall, eyes glassy and glazed over. He’s grinning all over again when your gaze snaps to Marcus’. 

The soldier’s weathered eyes burn with tears then. General Acacius has faced death a thousand times over, but it wasn’t quite as heartwrenching as this. His wrath simmers to a boil. He swallows it down like fire.

This is her salvation, he tells himself. This is how she survives.

Your features twist with the anguish of being seen as the Emperor lays himself over your back. His slick chest sits flush with your spine, pinning you to the mattress. “I bet he can taste you now. Smell you,” he murmurs in your ear, chapped mouth brushing the shell of it. “His mouth is salivating at the thought of putting his tongue on you— Isn’t it, dog?”

Marcus swallows through the emotion threatening to strangle him. He blinks away stinging tears and feigns an air of nonchalance. “It would be… impolite to talk so brashly about something that doesn’t belong to me, your majesty,” the General responds. Obedient. Loyal like a hound.

Geta grins wide. “Good answer, Acacius.”

When the Emperor finally fucks into you, it’s with a sloppy sort of precision. There is no rhythm or care to his thrusts. He is led only by his blinding pleasure, like a man who has only ever fucked playthings and his own fist. He props himself on one forearm and curls the other beneath you, holding your breast in his ringed hand.

Geta’s flushed cheek presses against your own while he slides in and out and into you again. You hear his groaning as you feel it rumbling in his chest, still laid against your back. You stare at a framed portrait on the wall across the room and wait for it to be over, even as your body refuses to dismiss its simmering orgasm.

Your swollen clit ruts against the silk sheets with each of the Emperor’s sloppy thrusts. You can feel a wet spot forming beneath you, and your stomach twists at the thought of seeing proof of your own pleasure. 

His balls smack your leaking cunt, creating a symphony of lewd noises — moaning, whimpering, clapping, smacking. Marcus thinks the sounds of war were more merciful than this.

“Do you understand what that means, little dove?” Geta croons into your ear, words choppy through his labored breaths and irregular thrusts. “You belong— to me now… So whatever you used to be— whoever’s you used to be— no longer matters.”

He thrusts once, hard, and shudders above you with a choked-back groan. You grit your teeth to swallow down your own noises of pleasure. The assault on your clit, though unintentional, is still yet relentless. You feel the distant white-hot burning feeling begin to swell in the pit of your stomach. A coil about to snap.

“Fucking me— Making me feel good—” the Emperor pants, punctuated by his hips against your ass. “—Is your only duty now. Understand?”

You nod, cheek running over the silk cushion as you grip it in your fists. “Yes, your majesty,” you gasp.

Geta presses his smile to the apple of your cheek. He can feel you leaking around him. You’re enjoying this just as much as he is, to be sure. A proper whore, indeed.

“Now… Take my spend like a good bitch, and thank me for it—”

He fucks you harder, and your face twists with a pleasure you’re too weak to fight away. 

Your gaze falls instinctively to Marcus as your orgasm threatens to swallow you whole. Your eyes squeeze shut in a feeble attempt to hide. Your mouth parts with a silent moan as you cum around the Emperor’s cock.

“Thank you, your majesty,” you whimper obediently into the pillow as you tremble beneath him. “Thank you.”

Geta buries a whine in your neck when he cums again. He gives you only two pitiful, warm loads but still possesses more stamina than your Marcus. He stills, then shudders, then rests his unforgiving bodyweight on top of you when pleasure makes a puddle of him. And of you, you assume, as a mixture of your spend leaks out of your cunt and onto the sheets.

“Write to my uncle, Acacius—” Geta slurs into your skin, heavy through labored pants. “—A thank you for my nameday present.”

Marcus forgets, until then, that he can still be seen. He felt more akin to a corpse hidden in the walls, forced to spend his afterlife in a merciless purgatory. His heart has stopped beating, frozen over, and now sits dead in his chest. He will never be as gentle as he was with you. He will be bloodied knuckles and pulsing wounds. Rough and cruel and angry.

“Yes, your majesty,” the General nods, thankful that it’s over now.

Geta rolls off of your body and onto the empty spot beside you — not shy about his nude form or yours. The sudden lack of warmth makes you shiver. 

“And tell him to send another— To keep the General’s bed warm, too,” he says, patting your ass with his palm before smoothing tenderly over the skin. “One whore’s as good as any other, I’m sure.”

Marcus flinches at the thought of being with anyone other than you. He couldn’t hide the look of disgust if he tried. It makes the Emperor laugh loudly in response.

“Oh, did you— Did you want to try this one?” Geta muses knowingly, pointing to your limp body, still trembling beside him with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“No. No, no, no— See, this one’s mine,” he corrects the General as if he were a child. “And it would be impolite to touch something that belongs to me, would it not? It would be treasonous, even.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Marcus nods, lip flickering in a mere hint of a smirk as his plan finally comes to fruition. “It would be.”

The Emperor sees you now as his property, and no one hurts what belongs to him without meeting a certain death. Marcus is comforted only by the thought that nothing can touch you now. Not even him. But perhaps that’s the price he pays for love. Perhaps, in the end, love is grief.

“So best tread lightly, Acacius,” Geta warns with a crooked smile, petting you like a dog. “I’d hate for someone to get hurt.”

[theglassofmiddleearth]

Imagine Being Isekai'ed into KPOP DEMON HUNTERS. (Part 1)

The plane was late. The girls weren’t here and Bobby was freaking out. The crowd gathered outside the arena was rising into a crescendo, in raw anticipation. The tension was palpable, it was as if the energy was fizzling from the fans into the very ground of the stadium.

‘Everyone ready? Lets look alive!’ The man with medium length hair spun around, pointing at everyone, checking on progress. Bobby, the manager of Huntr/x frantically flitted around, looking absolutely frazzled.

‘Okay, ready? Yeah, we’re ready. But where are the girls?’ He frowned, turning around to Y/N. The girl in return, shrugged, her eyes glued into her notebook. She was writing a new song. One just in case Huntr/x decided to do another comeback early. The girl group was known for being random with their timings. This meant it make Y/N's job that much harder.

‘Check their location.' She sighed before looking up.

'Although, it isn't exactly unlike them to be late.’ Y/N shrugged, flicking back through her little black notebook. She wrinkled her nose, slightly concerned for the group's well being.

Y/N knew their little secret, for she was their trump card. You see, Y/N was the ghost writer. The one who made sure all the songs went viral, ensuring that the honmoon remained steadfast in its hold. It wasn't an easy job seeing as the songs had to chart well and actually be enjoyable. However, the girls did have great voices so that made it slightly easier.

‘It shows their plane veering off course?’ Bobby flipped his phone around, shoving it above Y/N’s notebook.

The girl looked up and gave a sly grin.

‘Start the music, they’ll arrive.’

Like comets raining down, the three managed to make it onto stage, half way through the song. Y/N looked out into the cheering crowd from behind the curtains, narrowing her eyes at the thin lines rippling with light. Tonight’s concert would be enough. Just enough to keep the shield up. It would hold until their next comeback after this concert. Right?

--

‘Did we just see gold?’ 

‘Ah! I can’t believe we’re doing it!’

‘It’s so exciting!’

The three cheered, shaking each other in sheer joy.

‘This means we can release our song soon and turn the honmoon gold!’ Rumi cheered.

Y/N gritted her teeth, slightly resentful. It was her song. She was the one who wrote it, slaved over it for weeks to make sure it sounded perfect for the girls.

‘It’s finally time!’ Mira exclaimed

‘Wooo!’ Rumi cheered until her voice suddenly cracked, her cheer suddenly muted. ‘Whoa that was weird.’

‘Do you need some water?’ Y/N mumbled, as the elevator doors opened.

‘Did someone say water?’ Bobby grinned, before gesturing frantically and calling out. ‘Water. Now!’

Y/N sighed, walking out from behind the group, watching how they all were showered in praise. Praise that never seemed to be shared with Y/N. It wasn't as if she was asking for all the credit, however it would be nice to hear a thank you once in a while.

‘What a way to end the world tour! And that guy in the finale who exploded confetti?’

‘Amazing special effects.’ Y/N cut in briskly, side eyeing Mira who returned her glance with a slightly panicked one.

‘Yeah it was super chill. Amazing song writing by the way Y/N.’ He added almost as a sidenote.

Y/N sighed and began to zone out. She didn’t need to be there anymore. It was time to go home whilst the girls decided what to do. Y/N had finished writing Golden two weeks before and Huntr/x had already recorded the song, meaning Y/N could rest. It would be a long time since Y/N was able to go home and get a full nights rest instead of being in the studio, mixing and mastering a new song for Huntr/x.

She trudged her way onto the dark streets where her own penthouse apartment resided. It was one of the perks for owning royalty on all the songs of Huntr/x. At least Y/N had been smart enough to invest in the shares of the company with her money. At this rate? She wouldn’t have to work for the next fifty years if she wanted to. Her retirement was set.

The streetlamps left much to the imagination, however, Y/N was too tired to be wary. The streets here were safe. It was a rich neighbourhood anyways. 

Y/N’s phone pinged.

Golden was being released in an hour.

Well that wasn't the plan. But then, did the girls ever tell her of any plans they had? She gritted her teeth, looking at the notification on her phone.

Was it wrong for her to feel slightly resentful? She could see the lines. She could see what the other girls could see, but she couldn’t harness the spiritual power to create a weapon. Y/N was an anomaly. A failure of a hunter.

She scrolled the comments, phone tightening in her hand as she read through each one. The praise was lavished onto the girls. Mira, Zoey and Rumi. Nothing mentioned her, the song writer, the producer. The reason Huntr/x even had songs to sing.

‘You’re looking awfully tense.’ A smooth, plush, voice noted.

Y/N whipped around, brandishing her phone into the shadows.

‘Who’s there?’ She snarled, eyes darting between the flickering streetlights.

‘Don’t be afraid. This won’t hurt one bit.’ Another voice snickered.

…

A pause.

Then another.

Then ten seconds had passed.

‘Um, what?’ The first voice sounded confused.

‘What am I supposed to be waiting for?’ Y/N shifted her posture, now feeling more confident.

‘Your soul. We were meant to take your soul.’ A deep voice muttered, as five boys stalked out of the shadows separately.

‘What the f-’

‘Who are you?’ The one with black hair, took point, walking towards her with a hungry glint.

‘My mother taught me not to tell my name to strangers.’ She snipped back, studying the new figures walking towards her. They were otherworldly in beauty. Jaws chiselled, faces unblemished and fair.

A flash of purple, jagged lines across skin.

‘You’re demons.’ Y/N deadpanned, facepalming. ‘No wonder you’re all so damn pretty.’

The one with pink long hair and heart shaped bangs snickered, sidling up to her. ‘You think we’re pretty?’ He gave a sickly sweet grin, reaching toward her chin.

‘Don’t get ahead of yourself asshat.’ Y/N slapped away his hand. ‘I’m actually not into pretty boys so don’t even try.’ Her body was tight, poised to jump at any time. Even if she couldn't harness the spirit power, she could fight just as well as the rest of the hunters.

‘Maybe she's more into guys like me.’ The one on her left spoke up, shifting into her line of sight.

Y/N’s eyes traced over the muscled man, her eyes lingering on his revealed abdomen as he stretched.

‘Huh, gym rats. Also not my type.’ She shook her head, turning to leave. ‘I’m not into conventionally attractive men. I don’t share.’ 

‘Who says you have to share?’ 

Y/N jumped slightly, surprised by the man with black hair standing now in front of her.

‘We know you write all of Huntr/x’s songs. It’s how they're so popular.’ The one with purple hair, wrapped an arm around Y/N's shoulder.

‘Don’t touch me.’ She brushed him off, backing away into a wall.

‘Yeah?’ The wall replied.

‘Huh?’ Y/N turned around, only to be met by a wall of solid muscle. ‘OKAY STOP.’ She whisper-yelled. ‘What do you guys want from me? I don’t carry cash.’

'What? We don' want your money.' The one with blue hair chuckled, leaning on a lamp post.

'We want something more valuable.' The tallest said, flicking away his pink bangs.

'And that is?' Y/N narrowed her eyes, suspicious of the group of strange yet alluring men.

‘Write for us. We need a debut single in three days.’ The one who looked like the leader gave a wicked smile.

‘What makes you think I would do that?’ Y/N crossed her arms, tilting her head in a question.

‘Because we can give you what you want. Fame, recognition, power.’ 

'Who says-' Y/N began before falling to her knees, clutching her head.

Unbeknownst to her, the boys hurriedly gathered around her as she fell, the closest catching her before she collapsed on her side.

The outside world was suddenly cut off from Y/N's mind. It was silent.

And then it began.

Pain.

Throbbing pain as visions filled her head. It was searing, as if a hot knife were being twisted. Visions, sounds, memories. This wasn’t her world. This was the world of…

KPOP DEMON HUNTERS.

Part 2

[prythianpages]

Beautiful Stranger | Azriel

Azriel x Reader | Azriel gets injured while on a mission and meets someone he never thought he would. aka you finding an injured Az and the mating bond snapping.

warnings: mentions injuries and blood; other than that, this is light & fluff

word count: 4,342

a/n: I love Halsey's Finally//Beautiful Stranger & when it came on my shuffle while driving, this fic played out in my mind.

Humming quietly to yourself to keep your thoughts occupied, you allow the glow of the moon and fireflies to guide you back to the village. Dawn Court was your home, but after the fall of Spring, you had volunteered to help its fae, creatures, and land heal from the devastation left by Hybern’s attacks.

Though the damage to Spring was immense, its beauty still endured. The air still held a lingering heaviness but the flowers had begun to bloom once more with promise and hope of a better future. Your task today had been to gather healing herbs, yet when you stumbled upon a field of dandelions in full bloom, you couldn’t resist the urge to stop and admire the scenery. It was why you were returning late at night, long past the sunset you had promised to return by.

As you made your way along the path, the gentle breeze grew colder and sharper. It rustled the leaves on the trees and made the branches creak, its eerie sound halting your steps and silencing your humming. A chill of unease prickled your skin and your muscles tensed in alarm. 

Then you saw them. 

Shadows, darker than the night itself, swirling around you.

These were not the shadows you were used to seeing at night. No, these shadows felt alive and with purpose. 

You should’ve turned back. But there was something in the way they moved, fluid and insistent, that made you follow. With every step, they guided you away from the familiar moonlit path and deeper into the forest, pulling you toward the river that ran through the heart of the woods.

A flicker of blue light was coming from just beyond the tree line, catching your eye. Curiosity tugged at you, drawing you closer. The shadows slithered toward the faint glow, vanishing into the darkness by the water’s edge.

When you finally reached the riverbank, your breath hitched at the sight before you.

A male lay sprawled on the shore, half-submerged in the water, his blood mingling with the river’s water. Blinking your eyes, you saw the shadows that led you to him, clinging to his battered form and limp wings. They pulsed in a protective manner. It’s then that you recognized the source of the blue light. It was coming from the gems attached to the leathers he wore. 

Siphons. He must be Illyrian…but what was an Illyrian from the Night Court doing in Spring? Alone?

It didn’t matter. You immediately rushed and knelt beside him, your healer’s instincts snapping into action. Your finger’s pressed against his neck, mind racing with worry and dread as his skin felt cold against yours. He must’ve been out for awhile now. The nerves eased slightly when you felt a pulse. 

Weak but present. 

You slipped your arms beneath him, the shadows aiding you as they wrapped around his arms, helping you turn him over to his side. His dark hair clung to his face, your hand reaching up to brush it back.

Your eyes finally met the face of the fallen warrior and something snapped. 

So piercing and electrifying, it had your heart fluttering from the intensity. All at once, the golden threads of the bond you’d only heard stories about unraveled in your chest. They weaved between your rib cage, pulling you tight toward him. A pull so strong it left you breathless and in shock.

Fate and shadows had brought him to you. Your mate.

But the exhilaration of it all was soon smothered by panic, the golden threads beginning to quiver. His blood, too much of it, stained the riverbank. His body was limp in your arms, his breathing shallow.

You had found your mate and already, you were on the verge of losing him before you could even learn his name.

**

Azriel wakes to the sound of singing, a nice and sweet sound, and he catches faintly to the words. He’s never felt so warm, so relaxed. His senses are dulled by grogginess, his body sluggish, but something feels… different. Lighter, somehow. 

Beside him, his shadows stir, the familiar weight of their presence grounding him. But there's also something else— different from the cool and light caresses of his shadows. Firmer. Warmer. The pressure is foreign but comforting.

As his senses slowly return, the scent of herbs and incense reach him before his eyes flutter open. Where am I? He thinks, finally blinking his eyes to clear his vision.

The first thing he sees is you, the source of the beautiful singing.

Light streams into the room, casting a golden halo around you. It strikes him hard, stealing his breath and sending a shock through his chest. He doesn’t know who you are, what you are. But you’re beautiful, so beautiful that his brows furrow in bewildered awe. There’s no way, he thinks. I don’t belong here…

He wills his dry lips to part, his voice is rough and barely audible. “Am I…dead?”

Your eyes widen and your singing comes to a sudden stop, startled by his sudden words. The warmth he felt vanishes as you pull your hand back, and only then does he realize it had been your touch on his face earlier. Your hand hovers between you, glowing faintly with a bronze light, like the first rays of dawn, before you settle it into your lap.

“No,” you finally answer. “You’re not dead.”

Azriel tears his gaze from your face, even though some part of him protests. His eyes wander around the small room, taking in the sparse furniture, the wooden desk cluttered with jars and vials. The sunlight continues to stream through the single window, the curtain hanging doing little to dull the brightness thanks to the Spring breeze. It blinds him when it catches his eyes and he winces, looking away. 

His attention is inevitably drawn back to you. You’re seated beside him, perched on a small stool that does not look comfortable by the bed. His shadows, the loyal dark tendrils that always remain by his side, are dancing around you. Their movement is playful, loving almost and you don’t seem bothered by it. As if they’ve done this before. 

The sight stirs an unfamiliar flutter in his chest.

The flutter is cut short when one of his wings, too big for the bed he’s in, twitches and knocks into the bedside table. A vial tumbles to the floor, the sound of shattering glass jerking his body forward, and in an instant, the memories come rushing back.

He remembers the mission. Rhysand had sent him to the wall separating the mortal lands from Prythian. He had met with Jurian, the encounter brief, and then he was on his way back—flying over the Spring Court when he was ambushed. His mind aches as he tries to remember more but all he remembers is being struck by poisoned arrows and falling through trees. Multiple trees.

Hot, searing pain stabs through him at the sudden movement and your hands fly to his bandaged chest, gently urging him to sit back. “You’re safe,” you reassure him. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Azriel shouldn’t feel comforted by your words, not when he barely knows you. However, he finds your voice soothing. He listens, allowing himself to slowly lean back against the pillows, despite his mind screaming at him that you’re a stranger. Your hands remain on his chest, glowing again with that soft bronze light, and the sharp pain in his body begins to ebb away, fading into a dull ache. Much more bearable.

His shadows return to him, sighing with relief as they nestle close. Azriel watches you, keen hazel eyes taking in more of your features. The curve of your lips, the softness of your eyes. They draw him in, and he finds himself unable to look away. Had it not been for the pain that shot through him moments ago, he would’ve thought you lied to him about not being dead. Because surely you weren’t from this world to have him in a daze like this…

“Who are you?”

“I’m…,” you hesitate, uncertainty crossing your features. He watches with bated breath, waiting but the words seem to catch in your throat. You swallow, clearing your throat before speaking again. “I’m just a healer.”

“And here I thought you were an angel from above.”

A quiet laugh escapes you, and the tension in your posture melts away. The corner of your lips tug up into a faint smile, one that Azriel surprisingly finds himself mirroring. “Sorry to disappoint.”

He doesn’t think. The words spill from him before he can stop them. “I didn’t say I was disappointed.”

The flush that dawns across your cheeks doesn’t go unnoticed. You turn your head, trying to hide the reaction. It’s too late. Azriel already saw it and even if he hadn’t, his shadows are happily gushing over it. Some, the ones not distracted by your beauty, curled around his ear and whispered about the emotion lingering on your face, in your eyes.

There was more you meant to say. Words left unsaid and he wants to know, the curiosity and yearning bordering on desperate. His gaze assesses you again, searching for an answer. For a hint. His shadows continue to whisper. Good, they say reassuringly, sensing no danger or malintent in you. We found her for you!

She saved master's life. Master was out for three days and she stayed by master’s side. She’s–

“What’s your name?” You ask, pulling him from the silent conversation with his shadows.

Azriel is not one to give his name so easily, often going by what he was–a Shadowsinger– rather than who he was. He’s also not one to dwell in places he’s unfamiliar with longer than necessary. But you saved his life and for some strange reason, his shadows had taken an immediate liking to you. They seem to trust you and therefore, so does he.

“Azriel.”

“Azriel,” you repeat and his shadows shudder in response, as though they, too, are captivated by the sound of it on your lips. His stomach flutters in time with their movement.

“What about yours?”

“Y/n.”

“Y/n,” he says, repeating your name the same way you had his. His shadows dance in the air around you both.

**

It’s late morning, as you pick up the empty plate from him, that he feels the familiar sensation of talons scraping against his mind. Azriel?? Rhysand’s voice is urgent, the frantic panic of it making him wince. Your head immediately turns in concern and Azriel brushes it off with a small shake of his head.

I’m alive. Azriel responds, his answer curt as he’s once again distracted by your presence.

Thank The Mother, Rhysand breathes a sigh of relief. Where are you? Are you somewhere safe? Do you need me to–

I’m fine. I was attacked while flying through Spring. 

Who? Rhysand demands.

Given the fact that whoever ambushed me has made no move to find me and finish the job, I’d say no one of importance. Azriel replies, lips curving into a small frown at the thought of being caught off guard and attacked. It rarely happened, his shadows always keeping him one step ahead of anyone and anything. Had they been distracted…?

He turns his head, searching for the shadows in question. Some remained with him, choosing to burrow under the blankets. The others, however, were hovering at your side and helping you clean up from breakfast. One even opens the door for you and he hears you murmur a small thanks as you leave the room.

Azriel had spent most of the afternoon sleeping. He didn’t want to, not liking the idea of being in such a vulnerable state with someone he barely knew. It’s not that he suspected you’d harm him or had bad intentions–you literally saved his life for Cauldron’s sake! It was just a feeling he was not used to. To be able to sleep safe and sound.

When he woke up again, it was a brand new day. He realized the bandages on his chest and arm had been changed. He was slowly gathering his strength back. One of his shadows must’ve given him away because shortly after he woke, you had walked in with a friend. 

“Wow,” the dark haired fae murmured, her steps faltering. Her eyes had widened in wonder, taking in the large expanse of his wings that made the bed look ridiculously small. “The Cauldron truly favors you.”

Azriel’s gaze couldn’t help but narrow. Those words had been directed at you, not him. 

You’d introduced her as Poppy, explaining she was your friend, another healer whose family had taken you in. Poppy had left shortly after setting a steaming bowl of stew on the table right next to the bed. She had been adamant on letting him know her mother had made it and not you, which he found odd.

Azriel was surprised to learn this was your room and you’d given it up for him. He tried to protest, offering to sleep on the couch or floor. Of course, you had refused and he was even more surprised to learn you were more stubborn than he was. 

Where are you in Spring? Rhysand’s presence in his mind pulls him back to the present. He hopes he hadn’t accidentally projected his memory to his friend, wanting to keep it to himself for now. I can send Cassian, if you’re unable to fly. 

No. Azriel responds immediately and he can feel Rhysand’s confusion. I’m alive and safe. I just need more time to recover. 

And without waiting for a response, Azriel brings up his mental shields again, shutting Rhysand out. He can only hope he doesn’t send Feyre knocking on his mind next. Or worse, actually send Cassian to Spring, despite him saying not to.

He should’ve said yes, and accepted the help. The Spring Court was among the least favorite of his courts, in tie with the Autumn Court. He had a strong distaste for the High Lord, who remained wandering through his forests like a beast. 

As you return to the room, Azriel catches sight of a faint glow wrapped around your wrist. He hadn’t seen it before, the glow of your magic outshining the gold ink etched there. A sun, cradled by a crescent moon, and below the moon, a fine lined star glimmers, connecting the two celestial bodies with its ray of starshine. 

“You’re far from home.” Azriel comments, nodding toward the tattoo.

“So are you,” you answer, lips turning up at the slight flush that takes over Azriel. You then glance down at the tattoo on your wrist. The insignia of your Court with the added touch of your healing gift. The tattoo was an honor, a testimony of the oath you had taken after mastering your magic. “I came to Spring to help after the war.”

“Will you go back home after?” He asks, a little too quickly, then clears his throat. His shadows snicker beside him in a knowing manner. “Or will you stay here?”

“I’ll stay here as long as I’m needed.”

He doesn’t understand why but a part of him feels relieved that you’re not attached to this court. 

“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need,” you then add. 

He feels an odd sense of relief, and his shadows give a little wiggle in excitement. He sends them a glare, and they sheepishly return to hiding under the covers. Though one brave shadow lingers by his side long enough to whisper, you'll find out soon Master.

“They’re cute," your voice pulls him from questioning his teasing shadow.

Azriel lets out a snort, the effort making his chest and stomach ache. Cute. His shadows had been called many things—strange, unnerving, even unsettling—but never cute. They typically clung to him, weaving around his form quietly, careful not to disturb anyone. Unless he sent them on a mission of their own or they had a mission of their own.

Occasionally, they’d make an exception for Cassian, creeping up behind him just to tap his shoulder and bask in his exasperation when he turned to find nothing there. They’d even tried their luck with Rhysand once, though he was never fooled. Yet, for reasons Azriel couldn’t fathom, his shadows had taken an immediate liking to you, drifting toward you whenever they could.

The said shadows peek out from under the covers, almost shyly. If they could blush, he’s sure they would be at this moment. They're never going to forget this moment.

“I wouldn’t call them cute,” Azriel replies, ignoring their indignant hisses.

Conversation flows easily between you two from there, Azriel giving into his curiosity to know and learn more about you. Much to his surprise, Azriel indulged you in your questions, telling you about his shadows and things about himself he rarely told others. They were small, trivial things such as his exact favorite shade of blue and his biggest pet peeve. Yet you held onto every word, every detail and it felt strangely comforting.

Two more days passed, Azriel’s body still healing. Slowly but surely. You had been able to recover one of the arrows that had shot him. Not that it mattered. Azriel was now, unfortunately, familiar with the effects of faebane. It hindered his healing and though it was frustrating, there was one upside to it all–the friendship blossoming between you and Azriel.

There’s a knock on the door as you mix Azriel’s concoction for pain. “Yes?” You call out.

Poppy peeks her head in. “I was just checking to see if I had given you enough spearmint for the pain tonic and also to let you know that we’ll be out most of the day. If you wanted to take out your ma—male for a walk or something without being bothered by the little ones.”

You freeze and a sheepish look takes over your features, tainting your cheeks. “Poppy,” you say her name again in what sounds like a warning. “He has a name, you know. And he doesn’t need to be taken on a walk.”

“Oh, right, Azriel,” she says, giving him a cheery wave. “Hello again!”

“Hello,” Azriel replies, shifting in the bed, despite the protests of his muscles. He’s not at all offended by Poppy, her aura too bright and cheery to be bothered. He flashes you a grin that has your grasp on the mixer faltering. “I think a walk would be nice actually.”

“Told you!” Poppy replies. “Anyway, we’ll see you for dinner. Send a butterfly if you need me.”

When the door closes, you let out a small sigh, shaking your head with a small, sheepish smile. “I’m so sorry about her.”

Azriel brushes off your concern, his eyes shining bright when he looks back at you. “How about that walk?”

**

Azriel grunts as he pushes to stand, his wings trembling as he shifts his weight, unused to bearing himself after days of bedrest. He stumbles right into your arms, his usually steady form swaying. You quickly catch him, your arms coming around one of his sides. His shadows dart toward his other side, helping you hold him upright. 

“I’ve got you,” you say softly, your hold surprisingly firm. 

He can't help it. He lets out a low, amused breath. 

“What?” You ask.

“Usually, I’m the one saying that.”

Your lips quirk into a smile, a gleam in your eye, as you help him find his balance. “Well, even the best need someone to lean on sometimes, right?”

Azriel stares at you. Something in his chest tightens–a weird but comforting sensation. It’s similar, if not the same, to what he had felt when he first saw you. Warm and painfully sweet. The feeling reassures him that, though you were strangers mere days ago, you’re someone he can lean on.

“Come on,” you murmur, nodding toward the door. 

Azriel lets you guide him through the house and out onto the porch. You settle there together, cutting the walk very short. You're mindful not to push him too far when he's still recovering. Azriel doesn't mind, the fresh air enough for him. He knows he isn’t at full strength to protect you should anything arise. Even though you most likely know these forests better than himself.

His hands drift to the porch railing as he leans forward for support, fingers curling around the edge. The sunlight glances off his scarred hands, each ridge and mark stark against his skin. He’d kept them hidden beneath the covers and out of your view while bedridden, hiding them instinctively, unable to forget the pitying glances they’d drawn in the past. Though he’s sure you must've seen them when you rescued him.

Now, as he feels your gaze slide toward them, a familiar discomfort tugs at him. He starts to withdraw his hands, wanting to tuck them closer to himself.

But you reach out. Your hand hovers, brushing slightly over his. There’s a slight hesitation—an uncertainty in whether to bridge the space or leave it. In the end, you let your hand rest gently beside his.

Azriel hesitates, unused to this vulnerability, yet unable to move away. He glances up to meet your eyes and his guarded expression softens slightly. “They’re… not easy to look at,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know they’re not.”

“I’m familiar with scars, you know. They don’t make you less of who you are.”

Azriel’s jaw tightens, his gaze dropping where your hands are barely brushing against one another. His throat feels tight, an ache he’s kept buried resurfacing.

“Not to me,” you continue. “I don’t see you any differently because of them.” 

He searches your face and he sees something in your eyes that helps him slowly relax. His gaze returns to your hand, fingers hovering now over his. This time, there’s no hesitation as you gently lay your hand over his, holding it as if the scars didn’t exist at all.

It’s such a simple gesture, yet it speaks volumes. 

His shadows slither down his arm and toward where your hands connect. For the first time, Azriel feels no urge to hide, no shame from the past that has long haunted him.

A silence drifts down between the two of you, settling like a blanket over the conversation. There’s no need to fill it, no awkwardness there. Just a gentle, shared peace, stretching softly around you both. He turns his head, shifting his gaze forward and takes a deep breath. 

He closes his eyes and a breeze rolls in, brushing against his skin and stirring his hair. His shadows begin to whisper excitedly. He basks in the sun’s warmth, and lets the scent of spring fill his senses from the fresh earth to the blooming flowers and the faint sweetness of pollen. It brings forth a tickle in his nose, and before he can stop it, he sneezes. His body groans in response, wings shuddering.

“Bless you,” you say, but he notices the way your mouth quirks as if you’re holding back a laugh.

“What?” he asks, brows furrowing.

“I’m sorry,” you giggle, your free hand rising to stifle it. “It’s just… you have such a fatherly sneeze.”

Azriel raises an eyebrow, a rare, amused smile creeping onto his face. “Fatherly sneeze?” He echoes. He has never heard the expression before yet he somehow understands it. If you thought his sneeze was “fatherly,” he’s curious to see your reaction to one of Cassian’s sneezes. That thought is enough to make him laugh outright.

It's so silly but the sound is so contagious that you laugh too. His shadows began to flutter around you, as if joining in on the laughter. Azriel’s gaze then drifts down, watching the way your lips curve in laughter, how your eyes crinkle at the corners, how effortlessly you draw light into his heart.

And there it is again—that rush of warmth. It’s mixed in with joy, so pure and intense it has to be coming from you. His heart stirs, his pulse quickens, his mind clears, and in a single, life-altering instant, he knows.

“You’re my mate.”

Your smile falters, replaced by a moment of hesitation. Some shadows travel to you, brushing softly against your arms as if in a reassuring manner. He can't help but watch them, realization dawning on him.

“Yeah, I am,” you admit quietly.

“How—when…” His voice catches, unable to form the words.

“I was walking through the forest when your shadows came to me. They led me to you, by the river. You were unconscious and bleeding. And then… the bond snapped for me the moment I saw your face. You were so cold and--and…,” your face tightens, eyes glistening at the memory and Azriel can feel the panic you must’ve felt then. “I’d just found what so many only dream of and you were already slipping away...I thought I’d never get to know your name…”

Azriel feels a pang deep in his chest as he absorbs every word. His chest feels tight again and he swallows thickly. “And when I woke up, why didn’t you tell me?”

Your gaze falls, fingers twisting together. “I wanted you to heal, to feel better. That’s all that mattered.”

“I owe you my life.”

“You don’t owe me anything. I would’ve saved you, mate or not.”

Azriel searches your face, touched beyond words at the sincerity in your tone. It made sense why he felt so drawn to you since the moment he saw you, why his shadows took a sudden liking to you and kept whispering "we found her, we found her!" They had known all this time, been able to sense it before he even could.

Looking back, Poppy being the one to bring him food and water and not you was not as strange as he originally thought. You were being mindful, not wanting to accidentally accept the bond without his knowledge. He felt an overwhelming gratitude for how gentle and considerate you've been with him all along. He couldn’t help but wonder how he had gotten so lucky to be bound to someone like you.

“And would you have sung to me, mate or not?” Azriel asks, his mind drifting back to the exact moment he'd first woken up.

Your cheeks flush, and you glance away toward the gardens, suddenly refusing to meet his eyes. “What?” You let out a small huff. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 “What did I hear?” Azriel’s tone borders on teasing, his expression shifting into one of exaggerated contemplation. “Something like… ‘Beautiful stranger, here you are…’”

“That’s enough!” You interrupt, your face turning into an even deeper shade of pink, caught somewhere between mortification and laughter. 

This time, it’s Azriel holding back a chuckle. His lips curl into a small smirk, seeing the blush that lights up your face. He quite likes that shade on you—likes being the one to bring it out even more. “So…”

You keep your gaze straight ahead. “So…?”

Azriel leans in, his voice low and warm, making your stomach flutter. “Do you sing that song for just anyone too?”

“No,” you let out a laugh, your hands cup your face but there’s no hiding the blush there.  “I’m afraid that song was just for you.”

“Good,” he murmurs.

You turn to look at him, realizing his gaze had never left you. Your hands drop back to the porch railing.  “Yeah?” you whisper, your own heart pounding, not sure what it was you were asking.

But Azriel seems to understand anyway. He can feel what you’re feeling, now fully aware and attentive to the bond humming between you.

“Yeah,” he breathes, his smirk softening into a genuine smile, his heart finally at ease. 

A gentle warmth surges through the bond, reaching every shadowed corner of his heart and wrapping around his soul. It’s a feeling he could get used to, one he’s spent centuries longing and yearning for. It’s a feeling he’s searched for in all the wrong places, enduring the heavy weight of heartbreak after heartbreak.

But now, with you, he feels the weight begin to lift. After all the empty falls and broken promises, it’s finally, finally safe for him to fall.

a/n: you can't tell me Az & Cas don't have dad sneezes lol. Anyway, I really wanted to write a fic where Az finally feels safe with someone because he deserves to. I hope you enjoyed this <3

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444 @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette

@alwayshave-faith

[mostly-imagines]

The Morning After The Venus Drug

You wake to an ache that runs straight through your muscles and into your bones. Your eyelids feel weighted as you try to blink yourself to consciousness, the fabric of the pillowcase an unexpectedly tough barrier.

You lay on your stomach, bed sheets pooling around your waist. You recognize the weight of Jason’s arm over you before you see him, hair tousled and face scrunched up against your same pillow.

His cheeks are flushed pink and he’s still perspired, but he looks peaceful. You press the back of your hand to his forehead, frowning at the heat you’re met with.

You try your hardest to unwrap his arm from around your torso without waking him, an action that requires far more energy than you were hoping to capitulate to. But that movement turns out to be nothing compared to the ache felt when you try to move your legs.

A slight shift has you immediately stilling, the soreness between your legs proving to be more severe than anticipated. You stifle a groan, slowly pushing yourself to sit up. You have to take a moment to rest your muscles as your legs hang limp over the side of the bed.

Your legs are shaky and unstable as you try to stand and you nearly fall back onto the bed. You need a few practice steps before you’re able to pick up any actual pace towards the door.

You sit on the side of the tub while you clean yourself up, the skin of your thighs almost too tender to bear the ruggedness of the rag. You can’t be sure of how many rounds you went last night, but if you’re in this kind of shape, he must be worse off.

On your way to toss the used cloth in favor of a new one, a glance in the mirror has you double-taking. The hickies scattered across your neck and collarbone are blossoming dark and to be expected. However, the sight of bruises littered across your waist and hips draw some extra attention. They don’t hurt, really, the marks mostly bring forth warm feelings.

But you know that Jason won’t feel the same upon discovering them, so you figure it's best to cover them up for now.

You quietly shuffle through the bedroom drawers and pull out one of his gray shirts that’s even a little big on him. It drowns you out, more than enough to cover your rembrandts from last night.

The floorboards creak as you make your way to the kitchen, steps stiff and awkward. The warm orange light flowing in from the living room curtains is soothing, if not far too bright.

With a restrained pull, you pop the fridge open, careful not to let the unseal make too much noise. You collect a bottle of water and dampen the extra rag with cool water from the faucet.

You tiptoe back to the bedroom, supplies in hand. The mattress springs squeak slightly as your weight returns to them.

One hand comes to rest on Jason’s back as water from the washcloth drips down your other arm. “Hey,” you trace nonsense patterns into his skin, hoping the sensation will be enough to rouse him like it usually is.

But he doesn’t so much as stir, still breathing deeply. “Jay?” you shake him lightly, “You gotta wake up, baby.”

His eyes squeeze shut harder and a groan reverberates from deep in his throat. “Fuck…”

“Hey pretty boy,” you murmur, brushing his hair back. His face burrows further into the pillow as his hand comes up to blindly search for your thigh, kneading your skin once he finds you. “How you feel?”

“Like I got hit by a train,” he croaks, turning his head hesitantly into the light to look at you. He squints as he takes in the sight of you, slowly shifting onto his back. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head tenderly, “Just sore.” You hold the water out to him, “Here.”

He looks at the water, then back to you. You huff, “Just drink it. I’ll have some after.”

He perches himself up on his elbow, taking the bottle from your hand with a pout. He chugs down three gulps before pushing the drink back in your hands expectantly. You feel his eyes on you as you take your own sips, only moving to sit up completely when he’s satisfied with your hydration.

He grunts as he adjusts his muscles to the new position, holding a hand out. “Lemme see you.”

“I’m alright,” you tell him, trying to mitigate his worry before it begins.

But his face only sterns, voice becoming serious. “Then let me see you.”

You’re ready to argue more to save him from the sure-to-come guilt, but he tugs your shirt up anyway, blinking a few times to get a clearer look at your skin.

Delicate hands come to hold you by the sides of your ribs, nudging you this way and that to examine the bruises littered across your skin. “Oh fuck, baby..”

He leans in close, running featherlight touches over the marks. “I don’t…” his chest drops, “I don’t remember doing that.”

You nod in understanding, taking his hands in yours and pulling them away from your body. “They don’t hurt. I like seeing them.”

He peers up at you skeptically and you nod again. “I like them. A lot. I like anything you give me.”

He closes his eyes and drops his head, “I should give you nicer things. Less painful.”

You gently push his face up to look at yours, keeping hold of his cheeks. “You do give me nice things,” you tell him before pressing a slow kiss to his lips. You rest your forehead against his, “But I like the rougher things too. Especially when I get them while you’re feeling good.”

His hands cover yours, moving them back down and turning them so he can hold them properly. “You’re okay?”

“I’m better than okay. Can guarantee I’m feeling better than you are anyways.” You pull back, scanning over his flushed face. You pick up the rag from your now considerably wet thigh, dabbing his forehead with it. “You look overheated.”

He relaxes a bit against the coolness, “Yeah, the effects of the toxin take a little while to wear all the way off. It’s not so bad anymore though.”

You nudge him to lay back down, draping the cloth over his head. He looks over you fondly as you lay a light kiss on his collarbone before tucking yourself into his side with closed eyes.

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

Remmick x reader, established relationship, NSFW

Where Remmick returns home from a hunt still filled with adrenaline/bloodlust. So he seeks out reader but finds them fast asleep, still filled with hunger he decides to help himself to a meal 😋

I mean reader wouldn’t mind being woken up to some crazy head right? Basically somnophilia lmao

Gender neutral pronouns but afab if that’s okay :)?

Have a great day/night!

Midnight hunger||Remmick x Reader

Warning—Established relationship | AFAB reader | Gender-neutral pronouns Somnophilia kink | Vampire feeding kink | Oral (AFAB receiving) | Slight bloodplay | Consent within established trust | 18+ | Somnophilia | Oral (AFAB receiving) | Vaginal sex | Vampire feeding kink | Bloodplay | Biting/marking | Possessive!Remmick | Praise + feral energy | Slight breeding kink if you squint | 18+

Taglist - @abriefnirvana

The door creaked open just after midnight, hinges groaning under the weight of centuries and storms. Remmick stepped into the manor, boots silent on ancient floors despite the weight of blood on him fresh and hot, still drying on his lips and jaw. His pupils were blown wide, irises glowing faintly in the dark, wild with the rush of the hunt. He hadn’t fed enough. Not really. Not in the way he needed.

The bloodlust still clawed at his insides.

His nose twitched. Your scent warm and familiar called to him stronger than anything else ever could. You were asleep. He could hear your breath from the hallway, steady and soft. The thud of your heart, even slower.

He could picture you already, tangled in the sheets, mouth slack with dreams. Vulnerable. Soft.

His hunger flared.

He didn’t bother undressing. The hunt still clung to his skin, dried blood painting his throat like a collar. His hand trailed along the doorway as he entered the bedroom, eyes locked on your sleeping form. Peaceful. Unaware.

Perfect.

He knelt beside the bed, silent as shadow, exhaling slowly. The scent of you hit him hard, thick and sweet between your thighs, and his fangs ached in his mouth. He didn’t speak. Didn’t dare wake you. You’d told him once half-lidded and gasping that you liked it when he didn’t ask. When he took. When you woke up to pleasure instead of words.

His mouth watered.

He peeled the covers away, slow, reverent. Pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee, trailing warmth up the length of your thigh. You stirred faintly nothing more than a sigh. He bit back a growl.

His hands were cold when they parted your thighs, but his breath was warm. So warm. And then-

God, his tongue.

He licked through your folds like he was starving, like you were the only salvation left in the world. Broad, hungry strokes, nose buried in your scent, lips sealing around your clit with a groan that vibrated through your whole body. You shifted, twitching awake, confusion melting into a moan.

“Remmick—” your voice was hoarse, sleep-rough, almost questioning.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t say a word.

He only held your thighs open tighter, tongue fucking into you like he was trying to consume you from the inside out, as if pleasure was a ritual and you were the altar. His fangs grazed your skin, sharp and teasing, not enough to break—not yet. Not until you were writhing, grinding into his face with broken little whimpers and hands clutching his curls.

When you came, he moaned against you like he was tasting holy water, mouth flooded with slick and the faintest edge of blood where his fangs had finally, finally pressed too deep.

He licked it up like sin.

And only then, lips glossy, eyes fevered, did he crawl up your body to whisper against your neck, voice still thick with need:

“Good evenin’, my love. Miss me?”

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was on you his body caging yours, still fully dressed, soaked in the scent of the night. His thighs slotted between yours, forcing your legs wider, and the hard line of his cock pressed against your sensitive cunt through layers of dark, worn fabric.

Your hips bucked instinctively. Still oversensitive. Still needy.

Remmick growled, low and delighted, fangs flashing in the moonlight slanting through the cracked window. His voice was wrecked with restraint, like he was holding himself back by threads.

“Y’have no idea what seein’ you like this does to me,” he rasped, nuzzling into your neck, breath hot where it ghosted across your skin. “Laid out, slick and warm from my mouth… beggin’ without even speakin’.”

His hand slid down your body, calloused palm rough and grounding. He didn’t bother undressing you. Just hiked your nightshirt up around your waist and freed himself from his trousers, his cock heavy and hard as sin, leaking against your inner thigh.

“Still hungry,” he murmured like a confession like a threat.

He sank into you in one, slow thrust, stealing the air from your lungs. Stretching you full. Familiar. Possessive. You clawed at his back, dragging him closer.

He didn’t move.

Not yet.

Instead, he pressed his lips to the column of your throat, where your pulse fluttered beneath your skin. You could feel the heat of his tongue, the scrape of fangs, the way he trembled with the effort not to bite too soon.

“Can I, sweet thing?” he whispered. “Give me a little taste. Just ‘nough to make this last…”

You nodded, dazed and open, giving yourself freely. His name fell from your lips like prayer.

He bit.

It wasn’t gentle.

You felt the puncture sharp and possessive and the moan he let out as he started to feed sent a shiver through your whole body. Pleasure lanced through you, tangled with pain and adoration and need.

Remmick moved then. Thrusting into you with the desperation of something starved, wild, half-mad with lust and blood and love. Every stroke dragged against that perfect spot, filling you deep, his mouth still latched to your throat like you were his and only his.

“Such a sweet little thing,” he murmured between gulps, voice thick, reverent. “Letting me fuck you ‘n feed on you like this… You don’t even know what you do to me.”

You were trembling under him, crying out, nails raking down his back as the pressure built and broke—your orgasm ripping through you with raw, shuddering intensity.

Remmick didn’t stop.

Not until he felt you milk him, fluttering and soaked and spent. Not until he spilled inside you with a broken groan against your skin, hips grinding in like he could bury himself even deeper.

He licked the blood from your neck with slow, tender laps, savoring every drop, before finally pulling back to look at you.

Eyes blown wide. Hair a mess. A lazy, satisfied grin curving his stained mouth.

“My heart,” he purred, brushing your sweat-damp hair back. “You’re so good to me. Gonna keep wakin’ you like this every time the bloodlust hits. Reckon it’s the only thing that truly settles me.”