#and so on and so forth....even typing their names is exhausting | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

orphicsun · 2 months ago

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˗ˏˋ BOTTOM BITCH ˎˊ˗

pairing: chatroom frequenter ellie williams + femdom!reader

warnings: 18+ content, chatroom depravity, brief interaction with a horny weirdo on a chatroom before reader meets ellie, voyeurism, sexting, video/phone sex, guided masturbation, mutual masturbation, use of a dildo, nipple play, use of names (ma'am + mommy + good girl + slut), both reader and ellie are at least 18 (ellie is described to be 21 but feel free to imagine her as any adult age), praise and slight degradation kink, reader is just bored at night and ellie is implied to be chronically online (as she is a chat room frequenter and, well...)

a/n: this is purely a work of fiction. i'm not encouraging anyone to go interact with people in sketchy chatrooms.

loose inspo creds from this vi artwork!

summary: you're a bit of an insomniac, not a desperate horn-dog on chatrooms. it's too late to talk to your fellow normal people, so you resort to sites you wish could be cleansed of the horniness. only, you fold the second a certain freckle-faced lesbian puts a forum post out for a new dom to talk to.

www.chitchat.gg.

The link stares at you without much appeal. You haven’t touched Omegle in years, nor do you miss it. At least, you don’t miss the incels you’ve encountered in those horrific chatrooms.

It’s safe to say you don’t miss the dicks, don’t miss the M42 horny, and you surely don’t miss the weird kinks the users hold shamefully behind doors, laptop screens bright with crickets’ ambience as a backdrop between the hours of 1-4am. You don’t miss the men, is probably what you’re really feeling.

It’s too late and you have a busy day tomorrow–you promised yourself you wouldn’t need to take a shower tonight, that you’d make sure to tuck yourself in your bed with the sleep aid of scrolling through nostalgic minecraft youtuber content until you felt a content type of exhaustion, not the usual five-hours-of-sleep and so forth.

You would take a shower in the early hours of the day. You’re not a night owl; you enjoy the early, productive mornings. You don’t take desperate naps after a day shift and then fuck up your sleep schedule, but maybe all of those affirmations are deluded with your lack of self control.

It’s late and you’ll regret it in the morning, but here you are for the first time in years, staring at your Google browser’s selection of links. Some are so obviously the darkest, the ones proudly advertising “share pics without registration!” or “connect with men and women for one-on-one fun!”

No, you’re really just bored. It’s far too late to send the infamous “wanna call n play fortnite” text to everyone you talk to on a regular basis. You’re not desperate enough for social contact that you’d ever scrounge around discord servers, and you definitely wouldn’t join a server full of randoms. That is a disaster waiting to happen, not even a weak affirmation.

It’s just your late-night logic telling you that clicking on this seemingly safer link would be any better, but here goes nothing.

↵ enter

With a few forwarding clicks, you’re in. You could opt to find something with your interests, but you’d like to explore the entirety of people available to you first, and still, you stay hopeful that the days of horny chat room men dominating surface-level sites like these are in your bitterly nostalgic past.

You are now chatting with untroubled porcelain. Say hi!

untroubled porcelain

You can already tell where this is going, but you save an ounce of hope for humanity within you. You begin typing, soft keys clacking underneath your fingertips, hardly lit by your shitty laptop’s brightness. You make a few typos at first, oh well.

cunteater reader

F. How are you? :)

untroubled porcelain

good. wyd?

cunteater reader

just chilling in bed. hbu?

untroubled porcelain

what are you wearing?

You immediately groan and close the tab. You can’t say you’re surprised, but your hope isn’t completely dwindled. You instead open a new link within the browser: www.freechatnow.com

You hope to be able to weed out the sexual from the harmless bored, scrolling through forums and various selections of chatrooms. It’s already quite promising when the website requires age identification to actually talk to anyone through it.

Live Cam Chat

Adult Chat

Sex Chat

Singles Chat

Lesbian Chat

Gay Chat

Cam Chat

Roleplay Chat

Video Chat

Intrigued by the lesbian chat option, you swiftly select it. After scrolling through what seems to be men dominating the chat, you sigh and exit out of the chat. You’re about to completely close the tab and your laptop and call it a night, but suddenly a forum stands out to you. It’s contradictory, but you click it.

21F lesbian. dm me please.

That should make you close your laptop altogether, but something inside you feels a small pang of arousal. Maybe men are the problem, not sex chats.

So, you send the first message; you’re a bit cautious at first.

cunteater reader • 1:56 PM

hi. I saw your post on the forum.

You hit send and stare at the screen. You feel a bit perverted, and a small bit of self shame bubbles up inside you. Is this really what you’ve resorted to to pass time?

You would never say you’re chronically online–you’ve got a part-time job at Taco Bell 15 minutes from your apartment, you frankly just don’t have the time to keep up with the revolving door that is the internet. So, you ask yourself: what type of person are you even reaching out to?

However, the moment your laptop audibly dings with a response, those feelings fade rather fast.

subbydyke21 • 1:59 PM

hi<3 my pussy is so wet rn and i want 2 touch myself. tell me how?

Your face feels hot now, and the slight tinge of arousal that was sparked when you saw the forum turns into wetness clinging to your underwear. This person can’t be anything but another desperate, horny person, and yet you find yourself suddenly in the same predicament. Maybe it’s the overtime, the lack of availability to simply download Tinder and find a normal person to have sex with. You mumble something about dignity as you type.

cunteater reader • 2:00 AM

yeah. just start slow for me.

You cringe to yourself. You feel so out of your element with this, like a small sense of logic and shame is holding you back.

subbydyke21 • 2:03 AM

wishing it were you. can i show you?

You panic for a moment–here you are, hair messy in nothing but a baggy t-shirt and underwear. Your mind runs through random what-ifs. What if this person is a level 10 weirdo? What if they doxx you? What if they stalk you?

You’re thinking with your cunt, though.

cunteater reader • 2:07 AM

yeah

(-)

Waiting for the call, even just the 10 second wait, is anxiety-filling. Your foot taps against your carpet until subbydyke21 finally answers.

You hope your eyes don’t widen too much on camera, but you can’t stop yourself from slightly gawking. There she is, and she doesn’t at all look like a weirdo.

Her camera is a bit blurry, but her features make up the face of a woman who is actually quite attractive. Shaggy auburn hair pulled back in a messy bun, a soft nose covered in splotchy freckles as is the rest of her face, green eyes that you can barely make out the tone of in the dark of her room, and generously full lips. She is gorgeous, almost in an androgynous way.

You take each other in for just a moment, and then she speaks. “Are you comfortable with, like, seeing me and stuff? You don’t mind?”

Her voice is rougher, raspier than you would’ve expected from the person you initially reached out to, but you also can’t help the heat it sends through your body, specifically down below.

“Um, no. I mean, I don’t mind.”

She nods. It’s a bit awkward, especially after what she had said to you, but neither of you comment on the previous desperation. It’ll build up once again.

“Okay. Name’s Ellie, but I think we should call each other by names or somethin’ like that.”

You spin a strand of your hair between your fingers, not exactly looking at the camera. “Like what?”

“Anything you want. You can call me a good girl, a whore, a slut, baby. I’m whatever you want me to be.” She clears her throat and you’d like to comment on the blush spreading all over her cheeks, but you’re too flustered yourself. “And I’ll call you something like.. mommy or ma’am.”

“That’s fine.” You adjust in your seat, pulling your rolly chair close to your desk.

“So, ma’am.. would you like me to touch myself?”

“Go ahead,” you guide. You know you’re quiet, almost shy with it, but Ellie doesn’t mind.

“Would you like to see me squeeze my tits for you, ma’am?”

You nod. The general insides of your thighs rub together, craving friction; you’re glad Ellie can’t see anything below your torso.

Ellie carries her laptop to her bed, giving you the entire view of her body. Clad in undergarments, she tosses the bra over her head, leaving her pert breasts on display for you. You don’t comment, but she can see the way you stare through the camera, watching her squeeze and roll her nipples between her fingers until they stiffen at the attention. You can only barely catch the way she pants as her actions intensify, and you’re completely mesmerized.

“Call me a good girl, please.” She stares at you straight through the camera, and the awkward feeling you’ve been clinging to is tested.

“You know you’re a good girl. Look at you, though. Do you show everyone on that chat site your tits, or am I just lucky?”

You hear the whines through the laptop audio, Ellie pulling at her nipples while squeezing her thighs together. “Only you, I promise. It’s only been you, ma’am.”

“Good girl,” you repeat softly, your voice still a tad shaky with nerves. “I wanna see you rub your pussy now.”

She quickly nods and lays down on the bed in front of the laptop, hastily shedding her boxers. You can’t see the amount of arousal that was pooling in the crotch of the fabric, but there is a visible shine of slick all over her pussy. And fuck, if that isn’t the prettiest pussy you’ve seen in a while.

You don’t even see where the last piece of clothing lands nor do you care. You can’t take your eyes off of the exposed slice of heaven between her parted thighs. Her head rests against her bed as she begins to touch herself, just hesitantly, as if waiting for your guidance.

“Atta girl, just like that.. keep your fingers on your clit and just rub it for me, baby. Slowly.”

“Fuck, mommy,” she moans, trying her hardest not to just rub her pussy raw. It already feels overbearing for the poor girl, but she wants more.

“You like getting yourself on camera? Makes you feel good, huh?” You coo, eyes not leaving her body.

“It’s not enough..” she whines. “Please, I wanna use my dildo. Can I fuck myself with my dildo for you?”

Just the thought of seeing her dripping pussy stuffed full with a dildo makes your clit throb with need. You’re quick to shove your own hand down your underwear. “Yeah, baby. Be a good girl for mommy and fuck yourself.”

You miss her body the second she stands up, but soon, she is laid back on her bed, a bright purple dildo in her hold. It’s pleasantly large, with much more girth than you expected it to have.

“Just tease yourself for a little bit, baby. Rub your clit with it for me.”

Ellie eagerly rubs all over her swollen, reddish-pink clit with the flared tip, and your own fingers slide between your lips and into your cunt. You groan, nearly closing your eyes at the feeling.

“Are you touching yourself, ma’am?” She asks, voice already ragged.

“Couldn’t help myself,” you admit. That confession only turns her on more.

“Can I please fuck myself? I need it right now. I need to cum with you.”

All you can do is nod, but Ellie is already lining the toy up with her hole and shoving it deep inside her hole. She hardly takes a moment to adjust to the sudden stretch before she begins fucking herself with it, making sure to open her legs wide enough for your viewing pleasure.

“Oh my god,” you moan at the sight. “You’re so fucking hot, you know that? Taking it in your pussy so easily. You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

Ellie laughs shakily. “Of course I have. I’m a whore.”

“That you are,” you easily agree. You fuck yourself hard with two fingers as you watch her slide the dildo in and out of her hole, always leaving just the tip nestled inside before ramming it until the base is flush to her skin.

All you can hear are the wet sounds of her wet pussy as she pounds it shamelessly and her noisy moans, and you’re sure she can hear your own wet sounds through her laptop.

“Touch your clit, baby. I wanna see you rub your clit while you fuck yourself,” you tell her, working your own with your thumb.

She uses her free hand to frantically rub at the beating nub, fucking herself so fast the camera nearly blurs her movements. “Fuck, feels so good. I need to cum, please. Please let me cum,” she desperately begs you.

“Yeah, you wanna be a good slut for me and cum? Go on, let go. I wanna see your pussy cum on camera.”

Your words easily have her hole squeezing the dildo, cum seeping out of it and visibly coating the toy. The sight, paired with her slutty moans sends you barreling towards your own orgasm. You throw your head back against your chair and moan as you practically hump your hand, trying to milk your peak for all its worth.

After a bit, you and Ellie both calm down, breathless and satisfied. Ellie throws the dildo on her bed and sits up, sheepishly looking at you.

“Umm, that was..”

“Yeah.”

“Wanna do it again sometime?”

“Yeah.”

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satoblue · 27 days ago

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“HOME SMELLS LIKE YOU” — gojo satoru

before your pregnancy, you couldn’t stand the stench of your husband’s sweat. but now that you’re six months pregnant and satoru’s away — you can’t help but become obsessed with it. | wc: 2.7k

MDNI, f!reader, pregnancy pervert satoru (?), established relationship (married), pregnancy, no p in v but f!receiving oral, pet names, lots and lots of banter, you like to smell his hairy sweaty pits, you also sniff his socks bc you miss him, satoru is stinky, he is so gross ugh (he’s a BOY), based on this talk post of mine. | dividers made by me (it’s the gojo head from the japanese gojo tag on twt/X)

You had always hated the smell of Satoru’s socks.

Loathed it — in fact.

The way they’d be flung around your home like stink bombs the second he walked through the door — once even in the kitchen — used to make your blood boil.

His bag would land on the floor with a thud, announcing his presence. His jacket would fall next to the coat rack (never on it).

And the socks? Oh, the socks would make an unwelcome appearance soon enough.

“Gojo Satoru!” You would hiss his full name, your hands on your hips. “I am not picking those up!”

To which he’d reply — smug grin intact — “But you do such a good job at it, babe.”

He’ll throw a sweaty arm around your shoulder, yanking you into a hug — all six sweaty, smug feet of him — and rub his chin into your shoulder like a big dumb cat.

You’d squirm and gag — slap at his back.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Disgustingly hot, right?” He’d grin, blowing a puff of hot air in your ear for good measure, making you shudder.

“Admit it, you like me filthy.”

The only time you ever tolerated his scent was when he was freshly showered and dripping in cologne. You liked him crisp — clean and citrusy, the husband who put forth his best effort for date nights and wined and dined you in rooftop restaurants.

Not the one who smelled like residual blood, sweat, and testosterone.

But now?

Well…

Now you were six months pregnant and found yourself nuzzling into his hairy armpit while he scrolled on his phone after a jog.

His shirt was still damp, his underarm was a literal swamp, and you... you had your nose pressed against it like it was the most comforting place on earth.

And you didn’t even care.

In fact, you inhaled — deeply.

And at first, you just didn’t mind his sweaty hugs.

You blamed fatigue. Pregnancy was exhausting. You just didn’t have the energy to fight him off.

Then came the subtle shift. You weren’t making him pick up his socks anymore. You’d see them on the floor and step over them. Like some kind of feral animal marking territory — and you let it happen.

Then came the kiss.

He’d gotten home from a particularly long day, clothes soaked through, and you’d leaned in.

Not just leaned in, you inhaled. Like a woman starved for her husband’s musk.

“Mm.” You hummed against his shirt.

“You smell like... you.”

Satoru blinked, surprised as he pulled back. “Is that… a compliment?”

You squeaked something about hormones and waddled away, mortified but… not that much.

And now… here you are.

Alone and standing barefoot on the cool tiles of the laundry room. Your belly is rounding out one of his old, white high school t-shirts.

And in your hand?

One of his filthy, balled up socks.

A crusty monstrosity from god knows which mission. It practically reeks of Satoru. Salty. Musky. Male.

You blink down at it.

God, this is a new low. Like — a type of thing Satoru would do type of low. You should throw it in the wash. You should burn it.

But instead…

You raise it to your nose and slowly and shamefully take a sniff.

When the notes hit your nose, you practically whimper like a pervert.

Because damn it. Damn it, it smells like Satoru. Not just the top layer of man stink, but the part underneath — that warm, grounding scent you have now come to associate with comfort and home and sex and love and—

You are going insane.

He’s been gone for three days. Three! And you miss him so much. His voice and his jokes and the stupid little dances he does behind you while brushing his teeth.

And the sock smells like him. Has that indescribable something your baby apparently adores.

“I am so weird,” you mutter aloud, laughing a little under your breath.

“I agree.”

You freeze, dropping the sock like it’s on fire.

No.

You turn slowly, cheeks going hot with mortification.

And there he is.

Standing in the doorway — hair slightly windblown, uniform clinging to his tall frame. Blindfold still on.

Gojo Satoru. Your husband. Six foot menace.

With that grin.

“You’re… home early,” you say weakly, unsure if you’re happy to see him at the moment considering.

“Yup,” he pops the ‘p,’ stepping closer into the room. He peels his blindfold up with one hand and rakes his snowy bangs back, revealing his bright blue eyes, already twinkling with mirth.

“Was gonna surprise you. Bring you some yakisoba, rub your feet, make you cry with how thoughtful I am. Real husband of the year stuff.”

You open your mouth, but he keeps going.

“Instead, I find my beautiful wife in the laundry room, looking like a snack and sniffing my sweaty sock like she can’t get enough.” Satoru’s smile widens.

You want to die.

But your lip wobbles instead.

Damn hormones.

“I— I wasn’t— it’s not—” You suck in a breath, voice cracking and face unbelievably hot. “You’ve been gone for days, and I miss you, and everything smells weird and right and you always smell like home now and I know it’s gross but I couldn’t help it—!”

Your voice breaks, eyes filling with tears. You’re pretty sure you’re not making any sense.

The silence is instant.

But before the first droplet can even hit the floor — he’s there.

Satoru’s in front of you in an instant — either teleporting or moving faster than physics allows, it doesn’t matter. You are suddenly in his arms, and he’s cradling you like you’re made of delicate glass.

“No, no, no, baby,” he murmurs gently into your hair. “Don’t cry. Shhh. It’s okay. I’m sorry. That was mean. You’re not weird. You’re not gross. You’re perfect. You’re so perfect.”

You hiccup into his chest.

“You’re sweaty,” you mumble.

Satoru chuckles, chin dipping and lips brushing your hairline. “You like that now, remember?”

You sniffle, nuzzling in despite yourself. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You pout adorably. “I should.”

“But you don’t.” He teases, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You love me. And you love my socks.”

“Stop talking.”

Satoru flashes you his classic sleazy, toothy grin paired with half lidded eyes that make your tummy flip, sliding a large hand down to cup your belly.

“I’m just saying — you’re allowed to be weird. You’re allowed to like whatever you like. I think it’s cute. Also— kinda hot?”

Your eyes narrow. “You’re weird.”

“So is love.” He winks, blue eyes twinkling with innocence.

You groan and swat at his chest — but your hand stills there, breathing him in deeply.

And you don’t pull away. His scent is calming. Like home, safety — and your stupid, beautiful husband. Despite your earlier humiliation, your body relaxes completely against his.

“Do you really think I’m not gross?”

He leans back, tilting his head just enough to see your face, his hands holding your cheeks like they are the most precious thing in the world, eyes impossibly soft.

“Hey. You’re growing a whole human being in there. You could roll in my dirty laundry and I’d still think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

Your eyes well up again — but this time they’re happy tears.

“Stop saying stuff like that,” you whisper, voice fragile. He always knows how to break you open and fix you back together in the same breath.

He kisses the corners of your eyes. “Don’t cry. You break my heart when you cry.”

You exhale shakily, melting into him.

“I missed you,” you mumble.

“I missed you more.” He tilts his head, lips ghosting over yours. “Let me make it up to you.”

“In the laundry room?”

“Hot.”

You swat him, but your grip stays firm on his shirt.

“Okay, okay,” he grins. “I’ll behave.”

But he won’t. Not really.

Satoru’s hands start to drift.

You bury your face in his neck, greedily breathing in sweat and coconut shampoo. Underneath it all is him — warm and just Satoru.

He shudders.

“Oh,” he gasps. “You are gone, huh?”

“I hate it,” you release a whiny moan, pressing kisses along his throat, and he swallows thickly — Adam’s apple bobbing. “I hate how good you smell. It’s like my body got possessed.”

He laughs, strained and rough, grip tightening around you as he tries to restrain himself from taking you like a primal animal. “Possessed by lust? I like that.”

“You’re not helping,” you breathe.

“I’m not trying to help.”

And then his hands are sliding lower — carefully — from your face, down the curve of your back — until both large, warm palms are cradling the underside of your belly.

“Shit,” he groans softly, more to himself than to you as he presses his sweaty forehead to yours.

His thumbs stroke over the stretched cotton of his shirt, over where the baby kicks softly beneath your skin. “You’re… so beautiful like this.”

“Satoru…”

He looks up, eyes half lidded, pupils dilated and blue eyes dark. His face is so close to your face it makes your heart jump.

Your cheeks heat once more under his stare, feeling a shiver run through you. Your cunt throbs. He hasn’t even fucked you and you can tell you’re already soaked.

“Every day,” he rasps. “I think I can’t love you more. And then you look like this — swollen with my baby, wrapped in my clothes, snorting my socks like some pervy little freak—”

You try to smack him but he catches your wrist, pecking your knuckles gently before smashing his lips roughly onto yours.

It’s a kiss of pure yearning in a way only the two of you have figured out. He kisses you like he’s been starving. Like three days away from you was three days too long.

It’s rushed. A mess of saliva combined with your whimpers and his growls as he tugs you even closer.

You gasp against his mouth.

“I’m supposed to be mad at you.”

He huffs. “Is that why you’re grinding on my thigh like that?”

And you are.

Shamelessly.

You let out a whimper as he shifts, guiding you onto the laundry counter like you weigh nothing at all.

He buries his face into the slope of your neck, taking an absurd, dramatic inhale — and lets out an exaggerated groan.

Like, obnoxiously.

“Mm. You smell good too. Sweet. Like baby powder.”

You want to laugh, but it catches in your throat when his hand slides beneath the oversized t-shirt you stole from him, caressing your bare skin until you shiver. His palm slides and finds your bare thigh, then under your swollen belly — then lower.

He pauses.

You’re absolutely soaked through your panties.

Satoru raises his eyebrows. “Baby…”

“Don’t,” you whisper, cheeks hot. “Don’t say it.”

He leans in, breath tickling your ear.

“You got this wet from sniffing my sock?”

You slap his shoulder, your voice a half laugh, half groan of embarrassment. “Shut up.”

But he just grins — filthy and boyish. The type that makes your heart skip a beat like a girl with a high school crush.

Your breath stutters in your throat, hands fisting his shirt. “Satoru…”

“I missed you,” he grunts, voice raw. “So much it made me crazy.”

You squirm, impatient. “Satoru—”

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” he whispers, soothing. “Let me take care of you.”

You nod dumbly and feverishly, dazed.

He exhales, hard and ragged, like you just punched the air out of his lungs from simply agreeing so easily like that — so willingly.

Then his mouth is everywhere.

Trailing wet, open mouthed kisses down your throat, your collarbone, the upper swell of your swollen breasts.

You can feel the heat pooling between your thighs, the tight ache building higher with each hot touch.

And then he’s sinking lower.

He gets on his knees like it’s instinct — like worship — and presses his cheek to the inside of your thigh with a soft sigh.

“Hi, little troublemaker,” he speaks to the baby first, voice quiet but still cheeky. “Hope you’re not listening too closely, ‘cause Daddy’s about to be very inappropriate with Mommy.”

“Satoru!”, you scold, cheeks heating before you gasp, scandalized, as he starts lewdly sniffing the air around your clothed cunt. You try to shut your legs out of embarrassment but it’s no use against his strong grip keeping them wide open.

“You always smell this good when you miss me?” he murmurs, voice low and drunk.

You whimper, thighs twitching. “Don’t be gross.”

“You love it,” he smirks lazily, mouth brushing right against your clothed cunt. You’re soaked. He hasn’t even touched you properly and you’re already trembling for it.

He presses a gentle kiss over your panties, tongue just barely teasing through the soaked cotton and you gasp softly.

Then he peels it to the side and groans at the sight of your sticky, messy hole.

“Oh, baby…”

His blue eyes go so dark with lust they’re nearly black, fingers digging into the softness of your thighs to hold you open for him.

“I forgot how pretty your pussy gets when you’re pregnant,” he groans, voice a little bit awed. “All puffy and wet for me. Fuck. Can I taste you?”

You nod — your voice long gone — and then he’s on you. Tongue dragging a long, lazy stripe through your folds, savoring you.

You cry out, head thrown back, fingers fisting in his hair. He moans against you — deep and guttural — and the vibrations shoot straight through your core making you clench and your eyes roll back.

“Satoru—” you whimper, thighs tightening around his shoulders, and he growls in approval, arms wrapping around your hips to pull you even closer. He devours you like he’s starving. Like your cunt is the only thing that can keep him alive.

Tongue flicking against your clit in steady, practiced circles, suckling softly, then harder — until your legs are shaking and you’re grinding against his mouth with zero shame, bump hitting his head repeatedly with every motion.

Satoru shifts his angle slightly, lips sealing over your clit again while two fingers slide inside you — slow, thick, filling you perfectly.

You nearly scream.

“Oh my— fuck— Satoru—!”

“That’s it,” he coos, voice muffled by your pussy, “Just let go, sweetheart. Let me make you feel good.”

Your hands are everywhere — grabbing at his hair, his shoulders, the counter edge — anything to keep yourself grounded as your orgasm crashes over you in waves. It’s overwhelming, the kind that leaves your whole body buzzing.

You’re choking on a gasp, crying out his name, back arching and thighs locked around his head like a vice.

He doesn’t stop until you’re whimpering from the overstimulation — only then easing his mouth away with final kisses to your clit and then the underside of your bump.

Your panties are barely hanging on one leg, and your swollen belly rises and falls with every shaky breath you take.

Satoru wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, standing and cradling your face gently. He strokes your cheeks, brushes your hair back behind your ears, kisses you again, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

“You okay?” he whispers, wiping a tear away with his thumb.

You nod, still dazed. “Better than okay.”

His forehead presses to yours.

“I’ll give you a hundred foot rubs,” he promises. “Ten thousand. Just don’t ever cry because you missed me again. I’ll lose it.”

“You’re such a softie.”

“Only for you.”

“You’re still disgusting.”

He grins. “And you still love me.”

His hands return to your body like they belong there — palming your hips, your waist, your belly — like he can’t get enough of touching you.

And you can’t get enough of the man who drives you crazy and pieces you back together with the same hands that leave his socks on the floor.

Because he’s home. He’s yours.

And you love the way he smells.

Even his socks.

p.s — from that day on, satoru becomes more attentive. he starts leaving his worn shirts on your pillow, knowing it helps you sleep better. he even jokes about bottling his sweat as a perfume. you might just kill him.

#᠙𑣱 — aomi writes #tw pregnancy #gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #satoru x you #jjk satoru #gojo x y/n #gojo headcanons #jjk drabbles #gojo smut

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ev3nesce · 25 days ago

Text

play pretend

summary: It's the end of the week, and your last task is a routine checkup with Dr. Zayne. You're childhood friend, the only stability in your life. You wouldn't trade him for anything, and if that means keeping your feelings in check, then so be it. But when the topic of an unwanted suitor comes into question, your check-up is lost to a game of pretend. Do you have the strength to let him pose as your boyfriend for a quick fix, or will you forget where the line between real and fake is drawn? Spoiler: you forget.

tl;dr: plot with porn?? going yearn for yearn with Zayne 😼

zayne x fem reader

authors note: this is purely self-indulgent LMAO I was so hurt by the new main story update that I had to write a cutesy first fuck. And yes there IS a build up to the smut people lock in I’m here to fix your attention spans. Alsoooooo there's nothing else on this account cause I got too embarrassed to post a fic on the main. Can’t have friends and fam stumbling upon smut written by my own hands. Haven’t posted a fic of any kind in years so please be kind 😘 also cross-posted this on AO3

one-shot; smut (p in v, unprotected, fingering); 9.8K words

Hands subconsciously smoothing out your still-pristine uniform, you smile at the familiar nurses who breeze by. It’s an exchange that, no matter how frequent, still strikes you as, well… funny. Never would you have pictured yourself on a first-name basis with half of Akso Hospital. Not without help, at least. You suppose such a privilege comes with the package deal that is Dr. Zayne.

Zayne, whose office is two more turns to the left. Your fingers absentmindedly fix your hair for the nth time.

Thanks to your hasty stride, you’re a tad out of breath. And late. In hallways where staff and patients vanish from view, you shamefully jog, only to awkwardly press the brakes when those familiar faces attempt to greet you. Of course, they let you go quickly, for this is not an unusual occurrence. While you’re punctual in any other professional setting, your unique situation with your primary care physician seems to influence some tardiness. Maybe it’s because you know that, behind all the mockery and lethal side-eyes, he doesn’t really care. Not anymore; months of buttering him up and trying to coax a long-lost bond from him have undoubtedly paid off.

But this time, it wasn’t your fault. You physically cringe at the fresh memory moments before you throw the door to Zayne’s office wide open, uncaring of what you might be interrupting. Most of the time, you had some decency to knock during your lateness. Naturally, manners were the least you could offer as an apology. Today, however, your head was a foggy mess.

“Sorry—“ You blurt out. “Sorry, I’m late.”

Zayne sits comfortably at his pristinely organised desk, and—as dramatic as ever—he does not look your way. The soft clicks of his slender fingers typing on the keyboard are the first to greet you. The reflection of the computer screen on his glasses is especially harsh at this hour as the last remnants of sunlight slip away. Beyond the wall of windows, the vibrant Friday night life of Linkon begins to stir, its pulsating energy a stark contrast to the air of serene focus in this room.

“Again.” He hums absentmindedly as you sheepishly enter and shut the door. Those tired feline eyes remain on the computer screen. “What’s the excuse this time?”

The thought of why coaxes an awkward laugh out of you. “Nothing interesting.”

Zayne’s brows ever so slightly pinch at the sound, and he finally throws a glance your way. No doubt he registers your exhausted, flustered look as you settle into a chair. “Even children are more creative when lying. You look…dishevelled.”

“No, I don’t.” You definitely do.

“Overworking yourself again?”

“What? No.”

You brace yourself for the onslaught of questions his words threaten. Whenever the topic of your work’s physical demands comes up, the conversation becomes a never-ending back-and-forth. He insists you need to take a step back. You insist he’s overreacting. Despite your best efforts, neither of you can sway the other.

“Then what?” He presses. “Something interesting?”

You frown as the picture of your desk back at work comes to fruition, decorated with a flamboyant yet stereotypically boring gift, one that you could not bring with you. Following it is the unfavourable closeness of the gift-giver’s desk to your own.

“I was just about to leave work—on time, mind you—when I got given a gift, so I got held up in conversation.”

“A gift?”

“Some flowers.”

“Flowers?”

There’s an inexplicable flutter in your stomach as you hint at the event to Zayne, a cringe pressing in on your shoulders, though you can’t quite justify why. Perhaps it’s the invisible, warning whisper of unspoken boundaries years in the making, as if flirtation and romance were forbidden topics in his presence. Like standing barefoot in the cold. Like a puritan child burdened with silent shame, hesitant to speak on the prospects of young love before a disapproving parent.

The very idea of acknowledging your own desirability feels taboo. And yet, beneath that suffocating truth, a sinister and smitten urge blooms. It is a fragment of your heart eager to dangle those delicate ideas in front of him. Could you coax even an inkling of jealousy from those otherwise unreadable eyes?

Zayne busies himself for a brief, silent moment, arranging papers that are presumably yours into a neat pile and grabbing simple equipment from the drawers. You’re following gaze is spurred by the conflicting apprehension and interest. The dull scratch of a pen on paper, a breath, your heartbeat. Finally, he rests his chin on one hand and taps the pen against his desk.

“Who gave them to you?”

“One of the guys I work with. We happen to be stationed together often.”

“A co-worker, huh?” A moment ago, you could have sworn the usual indifference in Zayne’s face had softened. But what you’re looking at now isn’t exactly a soft look. “I presume he didn’t just want to give you flowers for the sake of it?”

“He also asked me to dinner.” You pretend to find interest in the distant view of neon lights outside the window. “Tonight.”

“What did you tell him?”

Are the taps of his pen on the desk becoming more aggressive?

You shrug as if your answer is painfully obvious. “That I was busy. Maybe another time.”

“Why not tell him no?”

“Well…I don’t know.” You shrink in on yourself slightly, as if confined by the physical manifestation of social pressure. The man you were talking about, while friendly enough, was oftentimes difficult to deal with. Not outrightly so, but it was the little things: the subtle knack of being argumentative, an ego as inflated as a balloon ready to burst. All while you had to see him every day? …You had really drawn the short end of the stick here. “I felt bad.”

Something about your answer makes Zayne sigh. He drops the pen and reaches for the blood pressure monitor. As he speaks, his tone is both exasperated and annoyed. “Don’t worry about being polite with those things. You’re just giving him hope by saying ‘another time’.”

You shrug off the thick, leather-like jacket of your Hunter uniform reserved for office work and present your arm. Beneath it is a tight, white button-up. You try not to be aware of the few unfastened top buttons.

“What if he’s one of those ‘pay for everything’ types and takes me somewhere fancy?” You tease as Zayne wraps the band around your forearm. “One date might not hurt.”

Zayne’s grip on the arm band shifts subtly, slender fingers tugging the band unexpectedly tight. The coarse fabric presses against your pulse. His brow furrows — an indication of focus, but on what, you wonder? Zayne’s medical prowess is above the mechanics of velcro or the calibration of blood pressure machines. The clinically harsh overhead lights cast a white halo behind him that cuts sharp lines across his jaw.

“What happens when he expects more than one date?”

“You never know. I might be swayed in his favour.”

The weight of Zayne’s stare is noticeable only when he looks away, turning his focus to the machine’s screen. “You can have fun without going on pointless dates. Especially with someone you work with.”

You sigh dramatically. “I know. I’m mostly joking, but a girl can dream.”

Zayne raises a brow. “Dreaming about your coworkers? How professional of you.”

“You’re one to talk about ‘professionalism’,” you retort with a hmpf. “You’re my doctor, after all. I thought there were strict rules about interpersonal relationships with patients.”

“Rules, yes.” Scarred fingers reaching blindly for his stethoscope. As he speaks, there isn’t much authority in his voice. Instead, it’s almost quiet, far away as he sinks into thought. “But we’re friends first.”

“It still surprises me, though.”

“I’d be more surprised if you went to someone else.”

Now it’s your turn to raise a brow. “How so?”

“Well, I know your medical history like the back of my hand, you’re comfortable with me, your condition is compatible with my specialisations…” A hint of mischief burns in the few bright specks of his otherwise dark eyes. “And I highly doubt anyone else would want to put up with you.”

Your face contorts as if his words attack your senses like a bitter lemon slice. “Ouch, Dr. Zayne. Am I that much of a pain?”

“More like a constant headache.”

Zayne reaches forward, and instinctively, you straighten up, welcoming the further tests. But the chest piece of the stethoscope isn’t in his hand. Instead, he leans down, one hand wrapping around your chair legs. The low groan of wood against wood cuts through the room as you slide towards him. He does so with ease. Incredible ease and attractive ease.

Though his uniform usually leaves little to the imagination, the white coat pulls taut, offering a delicious view of firm muscle. You swallow hard, almost ashamed at how easily the casual display of strength weakens your knees. The man opposite you is otherwise unbothered, straightening to fix the stethoscope in his ears.

Considering he’s about to listen to your racing heart, you look away, searching for a quick fix. Any sight except him will do. Your eyes fall to the floor…and to the very usable wheels on his own chair.

“In that case, maybe I should switch to someone else.” The cold metal presses in the open V of your button-up, right below your collarbone. “You’re so busy. I’d hate to overwork you.”

Zayne looks up at you through his lashes as he draws close. “Now you’re being dramatic. You wouldn’t last a week.”

“And what makes you so confident?”

He chuckles. Clearly, he’s enjoying the back-and-forth. “Because I know you. You’re stubborn, never listen, never follow any of my advice. Besides, you’d miss me too much.”

Your heart flutters right beneath the stethoscope.

“I do listen.” You choose not to acknowledge the latter half of his answer.

“Prove it then.”

You tilt your head, confused. He makes a zipper gesture over his lips. Oh.

For the duration of his observations, you keep quiet, allowing him to focus on the task at hand. Just as he sets the metal against your chest for the last time, your phone dings. The double chime is unmistakable: the secure messaging platform used for Hunters. You often exchange words with your colleagues through it, but at this time, those who didn’t have your personal number wouldn’t bother you.

Your heart flutters again—this time for the wrong reason. Spurred by morbid curiosity, you fish your phone from your pocket without disturbing Zayne. Through the notification centre you scroll until the dreaded name pops up. Great.

“What’s with that look?” Zayne questions.

There’s not much more to say than the message itself. You flip your phone around to show it.

Sooo… how busy on a scale of 1 to 10 are you really tonight?

Zayne adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose. A subtle squint creases the corners of his sharp, cat-like eyes, the faint glint of curiosity quickly giving way to something sterner. The amused tilt of his mouth from moments before fades, replaced by a slight frown.

“This is the flower culprit?” His tone is painfully dry as he pushes back to grab a pen and paper, jotting down something probably related to your heart rate.

You hum in thought. “Time to come up with a good excuse, since I have nothing to do after this.”

“Or, and hear me out on this…” Zayne turns to face you, pen still in hand, as he leans back and spreads his legs. The sarcasm in his voice cuts rather than teases. “You just say no.”

Exhausted with even the thought of it, you sigh. “You don’t get it. He’s just a little…much. He tried something with Tara a while back, as if he shares a single similarity with her type, and he’s only just moved past the aftermath.” You huff a laugh. “My guess is that the only thing that will deter him is making myself incredibly uninteresting or pretending I have a boyfriend.”

“What awful options.”

Though you wouldn’t agree, you don’t argue, instead continuing to wonder aloud. “The second option would be the most effective. Two birds with one stone, even.”

Knowing him, a rumour will start at work that you have a boyfriend. A perfect excuse for the earlier gesture just being friendly, considering the flowers were presented with a considerable audience. The rumour wouldn’t be bad if there was an inkling of truth to it. Opposite you, Zayne folds his arms and taps the pen against his arm in a slow but forceful rhythm.

…Could you use him as a scapegoat?

The idea creeps in, sly and tempting, an offer as distracting as the taps of his pen. But no — you snuff that worrisome flame the second it sparks. The guilt it brings is akin to admitting aloud the things that cross your mind in his absence. Pretending would be more than a harmless lie, should he agree; it would cheapen your priceless bond. At least to you. The idea leaves a bitter aftertaste.

“What happens when he asks for proof?”

“Maybe I’ll get one of my friends to play along,” you respond matter-of-factly, although the finer details are nothing more than an afterthought to you. In all honesty, you’ll probably ignore the message, but for some reason, you have yet to drop the conversation.

“And who exactly are you going to rope into this?”

God, it’s like he’s determined to highlight every flaw in your plan. You grin. “Depends on who can be most convincing. Maybe I’ll hold an audition.”

Zayne taps the pen a few beats faster as you become stuck in a standoff-ish staring contest. Why, you’re not so sure. There should be nothing left of value in this conversation.

“I have an idea.”

“I’m listening.” You lean forward, anxious for his answer.

He tosses the pen onto his desk. “What if…I helped you out?”

You couldn’t be more thankful that the stethoscope is no longer in his hands. There’s a beat of silence as you look back at him with eyes wide in astonishment. Just moments ago, you had disregarded the idea with a sound resolve, considering it distasteful and disastrous for yourself. Now, with the offer coming from him, your stance has shifted.

He could convince you to get away with murder. You stifle a laugh.

“You? Could you be convincing?”

“So you doubt my acting skills, huh?” He seems to relax at your light laughter, even flashing you a grin of his own. Your routine checkup has been abandoned entirely. “I’ll have you know I’d do perfectly well.”

“Prove it then. Time for your audition.” You clap your hands together twice before leaning against his desk, arm on the surface and chin in hand. “Question one: Imagine we’re going out for dinner. Where will you take me?”

Zayne looks out the large expanse of window as he considers your question with genuine depth. As he does so, he leans against his desk, vaguely mirroring your own position. “Somewhere we can have privacy, but not so secluded that it feels forced. Good food and candlelit tables. Cozy. If I really wanted to impress you, which I probably do, we could go somewhere exclusive.”

When the answer comes to its conclusion, his eyes slowly drift back to meet yours. Still unreadable. Typical. The carefully crafted response renders you speechless for a moment. You remind yourself not to let it show, pursing your previously parted lips.

“We’ll split the bill fifty/fifty,” you add after a moment.

He scoffs. “Silly of you to think I’d let you spent even a cent.”

Don’t smile.

“…Okay, question two: Where do we go after?”

“After…we could walk around the city if it’s a nice night and stop at some of the food stalls for something sweet—like the one I took you to after work the other week. Then I’ll drive you home. A little aimlessly, though, so I can waste time and spend more with you.”

Like the one I took you to. You raise a brow. “Nothing extravagant?”

“What, is this supposed to be a first date?”

“What if it was?”

He flashes a look of mock offence, as if the answer could not be clearer. “Realistically, how extravagant do I need to be to win you over? We’re not strangers.”

“But just like you said, we’ve done those things before. What makes this special?”

A tsk. “If you weren’t seeing the situation in a different light in accordance with our different relationship, I’d be a little worried.”

You bite back a smile. “Fine then. Question three: I get that text while we’re out and show you. What do you say?”

“Tell you to text him something straight forward so that there’s no wiggle room. ‘I’m busy with my boyfriend, can’t talk’ should do it. Simple. If he questions the legitimacy, send him a picture where he can’t deny what we are.”

Reality suddenly draws you from the conversation’s alarming immersion. How did you get here? When did the conversation take this turn? Did the offer leave his lips on a whim, or was it brewing the second you mentioned receiving flowers? …Why? Somehow, you can’t bring yourself to even consider a version of the answer where there’s real jealousy in Zayne. This was a conversation between two friends, where one is in an awkward predicament and the other is offering a clear escape.

Except it wasn’t clear.

You could lie or swallow your pride and reject your colleague, but instead, you were hanging on Zayne’s every word in a daze. Though his descriptions were simple, it was almost as if you could taste the remnants of a shared dinner on your tongue, feel the chilly evening air on your cheeks and the warmth of his hand in yours as you strolled aimlessly through the streets. Imagining it isn’t an impossible task, either. Most of the outings you shared were the taunting shell of a date.

Zayne watches with an immeasurable intensity as silent seconds tick by, waiting for an answer. Should you agree? The date was only theoretical—no harm, no foul. Just a story to tell your colleagues. At most, a picture was all you needed. You match his gaze for a moment longer. Then…

“Alright. Fine.” You drum your thighs as you announce: “You’re hired.”

Zayne leans back in his chair at the news, grinning as if he’s just won a childish game of tug-of-war. “Before we start, I have one condition.”

“And that is?”

“As your employee, things will remain strictly professional, right?”

Those simple, serious words douse out the little spark in your chest—something you’re grateful for, and yet stubbornly wounded by. You snort. “I’d be worried if that wasn’t the general consensus already.”

With a hum, Zayne is the first to look away, eyes drifting behind you to the expanse of Linkon City. For once in this strange interaction, you recognise the look on this face: thoughtfulness. Oh, how you wished to pick apart his brain. Should the universe allow it, you would dive into his mind and make a nest of those fleeting thoughts otherwise destined to be unheard. In this moment, you can’t help but admire him from afar. You could swear a merciless ocean stands in the way, or a glass wall thicker than bullets could pierce. Then he stands with an outstretched hand, and suddenly, you’re back in his office, acutely aware of your physical closeness.

You place your hand in his with underlying hesitance. Before he shakes your hand, he pulls you to your feet. Warm fingers delicately apply his strength.

“Deal.”

“Deal,” you echo. You can’t help but feel surprise at his formal, dedicated approach. “Should we take a photo now, or should I just text him first and see if he believes—?”

“Photo first.” He’s quick to cut you off, shrugging off his pristine white coat in the process and haphazardly throwing it over a chair. “Who knows how long it might take for him to reply? We don’t have all night. By the time he does, I might be long gone.”

While that could be true, you knew your colleague would be waiting with bated breath for a reply. But you don’t bother to challenge Zayne in that regard and instead reach for your phone. “As you wish, Doc-tor. …How should we stand?”

Wordlessly, he takes you by the elbow and gently shuffles you to stand before him, your back to his chest. Over your shoulder you watch, quiet and nervous. There’s a pathetically large gap between the two of you. When you don’t step back to close it, he chuckles.

“You can come closer,” he says. Then, in a more sheepish tone, he adds, “If you’re okay with that.”

You’re affirmation is nothing more than a hum, too cautious to give voice to nerves that may betray you. You’re step back is carefully calculated; not too far so that every inch of you is flush with him, not too quick to suggest eagerness. Zayne leans against his desk in an attempt to adjust his towering height according to yours. As a result, you find yourself standing between a pair of large, spread thighs that faintly brush your own.

Zayne’s movements mirror your deliberate caution, slow and measured. His hands first guide you by the shoulders, then shimmy you by your sides. Then, at a pace so gruelling it was like he wished not to disturb you, his arms slowly snaked around your waist. Each movement is made in such silence that you wonder if he’s even breathing. Were you? His arms hover an awkward inch away, giving you the opportunity to smack his wrists and lecture him on the professionalism he just swore to. You don’t. Of course you don’t. So he comfortably settles them, and you wonder if that opportunity was wasted.

Maybe if you leave your camera facing the ceiling, you won’t have to face the situation you’ve found yourself in. But unfortunately, time was moving at a very real pace, and standing around doing nothing would be just as bad. Stealing yourself, you raise your phone, nervous to make eye contact with your own self. Zayne cranes his neck to fit in the frame. Warm breath fans across your neck and ear as he does so. You shiver.

“Smiling is a must,” he murmurs.

All you can do is nod, swallow, and smile as he instructs. Though it’s a nervous, timid smile, it is one nonetheless. Satisfied, your finger ghosts over the shutter button, only to forget all about it as he leans in a little closer, voice little more than a whisper in your ear.

“Smile wider.”

You can’t help but giggle at the feeling of his breath on your neck. It transcends the physical barrier of your skin, travelling down your spine tauntingly, leaving behind an overwhelming desire to chase the high. At least you don’t need to force a bigger smile—you take the photo the second he elicits the vulnerable reaction, capturing the fleeting appearance of a genuine smile and crinkled eyes. Though beneath it all, the ache of this hollow pretence remains.

“That tickles,” you say in a tone that is borderline accusing.

“Sorry.” His voice remains quiet and breathy against the shell of your ear, this time with a hint of playful remorse. “It was intentional.”

“Mm-hm.” Focus. “I’m going to take one more.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Kiss me on the cheek.”

You’re not sure what possesses you to make the request. Sure, from an outside perspective, it is reasonable enough considering the act you’re mutually playing. But such a simple approach disregards human complexity. If he accepts, is that a reflection of blind obedience, or does it stir something deeper, enticing him beyond the agreement? If he refuses, does that mean he respects those boundaries out of disinterest or fear?

“…Okay.”

That’s all he says. You’re as clueless as you were ten seconds ago. Shooing away the silly internal debate, you turn your head more his way.

You are entirely unprepared for how he complies.

Nimble fingers trace a path beneath your jaw before finding purchase on your chin, tilting it with a subtle insistence. Fingers splayed, his grasp is all-consuming and possessive—perfect for a photo and detrimental to your moral compass. His free hand finds purchase on your hip, consistently firm despite being nowhere in frame. Were you always this close?

The final graze of his lips against your cheek is devoid of his hand’s inescapable demand. Instead, the kiss is gentle. Cheeks red and heart racing, you have half the mind to take the photo. Then another. He lingers long enough for you to take three, your face in different stages of submission.

When you lower the phone, his touch disappears with it. What he doesn’t do is usher you away. Curious.

“Got enough photos?” He asks after a moment. The casual nature of his question is almost laughable.

“More than enough. Now to see if it was worth it…”

Zayne peers over your shoulder as you navigate to the message that caused this all. The quickly crafted response reads with little room for argument.

Look, I think you’re great and I appreciate the flowers, but I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I have a boyfriend, and he thinks I should convey that I’m taken to spare both you and me, which I agree with. I am not and will not be free to spend time with you outside of work.

It’s read immediately. The first message follows soon after.

Come on, y/n.

He continues to type. Then comes the second message.

What boyfriend? I’ve never heard of or seen any boyfriend. You don’t have to lie to me. Just give me a chance, sweetheart.

Sweetheart? You scoff aloud in offence. The gall he has to not only doubt you, but throw in a pet name is beyond you. Nevertheless, you couldn’t ask for a better opening. You don’t miss a beat before attaching the photo of Zayne kissing your smiling face with a simple: this one. You can’t deny the satisfaction it gives you to prove him wrong, regardless of the real truth. A soft laugh sounds behind you.

“A photo was worth it after all.”

“I see what you mean, now,” he muses. Though there’s a slight smile on his face, there’s a line between his brows that can’t be missed. “He’s got some nerve, calling you ‘sweetheart’ and all.”

“Sounds like someone is still in character,” you tease, nudging him with an elbow.

“Hey, I’m just making sure the message is clear,” he retorts in mock defence. “Can’t have anyone calling my girl ‘sweetheart’.”

Your breath barely has time to steady before a familiar chime sounds, drawing your attention to the unlocked screen in your hand. A shocked gasp escapes you at the few bold words staring back defiantly. What, it reads. Can he not share? Any words of indignation are snuffed by Zayne’s hand closing firmly around your wrist, angling the screen his way. The shift from subtle indifference to something far more intense is evident in that now-familiar frown.

“Ignore it.” The playfulness is gone.

“Someone really wants to get in my pants.” You sigh. “Well…work is going to be a little awkward. Thanks for your help, though.”

He huffs a laugh, though there's nothing humorous about it. “You’re welcome. Just let me know if he tries to bother you again.”

You half-turn in your spot between his legs and poke him in the chest. “What would you do then, hm?”

“I don’t know…” He trails off as he grabs your wandering hand and settles it back at your side without letting go. He continues, eyes watching where his fingers toy with your bracelets. “Maybe I’d come to the Association myself.”

“Too bad Tara knows you.” It’s a miracle your voice doesn’t waver. The pictures have already been taken; there’s nothing more to fake. “She’d see right through the act. Or should I swear her into secrecy?”

You’re unsure of how long the two of you have been absentmindedly inching closer. The room has shrunk entirely, walls dissolving as tunnel vision settles in. No longer can you pick up the sterile scent of antiseptic that clings to every surface of the hospital, nor do the fluorescent lights bother you. Now, the only tangible thread tethering you to this moment is him. Zayne. Your breath catches in your throat. A dead giveaway. His eyes flicker back to yours. Is it possible that the featherlight drag of his fingertips over your wrist has caught your pulse?

At this distance, you could count each gold fleck in his heavy-lidded eyes. Now, that look is a characteristic you’re less confident in labelling as fatigue. Seemingly satisfied with whatever he’s found in your eyes, his gaze trickles downwards. Over the imperfections of your skin to the curve of your lips, down your neck, skirting the scandalously low neckline of your button-up.

“I can be plenty convincing.” There’s a soft sensuality in the way each word leaves his lips, foreign and addictive. “No one would have to know it’s an act.”

His index finger teases your inner arm before finally making the jump to your waist. Suddenly, you can’t find the line between real and fake, hypnotised by a hazy want. You lay your hand over the one on your hip and speak with hesitance.

“You’re…doing a good job of convincing now…”

Now there’s a hand on either hip, angling you to face him entirely. His words are little more than a breath in your ear. “You think so?”

A moment of clarity draws your anxious attention to the unlocked door. Though it was late in the evening and Zayne should be leaving by now, you were also no expert in the inner workings of Akso Hospital. How often do people walk in unannounced? Would he get in trouble if someone saw him like this? In you’re peripheral, Zayne tilts his head to follow your gaze, curious. Then he laughs, the sound soft and deep, and boldly caresses your hips upon the understanding of your anxiety.

“Don’t worry.” Without lifting a finger, a subtle frost blossoms over the handle. Soft cracks echo as mounds of ice creep along the locking mechanism. The surrounding wooden frame glitters. “No one can open the door.”

You lift your chin in an attempt to tease. “Why would I be worried?”

“No reason.” His fingers continue to deftly draw circles on your hips, slow and intentional. When he leans in again, his lips almost graze the skin of your jaw. “Sweetheart.”

Not only were the lines blurred, they were gone entirely. That fact is enough to feed your confidence. Timid fingers skim over forearms exposed by rolled-up sleeves. Jagged scars rise to meet your fingertips. They whisper stories you’ve been too wary to pursue. Zayne’s biceps are pronounced beneath the black fabric of his dress shirt, his shoulders broad and inviting. Your travels come to a shy halt just short of his collar.

“You’re a tease.”

“Don’t make it so easy.”

“You’re not making this easy, either.” His grip tightens with those words.

“What do you mean?”

“Playing this game with you…” His voice wavers then, torn between sanity and delusion. “I don’t know where to stop.”

You’re unsure of what to say or do. A chill is emerging from the tips of his fingers, so cold that it seeps through the fabric of your skirt. Zayne is naturally the embodiment of his Evol; cold and unforgiving to those who don’t know him. There’s a subtle, physical aspect to the manifestation, too, from the sharpness in his features to an arresting chill that follows him. But this is different. The temperature in his hands is dropping rapidly, so much so that the shocking cold almost has a bite to it. Is he…aware that his Evol is activating? You shiver.

“You’re hands are cold,” you whisper.

Those few words connect with him like a punch—a harsh reality check. It’s evident in the way that his entire frame goes rigid, the clouded look in his eyes overshadowed by a minor horror. The daze is gone. So is the cold. Zayne withdraws his hands entirely, sinking further against his desk.

“Sorry,” he mutters, voice thick with tangible guilt.

Without missing a beat, you lean forward to match his slight escape, grabbing his hands and bringing them back before he can protest. The act is not a sensual show but instead an admittance of trust.

“I’m not afraid of it, you know,” you try with a small smile. “I don’t mind if your hands are a little cold.”

“You…don’t?” he asks, earnest in his perplexity.

You nod. He swallows.

“Why?”

Once you recognise that his hands won’t move, you slowly drape your arms over his shoulders. The expression on his face is akin to that of a wounded puppy. You’re both surprised at how quickly his hard exterior has melted and saddened by his martyrdom. Instincts rooted deep in your flawed heart pull you in, resting your cheek in the crook of his neck—a place equally as cold. Your fingers, which trace alone his nape, make contact with what you can only guess is a fine film of frost.

You sigh. “Well, you know my Evol can help ease it. If it hurts you, I can help. Besides…I’m not as delicate as you think I am.”

As you speak, the physical apprehension in his body eases. With it is the release of a shuddered breath as his arms tentatively encase you.

“You trust me too much,” he says with a light scoff.

“Sometimes you can be so dramatic.”

“I’m not being dramatic.”

You lift your head to squint at him. “Hm… Agree to disagree.”

You’re faces are incredibly close. The question of how close or why is entirely out the window. This wasn’t some pretend play anymore. You find nothing artificial in the position of his hands, in the way his gaze dances between your expectant eyes and parted lips. Not in his voice, not in the subtle red hue on his cheeks, not in the complaisant confessions of his ragged breaths. Nowhere. The substance that supported an illusion is suddenly weightless, dissolving alongside the frost beneath your fingertips.

“You truly are the most stubborn woman I know,” he mutters. His own stubbornness is endearing, but you’re tired of this game of cat and mouse.

“So you don’t want to kiss me?”

Eyes less guarded than ever before stare back at you as if you’ve spoken another language.

You withdraw your hands and tilt your head away, half-joking, half-nervous by the lack of response. “No answer? Fine. I was offering, you know—“

Blinded by his previous dumbfoundedness, you don’t anticipate the speed of his reaction. Cold hands force you’re face back towards his. His head is slightly bowed, reverent eyes staring up through thick lashes. It’s as if he’s cradling an object of worship, like you’re a deity to whom he must repent. For he has sinned, disgraced by an ailing infatuation that has festered over the years, devolving into a mind-numbing greed.

Instead of the gentle tone that his words have melted into, a low, husky voice rings in your ears.

“I never said I didn’t want to kiss you.”

His thumb slides towards your lower lip, gently tracing the dip below to substantiate his claim. Air seems to escape you at the feeling of his breath, of his hands, at the way his gaze triangulates between your eyes and lips.

“I think about kissing you all the time.”

His nose brushes against your cheek as he cranes his neck, breath fanning across your neck. All you can muster is a whispered, “Oh?”

“When I’m at home.” A warmth against your collarbone cuts through the overarching cold as his lips finally press down. Your heart stutters violently. “When I’m at work.” He kisses the expanse of skin between your neck and shoulder. One hand angles your head from the nape of your neck, fingers fervently tangled in your hair, the other cradling your waist. “When I’m with you.”

Another at the curve of your jaw. While his lips are warm, his breath comes out cold between each peck, each word. The conflicting temperatures are both shocking and enticing.

“I’m tired…” He kisses your cheek for the second time today before pulling back to catch your eyes in earnest. “Of fantasising about it.”

Your faint smile flickers, a fragile torch that illuminates the path he no longer resists. Restraints shed, your breath mingles, and his lips come crashing against your own. It is unlike the nurturing kisses against your skin. In fact, it is anything but gentle; desperately crushing, a confession condensed into a press of mouths. Slender fingers explore the landscape of your lower abdomen, insatiable cartographers drawing maps of mystical lands. Here, he stakes his claim. A low groan echoes deep in his bones and resounds against your equally curious hands.

You suppress a groan of your own as you melt into putty kneaded by Zayne’s precise hands. Lower they go, pulling you closer by the hips, tracing the waistband of your skirt, testing how close to your ass he can get.

The results are in: he can get very close.

His grin doesn’t go unnoticed as his hands dip down with purpose, massaging the plump flesh. You’re hum of content is an addictive contingency. His grip becomes brusquely firm. You kiss him harder. Suddenly, they drop down to your thighs, and the floor disappears beneath you. A sharp gasp of surprise escapes your lips at the loss of support. Instinctively, your hold around his neck tightens, fingers grasping at the fabric of his black button-up.

Zayne’s grip on you is unwavering as he spins you both. Muscle flexes beneath your touch. One arm hooks beneath your knees and supports you effortlessly. The other reaches behind your back, pushing half of his desk’s contents onto the floor in one fluid swipe. Loose paper flutters towards the floor like fragile autumn leaves, settling soundlessly as pens clatter everywhere. The book on dream analysis that you had teased him about reading just last week lands face down with an accusing thud. It faces the ceiling with open pages, displaying the annotation of an electroencephalography.

When Zayne sets you down on his desk, the action is gentle. The hand that helped to support you pushes apart your knees, allowing him to settle between and press a quick kiss to your lips.

“Sorry,” he says between peppered kisses. “Should I have asked before I did that?”

You chuckle against his mouth. “It’s fine. I’m giving you consent entirely. …Unless it’s something outrageous.” The latter part you add with a teasing tone.

“Is this too outrageous?”

Forehead rested against yours, he looks down to where his hand settles on your thigh. Your legs are spread wide to accommodate him. As a result, your skirt rides up dangerously high. Any higher and nothing would be left to the imagination. Slowly, his hand slides forward, aiming directly for the improper scene. You both watch in silence for a moment as he traces the raised hem, massages your thigh, then retreats slightly, only to repeat himself again and again. He meets a higher milestone each time. The urge to beg for more is debilitating, yet all you can do is shake your head, pathetic in your submission to desire.

When his lips meet yours again, his pace is slow, vaguely cautious, echoing that of his hand. Each kiss grows deeper and deeper, pushing you further back each time. The wooden surface of Zayne’s desk presses into your back before you know it.

Angling one of your thighs against his hip, he settles over you with a new closeness. You’re skirt is as good as gone. The fabric bunches around your waist as he pushes your thigh up further. Neither of you pays verbal mind to the physical manifestation of his desire that presses against your aching core.

…Were the two of you really about to fuck in his office?

Zayne was always prim and proper. In the way he dresses, in his sophisticated speech, in his profession and borderline-OCD cleanliness. You would never peg him as the type to yield to sinful wants in scandalous places. And yet here you are, arching your back off his desk and accepting the hungry sweep of his tongue. The only thing protecting him from disciplinary action is the ice embedded in the door. You pray that all the times he insisted on his Evol’s temporal durability were not lies.

When his mouth is drawn back to your neck, your eyes flutter open. They adjust strangely to the overhead lights as little spots glitter in your vision. Confused, you squint. Instead of the specks disappearing, their forms refine into tiny snowflakes drifting through the air. They’re too faint to survive long; as soon as they settle in Zayne’s hair and on the desk, they melt into nothingness.

A question is brewing on the tip of your tongue at the sight. Though it’s quickly lost to the uninhabited corners of your mind when his fingers glide over the edges of your panties and directly across your clothed cunt. Your cheeks flare. There’s no hiding the desire that pools between your legs.

“Is this all it takes to get you so wet?” His voice is a purr against your skin.

You pout. As if you couldn’t feel his erection a second ago. “That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair is how long it’s taken to get you like this.” A shameful whimper builds in your throat as he circles his fingers with added weight. His free hand creeps over your mouth. “Shhh. You can stay quiet for me, can’t you?”

With wide, begging eyes, you nod with a muffled mm-hmm. Before retracting his hand, he circles above your clit a second time, then a third, testing your obedience.

The ecstasy that burns beneath your skin from the slightest of touches is obscene. You would think that you’d been trapped in hours of foreplay, denied even the thought of release. But still, it is not enough. The feeling was akin to wearing layers on a cold day, yet still shivering. Like biting into a promising fruit that hasn’t hung from the vine long enough. It just wasn’t right, wasn’t enough. You roll your hips in an attempt to convey as much.

“Impatient?”

Through a sigh, you answer, “Just a little.”

His teeth graze your ear. “Then use your words. What do you want?”

What an unfair question to ask now, with your mind clouded in drunken lust. Articulation was difficult. So was trying to pinpoint exactly what you wanted. There were too many things you could want and not enough words in the dictionary to do them justice. So instead, all you can offer is, “You. I just want you.”

Thankfully, he seems to understand. His fingers hook around the waistband of your panties. Lifting your hips with one hand, he uses the other to shimmy them down to your ankles. A single beat isn’t missed before the adept fingers of a surgeon slide between your folds. His mouth is back on every exposed inch of skin he can find, needy and hot. You hide quiet pants behind a bitten lip. You almost pierce the swollen skin when his fingers finally find entry.

“Keep quiet,” he reminds you in a soft voice as his index and middle fingers curl. “Only I get to hear you like this, right?”

You nod, eyes fluttering close. But your agreement doesn’t seem to be enough. He catches your rolling head and forces a moment of sobriety. Acknowledgement from every legible medium, including that of your eyes and mouth, is what he truly wants.

“Right, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you breathe out. “Yes, Zayne. Just you…just…”

You’re words die out into a sharp inhale as he presses down on your clit. He pumps in and out in tandem with the exterior pressure, stimulating screaming nerves that turn your knees to jelly and your jaw slack. The room is filled with the lewd sounds of your arousal around his fingers, your bitten-back moans, and the wet kisses trailing from your chest to your jaw, then to your mouth and back.

A small part of you wishes for him to bite down. To leave a mark that was unmistakably his. But, although you were little more than a stranger to Zayne’s sexual nature, you could almost hear him calling hickies childish.

The steady rhythm he’s set calls for release. Like the sliver of morning light on the horizon, you can feel it approaching, an all-consuming warmth that flutters deep in your stomach and creeps up your legs. Your inner walls flutter around his fingers in an announcement of his skilled work’s reward.

“Right there,” you pant, head rolling, and fingers tugging at his hair. “Don’t stop—“

Except, he does exactly that.

You whine as he retracts his fingers, looking at him with indignation, silently demanding an explanation. Only smugness stares right back. Euphoria sinks back into the confines of your bones at the absence of stimulation. You can barely get out the question of why before he cuts you off.

“Believe me when I say I could please you for hours without question,” he says with a quick kiss before withdrawing to tower before you. “But I don’t know how long we have. I can’t let you have all the fun.”

You’re about to roll your eyes when he raises two glistening fingers to his mouth. His eyes remain trained on you as he glides his tongue over the remnants of your arousal before sucking them clean. Nothing could have prepared you for the sight.

“Sweet,” is all he says, as if he’s describing one of the new desserts sold at the cafe across the street. Your cheeks turn bright red.

Satisfied with the taunt, he reaches for his belt, and suddenly you’re reeled right back in. Your unashamed gaze tracks every movement with hunger as he undoes the buckle, then the button below. When he reaches for the zipper, he averts his eyes. Now it’s his turn to feel shy. The top of his boxers comes into view, followed by a mouth-watering outline of the exact thing you crave.

One hand hovering at the waistband, he settles back over you. A palpable shift in the air has taken place. Gone is the initial display of hunger and desire finally brought to light. In this moment, as he looks down with eyes full of affection, there’s a sense of pure, shared intimacy. Not the exhiliration of stupid decisions or a quick fuck. No. Zayne was not one to hook up with someone on a whim. Nor were you.

“You’re sure about…this?” He asks. The previous displays of confidence are nowhere to be found. You don’t think he can even bring himself to say the word, as if an explicit understanding would chase you away.

“What, having sex with you?” You kiss the tip of his nose with a smile. “I couldn’t be more sure.”

You catch an amused yet curious look on his face before he presses a slow kiss to your lips. Your heart races at the sound of shuffling fabric. Then you feel it. You can’t fight the urge to look.

Zayne holds the entirety of his impressive length in one hand. With ragged breaths, he teasingly drags the red, weeping tip across your folds. At the sight of it in his hold, of the tip circling your clit…You can only hope that he fits.

“I’ll go slow,” he says quietly. You’re almost unsure if he’s talking to you or himself. “You’ll tell me if it’s too much? If you want to stop at all—“

You try to give him a smile as sincere as possible instead of the giggles that threaten to arise. Nerves are obviously kicking in on his end. Not that you aren’t nervous. God knows you are. But suddenly, he can’t meet your gaze for more than a few seconds, and it’s the most endearing thing he’s ever done.

You quickly cut him off before he can ramble. “I’ll tell you. I promise.”

Zayne nods, presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, and sinks into you.

If your senses weren’t already overwhelmed by him, they were now. The stretch aches at first, his sheer size foreign and unforgiving. Your jaw falls slack at the feeling, and a stuttered gasp leaves your lips. Zayne echoes the sound. Slowly, he pushes further with each roll of his hips, acutely aware of the initial shock. He sweeps away stray hairs plastered to your skin.

“You’re doing good,” he encourages, though he quickly begins to lose his coherence. “So good… You feel so…”

He cuts himself off with a low groan, and his head falls to the crook of your neck. Another careful thrust, then another. Finally, he bottoms out...and his teeth sink into your skin.

It takes everything in you not to cry out his name at the overwhelming sensations. Just moments ago, you wrote off the idea of leaving this room with physical reminders. Now, Zayne’s tongue was gliding over the fresh indents of his teeth to soothe the sting. Today was a day for many firsts.

Resisting the urge to sing your praise is becoming more and more of a punishment. You can only hope that the soft whimpers and incoherent strings of ‘yes’s and ‘keep going’s are enough. Zayne muffles his own voice with the press of his mouth to your skin, desperate and low. Where his throat leans against your chest, the reverberation of ecstasy echoes. What neither of you addresses, however, is the lewd, wet slap of skin on skin and each scraping groan of the desk legs in tandem.

When your fingers tug his hair, his tempo becomes sloppy. Heedless and disorganised, like he’s barely holding on. You’re own high is re-emerging from its previous denial. Nothing seems to register anymore, not beyond the connection of your bodies, not beyond this room, not before this moment. Every sense is reduced to your simple need for him. Sensibility no longer exists, like ink bleeding on damp paper, words blurring beyond recognition. What were the ethics of fucking your doctor? Ecstacy. That’s what.

You squirm in his partial hold, hips aching with the gruelling pace. When your eyes flutter and roll, he hums in content, suddenly slowing down.

His face contorts into something reminiscent of sympathy, brows pinched and eyes pooling with an inescapable intensity. “Right there?”

Each syllable sounds with a deep roll of his hips. When you whimper out a drawled mmh-hmm, he suddenly picks back up. He’s so close, reaching so deep that his pelvis grinds against your clit. You’re an overstimulated mess of tangled limbs and ragged breaths.

“Zayne—“ You’re legs begin to tremble, inner walls fluttering with that telltale sign. “Fuck—I’m going to—“

When you can’t finish the sentence, he captures your slack lips in a messy kiss.

“I know.” He trails a hand down to draw slow circles into your clit. “I’ll pull out—“

While it was the most sensible course of action, not an ounce of you wanted that. Spurred by a fraction of sobriety, you look up at him and speak solid yet shaky words.

“You can cum inside me.”

Glazed eyes look back, attention caught entirely. Parted lips attempt to form words that are lost to open-mouthed groans. He shudders. “Fuck. Are—are you sure?”

“You know I’m on birth control.” Hiding a devilish grin, you clench around his length. He sinks further into your embrace with muttered curses. Had you ever heard him say such obscene things before? “Please.”

“How could I say no to you, gorgeous?”

His words are barely more than a whisper, lost to the scrape of the table and slap of skin. You’re shared sobriety is spent in the short exchange. Your head rolls back, nails digging into a clothed back; his teeth graze against the inches of flesh that spill out of your bra, an indicator of delirium. Everything dissapears behind eyes screwed shut.

The song of sex is threatening to reach its crescendo, each melodic note vibrating through your entire being. Like a tide pulled by unseen moons, a shared pulse that races beyond the confines of mortal flesh. You hold him close in the moment it engulfs you, and despite Zayne’s intoxicating effect, you are suddenly very sure that this is right. The explosion of pressure in your hips that shakes your legs is right. The perfect alignment of your bodies is right. The stuttered moans as he paints your walls white are right.

For a moment, you two bask in a comfortable silence, arms slung around his shoulder and his head in the crook of your neck. When he lifts himself to hover at eye-level, you can’t help the girlish giggle at the sight of his pretty face and that pretty blush. He smiles back, albeit confused.

“What?” He asks as he absentmindedly fixes your hair.

“You’re cute,” you whisper back.

“Cute?” He laughs. “Wouldn’t be my first pick of words, but I’ll take it—“

Zayne, who leans in to kiss your forehead, stops just a hairs breadth away when a jarring knock sounds. It cuts through the moment like a distasteful dose of medicine. Both your heads whip towards the door as the handle jiggles. Every function in your body stops. But, for the nth time today, your lucky stars seem to align; the embedded network of ice keeps the door firmly shut.

The relief isn’t long-lived, though. Underwear God knows where, half of Zayne’s desktop scattered on the floor, hair a mess and skin splotched in shades of purple… You cringe at the disgraceful scene. Zayne sighs, fixes his clothes, and momentarily drops down to fish for your underwear—the first step to regaining modesty. When he slips it over your ankles and up thighs glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, he offers an apologetic look.

“That’s my karma for ignoring the time,” he grumbles.

You slide off the desk and into your underwear, aided by his fingers at the waistband. As he sits them on your waist and pulls down your skirt, you reach up to fix his hair.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly, as if it truly was your fault. Well…half of the accountability was yours to claim.

“Don’t apologise.” Stealing a quick kiss, he adds, “Trouble.”

He slips from your grasp before you can retort.

From the view of the door, the criminalising array of pens and paper on the floor is mainly hidden, save for maybe an item or two. But even a single paper was evidence enough. Anyone witness to Zayne’s perfectionism would know as much. But by the time you recline in the chair, he’s already reaching for the thawing door handle. His tall frame blocks the view of the hallway as he pulls the door half open.

He nods. “Yvonne.”

Yvonne. Her presence teeters on the precipice of a blessing and a curse. A blessing, given your growing companionship with the kind nurse from Zayne’s division, yet a curse for precisely the same reason. She had the confidence in your connection to claw something juicy out of you in private, no doubt. Considering how often she brings up the gossip between nurses regarding Zayne and your relationship, this was information right up her alley.

Yvonne shifts her weight to the side to peer in the room—an act of curiosity you read clearly. When your eyes lock, the spark you were picturing stares right back. Interesting, her lively eyes seem to say. After wiggling her fingers in a small hello, she turns back to Zayne with a raised brow.

“Everything okay, Dr Zayne?” she asks plainly. The question is anything but plain. “This door was locked.”

Zayne’s grip on the door turns white knuckled. He clears his throat. “Everything is fine. I must have locked it by accident.”

It takes everything in you not to lose yourself to laughter. Zayne’s quick wit would one day be the death of you, but now his lack of sensibility would be the death of him. Yvonne scoffs at his jarringly poor excuse.

“Accident, huh?” Her amused gaze dances between the two of you, painfully knowing behind the war of words. “I see. Maybe be more…aware next time.”

“I will.”

She hums, posture straightening to indicate seriousness. “Well, I brought those files you requested. Sorry for not bringing them earlier—they slipped under my radar.”

“…Right. Yes. Thank you, Yvonne.”

She purses her lips for a moment and regards him with a scrutinising look. Seemingly satisfied, she says, “That’s all. It’s about time you head home, Dr Zayne. You two have fun now.”

With a wink your way, she disappears down the hallway. Zayne is quick to shut the door. You snicker.

“What’s so funny?”

“You ‘accidentally’ locked the door? Good one.”

“…Shut up.”

His words are accusing and gruff, but there’s no bite to them. He crosses the room in a few strides, taking in your features with a new softness. The two of you simply stare for a moment. Almost subconsciously, his fingers reach forward and skim the curve of your neck, following the path of fresh bruises peaking from your shirt collar.

“Sorry for those…” he murmurs absentmindedly, lost in thought. “I don’t know why I did that.”

You chuckle. “You don’t?”

He hums. “Heat of the moment. Hickies are childish, but I…I just couldn’t help myself.”

“You may think it’s childish,” you challenge, “but I quite like them.”

A huff resembling something between a sigh and a laugh tumbles from his lips as his fingers graze the curve of your cheek. Delicate and loving, he handles you with a softness you could only read about in tragic odes. You meet his eyes with a look you can only hope shows a sliver of your own overwhelming affection. Although, regardless of the ache between your legs and skin flushed with sex, you can’t shake the disbelief.

When did the quiet boy you shared stolen sweets with on your grandmother’s porch turn into this accomplished man who dictated your every thought? When was the first time you stole a tentative glance at your childhood crush? On the playground, perhaps. Or maybe outside the store that sold popsicles in the ruthless heat of summer. Those were memories you often basked in. Now, you begin to wonder when he first mirrored your shy gaze.

“So,” he starts quietly, pulling you from the memories of shared smiles with a very current, very real kiss on the forehead. “About that fake date…”

#lads zayne #li shen #zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace #x reader #smut #zayne smut #zayne x you #l&ds zayne #author has zayne brainrot #zayne x reader

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beneathashadytree · 10 months ago

Text

A TASTE OF HONEY - SYLUS QIN X READER

Warnings : insecurities & body image issues, chubby & curvy!reader, mentions of stretch marks, body worship, praise kink, marking, very mild breast & nipple play, implied cunnilingus, reader is AFAB and uses she/her pronouns!

Genre : smut n loooots of comfort☹️🫶🏽

Word count : 1.4K words

Additional notes : This was a paid commission I made of a lovely OC with Sylus, and this version is just the slightly more non-specific version I took permission from my commissioner to post, so that all fem!readers can see what my commissions are like! If you’re interested let me know💗

Commissions are open here!

Tip jar!

Masterlist

“Another event, another dress with your name on it, sweetie.” Sylus’ grin as he walked into their bedroom would’ve almost been infectious, had her mood been entirely different than it currently was. Right now, though? His words seemed to have cast a curse onto her.

She had to fight against her growing irritation. It’s not his fault, he didn’t do anything to deserve it—unlike the majority of the times he’d earned her ire. This time, the dismayed feeling in her chest at the sight of the exquisite dress draped onto the back of the dresser’s chair was entirely because of her own racing thoughts.

“Skipping out tonight,” she simply mumbled under her breath, collapsing onto the bed with weary bones and an exhausted expression like she’d run a hundred miles. And she really had, just inside her head.

Sylus—ever perceptive Sylus—frowned at that, taking a seat at the edge of the bed beside her. “Tired?” Concern filled his eyes, and it only grew worse as she seemed to curl in on herself and burrow deeper into the mattress. “I could cancel.”

With a sigh, she shook her head “You’re Onychinus’ leader. You have to be there. My moods shouldn’t dictate whether or not you go.”

“You have the privilege of commanding me to do whatever you want. I say you abuse that right.” It was clear from his teasing tone that he was trying to get a lighthearted reaction from her, and upon receiving none, his voice turned softer. “Seriously, what’s wrong, darling?”

Her grip tightened on the bedsheet, blinking back the tears as she trained her gaze on her fingers. “I just… don’t want to wear that dress.”

Sylus was silent for a few moments, before he nodded. “Okay. Is it not to your liking?”

“Not really.” With a shuddering breath, she sniffled a little, trying to calm herself down as Sylus’ hand gently stroked her calves in a soothing motion. There was no point in getting so worked up after all, it’s always been the same. “Those types of dresses always show my stretch marks. They’re… kind of short. And tight. And weird-looking on me.”

Screw not getting worked up; her tears were dripping down her face at this point, her vision blurry and her heart heavy with each word that spilled forth. “It feels like every single one of these outfits makes my thighs look big, and my body’s not made for wearing them. It’s just… wrong, like I’m unworthy,” she choked on the last word in despair.

She could hear Sylus sighing, a twinge of sadness she’d never heard before lacing his words. “You couldn’t be more wrong.” Firm in tone, yet not unkind, her boyfriend leaned in and rubbed her forearms gently, making sure to meet her watery eyes as he did. “These dresses only show just how breathtaking you are, and how you belong by my side.” A crooked grin made its way on his face. “If anything, it feels like I have to earn my place next to you.”

“No! You—”

“See how absurd it sounds?” His deep voice was soft as he gently nudged her on her back, climbing in on top of her as his fingers delicately brushed back her hair. “I can never get enough of you. Of every inch of you. I almost refuse to believe you.” His gaze grew impossibly softer, voice even quieter, and his hand even gentler as it traced down her ear, rhythmically stroking at her neck. “But I know that really is what you’ve driven yourself to believe. And I can’t blame you for that.”

Wiping at her own cheeks, she tried her best to make herself feel less sorry. “It’s no one’s fault but mine. It’s not like anyone else has been telling these things to me.” What on earth was she doing, crying to him over dresses? Or her appearance at some stupid events? Or was it simply her body? She didn’t know at this point. All she knew was that she wanted to stop feeling so distraught over something so…

Before she could continue that train of thought, Sylus had silenced her rushing brain with a slow, open-mouthed kiss and a steady grip on her waist. Even now, he was ever the tease, nipping at her lower lip and huffing out a fond laugh as he heard her breath hitch, before pulling back. In half-defeat, he said, “Maybe I’m the one to blame for neglecting to remind you of what I think of you.”

He peppered kisses down her jaw and to her neck, his teeth grazing and sucking at the warm skin there. With a hiss, her hand reached out to pull him closer by the back of his head, and all he could breathe out against her was a stilted, “How often I think of you.” Practiced hands almost blindly pulled down the strap of her silk slip for more access, as he left his bold marks across her neck. His hair tickled her, but she reveled in the feeling even more as he traced a path down the top of her breasts.

They were heaving with the effort of having to pretend she wasn’t falling apart at the seams with his mere touch, and he let out a half-groan as his hand reached out to cup one, while he sucked more hickeys onto the flushed skin of the other. It was too much, but somehow not enough to ease the growing ache between her legs. “Sy,” she whispered, a plea in his name, quickly turning into a whimper of pleasure as his tongue boldly flicked at her nipple through the silk. “Don’t be cruel.”

“Mm. I could never. My pretty girl likes it when I indulge her, I know,” he muttered, ruby eyes flicking up to meet hers and pinning her down with just a gaze as he kneaded at her soft breasts through the thin fabric, his touch burning through her like wildfire. “Tell me where you want me. What you want me to do, to show you how I could never stop wanting you and your body.”

Swallowing thickly, her fingers dug into his silvery hair, like it was second nature, guiding him where she needed him the most. “Want your lips on me, please,” she whispered, as if it were explanation enough for the sudden dizzying heat of the room, and her eyes swimming with unwrought desire. “Tell me you want me like this. I… I need it. Need you.”

The chuckle that spilled from Sylus’ lips was lovesick, and then his large palms pushed her smooth slip up to her waist and expertly tugged down the ruined lacy underwear. “As if I could stop wanting someone so divine.” He sweetly kissed her navel, then completely diverted from his path for a second to squeeze at her thighs, hooking them up on his broad shoulders.

Even between her legs, he looked invincible—more so when he maintained their intense, passion-riddled eye contact as he suckled at the skin of her inner thighs. “So sweet, so perfect right in front of me,” he sighed, almost in just as much pleasure as she was while he brushed his thumb back and forth near the apex of her thighs, mapping out every stretch mark under his adoring touch, and giving her hips a firm squeeze as his hands wandered everywhere they could reach.

Her head was filled with cotton, all her senses consumed by him and all he was. “I can spell out just what you want me to say with my tongue instead.” The very prospect of it sent even more molten heat pooling to her core. Sylus’ tongue would be her undoing. She knew it, her body knew it, and his grin that turned wicked meant that he could see perfectly well just how dripping wet the idea made her.

That smirk was almost predatory; like she was his prey, all prepped and prettily pinned for him. It shouldn’t have aroused her so badly, knowing that he’d torture her with sheer blinding pleasure and a sinful tongue, and yet she could feel herself clench around nothing. He was her undoing, and always would be, especially when his voice was such a low purr. “And you can ride my face until you can translate every filthy word. What do you say, sweetie?”

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ch33z3grits · 2 months ago

Text

Crimson Obsessions | A Terry Richmond Vampire Series

pairing: Aaron Pierre as Terry Richmond x Justine Skye as Camille DeWaterson

warnings: 18+ mdni, dark romance, obsessiveness/possessiveness, smut (fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v, dominant/submissive dynamics, squ*rting, cr*am p*e, Daddy k*nk, worship, pet names (baby girl, princess), overst*mulation), parental issues, description of panic attacks, manipulation, mentions of arson, implied cheating

*author's note at the end!

word count: 9,321

Camille's song: Kiss it Better-Rihanna | Terry's song: Skin-Mac Miller

Pt. Nine

Camille

Camille paced back and forth in Kali’s bedroom, nearly tripping over her maxi dress as she worried over her missing phone. She was sure she left it with her clutch in the back of Terry’s black car last night. If she hadn’t been so eager to put her thighs on his shoulders while he ate her like she was his last meal, she would’ve remembered to grab it.

Last night…

God…

It was the most alive she had felt in years. From being able to be so vulnerable and release years of emotional tension to being able to tap into the sexual fantasies that had been tormenting her for months, last night felt like an otherworldly dream. But now, Camille was back in reality. How was she supposed to face Terry, or anyone from the firm, after everything that had happened? The chaotic scene they had all witnessed... it wasn’t just embarrassing, it was career-suicide.

In a perfect world, she’d just type up a vague resignation email, hit send, and vanish. Take a vacation during her last two weeks, then turn into a ghost. No goodbyes, no explanations. She would just be the distant figure forever remembered as the fringe connection to the man who had a complete meltdown at one of the most prestigious events of the year. The unlucky fiancé.

But this, unfortunately, was not a perfect world. And Camille, lost in a love-drunk daze, had completely forgotten about her clutch. Which meant her phone. And her cards. And her ID. And she couldn’t leave those behind no matter what. Which meant she had to face Terry for, hopefully, the final time. Her boss who had her folded in the back of a sleek Suburban like a pretzel.

Sure, he had been kind. And so very gentle. He had walked her back to Kali’s apartment like a gentleman, wrapped her up in his expensive suit jacket, and called her soft, intimate things like baby in a tone that made her heart clench. And in those quiet hours of the night, wrapped in what felt dangerously close to affection, she had let herself believe there might have been something real in that moment. That maybe he felt it, too.

But Camille wasn’t naive. Not anymore. They were swept up in adrenaline and vulnerability and the craziness of Aston’s outburst. She knew how easy it was to mistake emotional whiplash for connection. She wouldn’t let herself hope. Wouldn’t let herself open her heart to him.

She couldn’t let him in. Even if all she really wanted was to run away with him and never look back. Never think about this twisted, exhausting, fucked-up life again.

“I think you should at least shoot him an email,” Kali said gently, perched cross-legged on the edge of her bed as she watched Camille with quiet concern. “I’m sure he found it. Or the driver did! He’s probably just waiting to hear from you to give it back.”

Camille let out a weary sigh, her shoulders sagging as she paused mid-step. She shook her head, not even trying to hide her nervous energy.

“The last thing I should be doing right now is seeing him face to face,” she muttered. “You know how awkward that would be?”

Kali rolled her eyes, a gesture that was more fond than frustrated. But then she straightened, her tone shifting.

“Camille.”

Camille froze, her heart skipping a beat. Kali never used her government name unless she was being deadly serious.

“Please,” Kali said, her voice softening. “Why are you running from this man? Why are you running from how you feel?”

Camille’s jaw clenched, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. She didn’t answer right away. How could she? The truth was just too heavy.

She knew why she was running. Everything about this felt too good to be true. The man she’d tried so hard not to fall for had crept into her heart anyway and now it was too late. She was head over heels, and the terrifying part was, it seemed like he might feel the same. But how could that be?

Men like him didn’t stay. Not with girls like her.

He’d go back to New Orleans soon, to his flashy club and his dangerous charm and the whirlwind of distractions that followed him everywhere. Eventually, he’d find someone else, someone new and shiny to chase. And when he did, it would crush her. Leave her broken.

And then… there was Aston. Her engagement still hung in limbo. What did it even mean now? Would the wedding still move forward, ticking along on that suffocating 60-day countdown? Or had Aston’s very public meltdown pushed everything off course?

Aston…

Despite everything, she still hoped he was okay. Yes, he had humiliated her, confessing his love to another woman in front of half the firm, in the most dramatic way possible. Yes, he had made a complete mess of everything. But still… that wasn’t the Aston she knew. Not the one she’d known all these years. Something inside him must be terribly wrong for him to act like that.

And she had just… left. Let that whole mess burn and walked away. That guilt gnawed at her.

She was so cruel for not checking on him after. She needed to see how he was doing. Once, she got her phone…

“Kali, last night… we were just caught up in the moment,” Camille said, her voice soft and almost pleading, as if trying to convince herself more than her friend. She wrapped her arms around her torso, trying to find comfort. “I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it.”

Kali, who was rarely at a loss for words, simply shook her head. She didn’t argue, didn’t tease, didn’t offer one of her usual sarcastic remarks. Instead, she gave Camille a long, sad look that rooted her to the spot.

“I just don’t know how you can’t see it, Cammie,” Kali said quietly. “That man looks at you like you made the sun and the stars all by yourself. That kind of look… that’s gotta mean something.”

“Kali,” Camille sighed, running her fingers through her hair in exasperation. “He’s a young, handsome, rich attorney who runs nightclubs in his spare time. He’s already slept with someone else at the firm. You really think I’m crazy for hesitating?”

Kali dragged a hand down her face, then threw both arms up in surrender. “Okay, fine, fine. I get it. On paper, the red flags are bright fucking red. But if you look past that Cammie, hasn’t he shown you who he is through how he treats you?”

Camille couldn’t deny it.

Because the truth was... yes. He had.

He’d been patient. Gentle. Curious about her in ways no one had been in years. With Aston, she’d always felt like she had to mold herself into the version of Camille that fit—poised, supportive, quiet when needed, impressive when expected. But with Terry, she could breathe. He asked her questions and actually listened. He remembered small things she said in passing, followed up without making her feel watched. There was something disarmingly tender about him that unsettled her more than any flirtation ever could.

He saw her.

“Yes,” Camille murmured under her breath. “He cares about me.”

Kali's face softened instantly, her expression shifting from exasperated to smug.

“So why would he do anything to hurt you, babe?” she said, one brow raised.

Camille looked away, her throat tightening. That was the question, wasn’t it?

Because if she let herself believe this was real… and it wasn’t? That would hurt worse than anything.

Camille opened her mouth to respond, ready to defend her guarded heart once again. But she was cut off by a sudden, firm knock on Kali’s apartment door. Her brows pinched in confusion. But Kali didn’t flinch. In fact, she moved with suspicious eagerness, springing from her bed and nearly tripping over her fuzzy socks as she beelined for the door like she’d been waiting for that knock. Camille trailed after her, a confused chuckle bubbling from her lips.

“Are you expecting someone?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

Kali didn’t answer. Instead, she peeked through the peephole, then turned back with a sly smirk. Without a single word, she undid the lock and swung the door open.

There, standing casually in the hallway was Terry, one hand casually in his pocket, the other holding Camille’s clutch.

Camille’s breath caught in her throat.

Heat flooded her cheeks as her stomach flipped in a chaotic mix of panic and giddiness.

“Hey, Terry,” Kali cooed, tossing Camille a sideways glance. “Oh look! You brought her clutch. How thoughtful!” The tone of her voice was unmistakable. It screamed, ‘Yes, we were absolutely talking about you.’

Camille wished the earth would open up and swallow her whole.

Terry smirked. “Yes ma’am,” he said smoothly, his voice dipped in charm. “Figured I couldn’t let her go a full day without her phone.”

His eyes found Camille’s, and the teasing glint in them made her knees feel weak.

“Thanks, Terry,” Camille mumbled, forcing a sheepish smile as she reached for the clutch, her fingers brushing against his accidentally.

Kali backed away from the door. “Well, don’t mind me!” she sang, giggling as she disappeared into the kitchen, pleased as punch. “Y’all take your time!”

Camille stood frozen, staring up at Terry as her heart thundered against her ribcage. For a moment, she couldn’t find her voice. But then, she pulled herself together, determined to keep this interaction brief and as painless as possible.

“Sorry you had to come all the way out here,” she said quietly, her voice shy but steady, eyes dropping to the clutch in her hands. “I really should’ve been paying more attention.”

Terry chuckled, the sound low and easy. “No worries,” he replied with a casual shrug. “Gave me an excuse to come see you.”

Her breath caught in her throat. To see me? Her fingers tightened around the clutch, trying to keep her expression neutral, but inside, her heart turned into butterflies.

“Besides,” he added, “your phone’s been blowing up. Thought it might be something urgent.”

Camille’s brows knit together as she let out a surprised, barely audible, 'Oh?' Her phone was usually so dry, it might as well have been a desert. With a small frown, she flipped open her clutch and pulled out her phone as the screen lit up:

4 missed calls – Maybe: Houston Fire Department

2 missed calls – The Echelon Apartments

16 missed calls – Mother

14 messages – Mother

8 missed calls – Father

Her heart sank.

A sick feeling bloomed in her gut, tight and urgent. Something was wrong. Really wrong. Why would the fire department and her apartment building be calling her? Unless…

“I need to go check on my apartment,” she said abruptly, her voice tight and tinged with rising panic.

Terry’s brow furrowed, concern flashing across his face. “Everything alright?”

Camille looked up, forcing a nervous laugh, though her insides felt like unraveling thread. “Umm… I’m not sure?” she admitted, the end of the sentence lilting upward like a question. Her voice betrayed her, on the verge of cracking. It had been a long, unforgiving weekend, and this felt like the final blow.

Terry stepped forward, his voice gentle. “I can take you there, if you want.”

She looked at him—at the kindness in his eyes—and her heart ached. He was just so… sweet.

She gave him a soft, apologetic smile. “Thank you, Terry. Really. But I’ve already taken up too much of your time this weekend.”

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes steady on hers. “Come on, Camille. I promise, I don’t mind. Besides…” His voice dipped, more serious now. “We need to talk anyway.”

She swallowed hard. That conversation. The one she hoped she could avoid. But he looked at her so earnestly, like he could see through every excuse she was building in real-time. And she knew, deep down, she wouldn’t say no. Not to him.

“Well… alright,” she murmured, barely above a whisper.

He smiled as she turned to call a quick goodbye to Kali, who peeked her head out from the kitchen doorway with a smirk. Camille rolled her eyes, grabbed her sandals, and slipped them on without a word.

And then, she found herself walking out the door beside Terry… not knowing what to expect from their journey.

Camille was grateful for the calm that settled between them during the ride. The cabin of the car was hushed, save for the soft hum of the radio. No forced conversation. No questions. Just stillness, something she hadn’t felt in days.

Today, Terry had forgone the sleek black SUV and professional driver, instead driving in his usual striking Lamborghini Urus. Effortlessly powerful, unapologetically bold. Just like the man behind the wheel. Once she’d given him the address to her apartment, the silence gave her space to think. And her mind, starved of rest, devoured the opportunity.

Was her apartment alright? Did she lose everything she left behind? If so, where would she go after this? She couldn’t stay at Kali’s forever.

Her thoughts spiraled until a sudden warmth pulled her back. A large, comforting hand swept gently over the top of her head, his fingers lingering. Her breath caught.

“Camille?” Terry’s voice wrapped around her. “You okay?”

She blinked, realizing they were parked in her parking garage.

She forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah… sorry,” she murmured, quickly unclicking her seatbelt. “Thanks again for driving me.”

Terry glanced over at her, his expression unreadable. “You mind if I come up?” he asked casually, though his eyes said something different. It wasn’t really a question.

Camille hesitated, but decided she might need some support. “Not at all,” she breathed, praying silently that whatever was waiting upstairs wouldn’t break her.

The walk from the parking garage was uneventful, their footsteps echoing against the concrete as they made their way toward the elevator. But where the car ride had been peaceful, this silence felt… heavier. Dread curled in her chest, coiling tighter with every passing floor.

She fiddled with her keys in her pocket, trying not to fidget, trying not to let the worst-case scenarios take over. The elevator chimed softly as they reached her floor. And then, her stomach dropped. A distinct smell hit her the second the doors parted. Thick and smoky. Her legs felt like jelly.

Camille’s steps were unsteady as she made her way down the hallway, the smell hitting her harder with every step. Her chest tightened with each breath, and her stomach twisted into knots. The door to her apartment, usually shut tight, now hung slightly ajar. Low voices murmured on the other side, indistinct but urgent. Terry stayed close, his presence a quiet pillar she could mentally lean on.

She reached out with trembling fingers and slowly pushed the door open. The moment it gave way, a gasp tore from her lips, her hand flying to her mouth

Everything, everything, was scorched.

The once-cozy luxury apartment was now a bleak, depressing space. Charred walls, blackened from smoke and soot. Hardwood floors slick with ash and water residue. Particles floating in the air, catching what little sunlight filtered in through shattered windows at the far end of the room.

Her art, her plants, the delicate little touches Aston had allowed her to contribute to make the apartment a little more hers…all destroyed, consumed by what had clearly been an out-of-control blaze. The living room was unrecognizable. Picture frames were melted and warped on the floor. The kitchen island, once spotless and bright, was now covered in debris.

“Oh my God…” she choked out, voice cracking.

Three figures turned sharply at the sound.

Her father. Her mother. And Rachael, the property manager.

“Oh, Camille, I’m so sorry this happened,” Rachael said, rushing forward with genuine concern painted across her face. “We tried to reach you and Aston, but… no one was answering. I’m just glad your parents were able to get here.”

Camille could barely look at them. Her eyes were still moving, frantically scanning the wreckage. She swallowed hard, forcing her voice through the knot in her throat.

“What… what even happened?”

Rachael exhaled slowly, her voice gentle. “The fire department says it was electrical. They think it started from a hair straightener left plugged in.” She hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. “But… I know you haven’t been here the past few days.”

Camille didn’t miss the hint. There was another woman. Someone else had been here while she was away. And her and Aston’s carelessness had nearly burned everything she owned to the ground. Camille didn't flinch. She didn’t even look surprised. Her face remained eerily calm as the pieces fell into place. She gave Rachael a slow, silent nod, acknowledging the unsaid.

“I-I have to return to the front office,” Rachael said awkwardly, clearly unsure of what else to say. “But please, don’t hesitate to stop by. We’ll do whatever we can to help you through this.”

Camille could hardly process her words, but she nodded anyway, her gaze still fixed on the remnants of her life.

“Thanks, Rachael,” she said. Rachael gave her a tight, apologetic smile before slipping past Terry and out the door.

“Camille,” her mother’s voice called out. “Let’s talk, sweetheart.”

Camille nodded reluctantly. She turned slightly towards Terry, who stood quietly off to the side, watching her with concern.

“Can you give us a minute?” she asked. He nodded, his gaze intense. “Of course,” he said softly, stepping out into the hallway and easing the door mostly closed behind him, giving her and her parents privacy.

Camille turned back toward her parents, slowly approaching them. Her mother’s face was a tight mask of worry, eyes red-rimmed, lips pressed together as if holding back tears. But her father’s expression was an entirely different story. Nothing but anger.

“Sweetheart, where have you been?” her mother said, reaching out and clasping Camille’s hand in both of hers. “We’ve been trying to reach you…”

“I lost my phone last night—” Camille started, but the explanation was cut short by a sharp scoff from her father.

“Maybe if you weren’t out with that man, playing his little slut, we would’ve been able to reach you,” her father snapped, his voice rising with every syllable. Camille flinched, her breath catching in her throat.

“Colin!” her mother gasped, but it didn’t stop him.

He shot her a dismissive look before locking eyes with Camille again. “This is all your fault, you know,” he muttered bitterly. Camille’s stomach twisted. She’d heard his criticisms a thousand times before, but this time they landed differently. He wasn’t just disappointed. He was blaming her for something beyond her control. And it hurt.

“H-How could you even say that?” Camille said, voice cracking. “I wasn’t even here!”

“Exactly!” he bellowed, taking a step forward. “If you hadn’t run off, if you had just stayed put, none of this would’ve happened! But no, you had to be selfish. You just had to throw a tantrum and disappear. What do you think Aston’s going to say when he gets out of the hospital, huh? Are you going to explain to him why he’s homeless now?”

Camille’s jaw clenched. Her hands curled into fists at her sides. She glanced at her mother, silently pleading for some sort of intervention, some pushback. A single word. A look. Anything. But her mom just looked away. Avoided her gaze. And in that moment, Camille understood exactly where she stood. Alone. She let out a humorless laugh. “Of course,” she whispered to herself. “Of course I’m the villain here.”

“Are you even listening to me, Camille?” her father barked, voice sharp as a whip. “You ungrateful–”

“Can you just shut the fuck up!” Camille exploded. Her parents recoiled, their eyes wide in stunned disbelief. Her mother’s lips parted in shock, one hand fluttering instinctively to her chest, while her father actually took a step back, blinking as if he’d been slapped. They looked at her like they didn’t recognize her.

“Do you…” her father began, his voice loud and disbelieving, as though he was still trying to process what had just happened. “Do you think you can just raise your voice at me–”

“Enough.” A guttural growl shook the room like a low thunderclap, vibrating in Camille’s bones, silencing everyone.

All eyes turned toward the doorway, where Terry stood, his broad frame filling the entrance. An unnatural stillness radiated from him, quiet and cold. Her father gulped audibly, the only sound in the smothering silence.

“I don’t know what this is about,” Terry began, voice cool and measured, yet predatory. “And I really don’t care. But I’ll be damned if I stand here and let either of you speak to Camille like that.”

He took a slow step forward, making everyone take a step back. “You’re done here,” he said with finality. “Both of you. Now get out.” No yelling, no theatrics, just authority. Undeniable, inescapable and dangerous. It was the kind of voice you didn’t argue with. The kind of voice that made your instincts whisper, ‘Run.’

Camille stood rooted in place, watching him with wide eyes. Terry, who had always been patient and warm, seemed possessed by something else entirely. Something lethal.

Her father tried to summon some control. “Y-you can’t t-tell us what to d-do!” he stammered, his voice trembling.

“Don’t make me fucking repeat myself,” Terry said, low and dark, every syllable laced with something Camille couldn’t name. His eyes glinted. Not with rage, but something more primal. And she found it terrifying.

In that instant, Camille wasn’t looking at the man who she shared an office with, or who brought her clutch back with a soft smile. She was staring into the eyes of something barely restrained. A monster. A protector. She wasn’t sure which.

Her father clamped his mouth shut, visibly shaken. Her mother took a trembling step back, grasping at his arm to steady herself. Neither of them dared to argue. Camille couldn’t breathe. And yet, even with fear crawling up her spine like ice, she felt something else: safety. The safety that could only come from something sinister. A demon. A sexy, dominating, mouth-watering demon.

Her mother reached out and gently tugged at her father’s sleeve, her voice low and shaky. “Come on, Colin. We obviously aren’t welcome here.”

She shivered as Terry’s gaze remained locked on them. Colin DeWaterson looked like he wanted to protest, his jaw working in angry silence. But even he wasn’t bold enough to stand against whatever power he just felt in Terry’s presence. His eyes flicked to Camille, then back to Terry, then down at the floor before he finally moved towards the door, his movements stiff with pride and resentment.

Camille’s mother followed him, avoiding Terry as much as she could, picking a careful path over charred marble and fallen debris until she and her husband passed through the door.

And then, as if a switch had flipped, Terry turned back to her.

Gone was his fury, the commanding presence that had silenced her father with a single look. His eyes were soft. He was back to himself, the version she knew. Without a word, Terry crossed the ruined room, each stride silent and sure despite the rubble beneath his feet. When he reached her, he didn’t hesitate. He simply wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in.

She stood still at first, her body stiff, her breathing shallow. Then she sank into him.

Her forehead pressed against his chest. She sniffled once, twice. But her eyes remained dry. The tears wouldn’t come. There weren’t any left.

Terry’s hand moved slowly, threading through her hair with care. He leaned down, his voice low and close to her ear. “Can I take you to my place? Let me help you figure all this out. You shouldn’t be alone right now.” His tone was almost desperate but quiet, like he didn’t want to spook her. Like a man who knew just how fragile she was at this moment.

Her mind told her no. Said she wasn’t ready to trust him. Told her it could only lead to heartbreak. But her heart? It jumped at the opportunity. Ready to seize a moment of softness. And when would she get the chance to listen to her heart again?

She nodded against his chest. “Okay,” she whispered.

Terry

Terry hid his satisfaction beneath a mask of concern. Genuine, warm, protective. The perfect facade. But inside? He was more than pleased. His plan had worked exactly as he intended.

The fire had been contained just enough to avoid suspicion, but devastating enough to leave Camille with nowhere else to go. Now, here she was, fragile and disoriented in his home. Right where he needed her to be. Where he could keep her safe… keep her close.

“I’m so sorry you’ve had to deal with all my drama this weekend, Terry,” Camille said softly, cradling the mug of earl grey he had placed gently into her hands.

Terry looked down at her from his place in front of the couch, watching the steam curl into the air between them. She was curled into the corner of his sectional, legs tucked underneath her.

God, she looked perfect. Vulnerable. Grateful. His.

She brought the mug to her lips and took a tentative sip, sighing as the warmth soothed her. Her eyes closed briefly, lashes brushing her cheeks.

He eased into a cushion next to her, close enough that their legs brushed. His hand moved without hesitation, possessively resting on her thigh.

“Camille,” he said, her name rolling off his tongue like a caress. “Nothing that happened this weekend was your drama.” He used air quotes around the word 'drama'. “You were just caught up in a bunch of unfortunate events.”

She gave him a weak smile, the corners of her mouth twitching, but her eyes still looked ashamed. He hated that she saw herself as a burden when it came to him. It made something rumble in his chest. Not pity. Not guilt. Frustration. Hadn’t he been clear enough? Hadn’t he shown that he would do anything for her?

He exhaled slowly, controlling the flicker of irritation threatening to surface. His thumb grazed her thigh gently, a soothing motion that masked his growing hunger. For control.

She looked away, sipping again from the mug, unaware of the storm brewing in him.

“Still… I’m sorry. For everything,” Camille whispered. Her eyes stayed locked on the mug in her lap. “I–I shouldn’t have crossed that line and kissed you…”

Terry’s jaw ticked. He watched her for a beat longer, then slowly leaned forward, placing a single knuckle beneath her chin. His touch was light, but the message was clear: Look at me.

Reluctantly, she let him tilt her face up, her eyes meeting his.

“Camille,” he murmured, his voice low. “I’ve been very patient with you. I've been gentle. I've given you space. And despite all that, I’ve been more than clear about how I feel.”

He paused, eyes darkening as his thumb brushed just beneath her lip.

“I want you. Far more than you want me. So you can apologize all you want for what you thought was wrong. But I won’t let you sit here and act like I don’t want you. Like I haven’t always wanted you.”

Camille’s eyes widened, stunned by his directness.

“T-Terry… I didn’t think–”

“What?” he interrupted, the edge in his tone unmistakable now. “You don’t take me seriously?” He knew she respected him, but he had to push her. Needed to push her. Make her understand in a way she could never deny again.

She stammered, shaking her head quickly. “I-I do, Terry! I just… I just don’t think I’m what you really want–”

He let out a dark laugh, low and humorless. “Camille, I made my decision about you months ago.” His voice dropped to a growl, fingers twitching as he kept the darkest parts of himself down. “Watching you with Aston every day…it drove me fucking insane.”

She didn’t say anything. Just stared at him with those beautiful brown eyes, jaw slightly slackened.

He leaned back slowly, stretching his arms out and lacing his fingers behind his head, his muscles flexing beneath his fitted shirt. His legs spread slightly, lazy but dominant. Unmistakably in control.

“I don’t like being doubted, Camille,” he murmured. She said nothing, too stunned. “So now,” he drawled, each word slow and deliberate as his gaze swept over her, “you’re going to come over here…”

He let the silence stretch. Then added, voice low and commanding, “…and give me a proper apology.”

Camille’s teeth sank into her bottom lip. Her gaze dropped for a moment, staring into the swirl of tea still inside of her mug. Her fingers flexed, then relaxed. Then she set the mug aside and rose slowly to her feet, moving to stand between his parted legs. Her eyes trailed up and down his body before she met his eyes again, giving him a shy glance. His eyes narrowed as he tilted his head slightly.

“Go ‘head,” he said. He wasn’t suggesting.

She nervously hiked her long dress up to her mid thighs, Terry’s eyes following the reveal of her smooth brown skin. Carefully, she climbed on top of him to settle in his lap. She gasped as her covered pussy brushed against his very hard length, which twitched with impatience.

Camille’s fingers hovered slightly before she let them settle on his shoulders. He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just watched her. Her eyes searched his momentarily. Then, slowly, she leaned in. Her lips brushed his. It was too soft, he wouldn’t even call it a kiss. She pulled back just barely. “I’m sorry,” she breathed out.

Terry almost cracked. Almost. The softness in her voice, the way her lips trembled just after brushing his…the delicate vulnerability in her eyes, wide and unsure like a startled doe. It nearly unraveled him as his irritation dulled. She didn’t even realize the kind of power she held over him. That breathy little 'I’m sorry' was enough to bring him to his knees. But he couldn’t succumb to her charm. He had to make her understand that he wasn’t playing any games.

“Nah,” he groaned, bringing his hands down to her hips, grinding her against him ever so slightly. He let out a low hiss as he took in the friction. “I don’t think you mean it. Try again, baby girl.”

She wasted no time listening to his command. She pressed a deep, wet kiss against his lips. It lingered much longer than the previous one. Then she moved to his jaw. Then his neck. His breath grew shallower with each touch. He balled his hands into fists as he attempted to hold onto his control. And he did…until she reached his ear. The soft, moist feeling against his ear lobe made everything in him snap. Immediately turned him into the predator he knew he was.

His hand slid up to her neck, pulling her face back to his before his lips crashed against hers, giving her harsh, consuming kisses. She whimpered as she attempted to keep up with him as he continued, but he had no plan on slowing down. He wanted her mind cloudy. The only thing getting through the haze of it all should be how good he was making her feel.

Terry slid his arms beneath Camille’s thighs, lifting her effortlessly. The kiss never broke, only deepened as her arms instinctively looped around his neck. His grip was secure as he moved through the apartment toward his bedroom. He walked the path to his room without thought, his focus entirely on her and the way she tasted, her lips stained with earl gray tea and honey.

This time, his room was safe. Nothing out of place, nothing that might raise a single question. The altar, a physical manifestation of his obsession with her, was no longer in eyesight. He had moved it as soon as he came home that morning, tucking it away behind a reinforced door, locked with both steel and spell, where no wandering eyes would ever find it. Especially hers.

He shoved his door wider as he reached it, crossing the threshold like a dragon returning to its castle…holding its most prized treasure. He pulled away only to toss her on the bed. She landed with a soft whimper, watching him as he began to strip.

“Take off everything,” he growled as he pulled his shirt over his head. “I want you completely bare.”

Obediently, she pulled the rest of her dress off and cast it to the side. She was left in nothing else but a pink thong, which she eagerly hooked her thumbs through to pull them down. Terry watched her as he kicked off his pants and boxers. He fisted his dick as he slowly stalked towards his bed. The way she laid against it… hair wild, lips puffy, eyes hooded. It was as if she was a siren being served to him on a silver platter. Silently calling out to him, begging to be tamed. Her smooth skin glistened as she rubbed her thighs against each other, lust swirling in her eyes and throughout her aura.

Terry grasped one of her ankles and dragged her until her ass sat on the edge of the bed. With his eyes still on hers, he sank to his knees and parted her legs. He licked his lips as he stared at her dripping wet center, her fragrance making his cock throb.

A well deserved offering she was.

He leaned forward to take in more of her scent, a deep rumble coming from him. Then, his tongue darted out, a slow, long lick separating her folds. Camille yelped, her back arching off his bed. He chuckled, loving the way she responded to his touch. He took another lick, this one much more slow and teasing.

“Terryyyyyy,” she moaned. He growled again, her taste making him nearly feral. He pried her legs even further, giving him better access to his pussy.

“Fuck you taste so good. So fucking good.” He couldn’t hold back anymore. He needed this just as much as she did. His lips latched around her clit, licking and sucking simultaneously, speeding up as her screams grew louder and louder. He dragged one of his hands from her thigh down to her pussy, slowly pushing in two thick fingers.

“Ohmygodddddd,” Camille shouted, as her walls spasmed around his digits. He hummed, watching her twist and thrash against his bed, curses pouring from her like a faucet. He sped up his pace, curling his fingers slightly to graze the spot he knew would drive her crazy. She let out an agonized whimper, beginning to scoot back from his touch.

Terry pulled away, furious. “You runnin’?” he gritted. “Daddy don’t like all that runnin’ shit.” He reached out and yanked her back towards him, his mouth latching back onto her pussy once more. This time, he was much more brutal.

Sucking.

Slurping.

Lapping.

He did it all. And he didn’t stop. Not when her legs began to twitch. Not even when she begged for mercy. It wasn’t until her juices splashed across his mouth and chin did he pull away from her, somewhat satisfied.

He rose slowly from his knees, beating his dick as he watched the little thing try to reorient herself. He couldn’t have that though, could he? He needed her dick-dumb, her mind consumed by only him and what he was doing to her. He grabbed her waist and slid her body further up the bed towards his headboard. His hand found her neck once again, giving it a squeeze, beckoning her to focus on him.

She blinked up at him as she panted, fat tears staining her pretty face. He gave her a crooked smile.

“Raw?” He asked. He wanted to feel her against him, nothing being between them. But he wanted her comfortable more than anything. But to his surprise, she nodded, still trying to catch air as she swallowed.

“Yes please,” she moaned, the words sounding so needy. So fucking pathetic. He chuckled sinisterly. Yes, please? Oh, he was going to put her straight through this damn mattress. Slowly, he fed her the tip of his cock. His eyes rolled back, ascending to euphoria as her entrance tightened around his tip. “Ahhhh,” she winced, wiggling slightly, trying her best to accommodate him.

“Breathe, princess, breathe,” he cooed, his hand moving from her neck down to her nipple. He brushed the nub softly, coaxing her to relax. “You can take it, pretty girl. I know you can.”

After a few pants, he felt Camille relax around him, making him smile. He pushed a few more inches into her before pulling out completely, watching her face to make sure she was good. It didn’t take long for the pained expression to melt away, leaving only her eyes rolled back and her mouth fallen open.

“That’s my girl,” he moaned, picking up his pace. He couldn’t help the vulgar things that fell out of his mouth as he thrusted in and out of her. Her pussy was beyond perfect. Tight and gushy, filling the room up with the most erotic sounds. This had to be what heaven felt like. No, it was beyond that. It was mind numbing and earth shattering being in Camille’s temple. And he would worship there until the day he fucking died.

Terry almost got lost in her warmth, his release threatening to come too early. He almost let himself get carried away on the high. But he remembered that, above all, this was her punishment. A lesson on trusting him, his words, and his actions. She wouldn’t learn if he failed to drag this out.

Camille needed to believe him. Completely. She thought he was just playing. That this… that they were some temporary, heat-of-the-moment fling. But she was wrong. Terry had to make her see. Make her understand. Not with words, because he had said enough. But with deep, pleasure-filled strokes that communicated better than any words ever could.

Letting her know that she was safe with him. That she was treasured. Every move, every touch, every lingering kiss would be a vow she couldn’t ignore. He would claim every inch of her. Until the doubt fell away. Until she looked at him and acknowledged what he had known all along: She didn’t belong to anyone else. Only him.

Beads of sweat dripped down from his face as he watched her face contort, unable to do anything but take his dick.

Good, he thought. Now would be a perfect time for a domination spell... right in the middle of me ruining her.

“Tell me, baby. Tell me you’re all mine. You belong to me don’t you?”

All she had to do was say those words. And she would be his. He slowed down slightly, allowing her to focus on what he was saying. But she didn’t speak. Just nodded weakly before her head lolled to the side. Terry tsked. That just wouldn’t do.

“Come on Camille, just tell me. You can do it,” he purred, amused by how cock-drunk she looked. His lips crashed into hers, his hips rolling to a stop. “Say it, baby,” he encouraged as he pulled away from her slightly.

She gulped. “I’m yours,” she croaked, voice nearly gone. He cocked his eyebrow.

“And?” He shoved his cock to the base, forcing a whimper from her. She sniffled, obviously fighting the overstimulation. “I-I belong to you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Terry let out a laugh, unhinged, almost psychotic as he continued digging her out. She said it. She actually said it! The words rang in his ears like a sweet hymn. All of his careful planning, every whispered manipulation, every hidden ritual, every drop of blood he spilled…had led to this moment. To her.

His chosen Indulgence, who seemed to have him gripped in the deepest obsession, in his bed and in his arms.

And for that… for giving him exactly what he craved…her trust, her surrender, her heart…he had to reward her with pleasure beyond anything she could comprehend. And Terry, in all his dark devotion, would make sure she felt it. Deep in her skin and in her soul. Because Terry always took care of what was his.

He reached down, his thumb expertly playing with her clit, giving it the right amount of pressure to push her into her next orgasm.

He watched as her chest heaved up and down before she paused for the slightest moment, eyes glazing over.

And then, she shattered.

Her spine arched, her fingers digging into his shoulders. Every nerve lit up. Every feeling surged through her, all tangled together and bursting through her at once. Her body trembled as she gave in, no longer able to contain what he had so methodically unraveled.

Her eyes fluttered closed, her lips parted, and she pressed herself against him like she didn’t know where she ended and he began. Exactly how he wanted her.

“Terryyyyyyyy!” She sobbed.

“That’s my girl,” he chuckled, enjoying the pulse of her pussy as it gripped his cock, nearly milking out his release. He watched as her body lightly convulsed as her orgasm continued to rip through her. Sweet, soft whimpers escaping her, making his cock jump.

He was grateful for her submission. But her punishment was far from over. He was still irritated that she couldn’t see his love for her. So he would make sure she got the message.

And he would be rough. Passionate. And barely restrained.

As if he was possessed by some feral monster, he grabbed her hips and flipped her onto her stomach, snatching her hips into the air and pressing her head into the pillows.

“I’m tired of you running from me, baby girl. Running from us. So I gotta make sure we’re crystal clear,” he groaned, placing feathery soft kisses up her spine. He noticed how her arch faltered with each press of his lips. With a smirk, he dragged his tongue up her spine, watching her lose her arch all together. But he just propped her right back up, just how he liked it.

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” He asked, as he ran his tip up and down her slit, giving her entrance extra attention. She only nodded eagerly as she gripped the sheets to prepare herself. He frowned, displeased by her lack of words. He planted a heavy smack on her full ass, the ripple momentarily hypnotizing him. She cried out, arching even further. “Words, Princess.” He gritted.

“Y-Yes, I’ll be a good girl–” Another slap pulled another cry from her. He gripped her hair, pulling her head back slightly. His lips kissed along the shell of her ear.

“Yes what?” Terry asked, nuzzling the side of her face with his. He licked his lips slowly, still savoring her juices on his mouth and tongue.

“Yes, Daddy,” she moaned, trying to press herself into him. He smirked. Greedy little thing, he thought as he pressed her face back into the pillow. She had no idea what she just unleashed with those words. Hopefully, she’ll be able to walk after he was done with her.

With one kiss to her shoulder blade, Terry thrust his full length into her weeping hole. He let out a guttural moan as the breath in her throat caught.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered as she fluttered around him. “You can take all of me.”

Terry showed her no mercy as he pummeled in and out of her with deep, torturous strokes, soaking up every moan that went past her pretty ass lips. But he knew his love could do better than that. She could be a bit more vocal. He reached around her front, sliding his fingers into her folds to caress the pearl-like bundle of nerves between her legs.

“Ooooo, shittt Daddy,” she shouted, her legs beginning to quiver. Terry smirked, slowing his strokes down to match the pace the tips of his fingers used to circle her clit. Again, she fluttered around him, making his hips almost stutter. He smacked her ass again.

“You gonna let me take care of you, princess?” He asked. She nodded once more, gripping his sheets even harder. “Yes sir,” she croaked, voice hoarse. He smacked her round flesh again.

“You gonna let me handle all this shit you got going on?”

“Yes, oh fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!!!” Her orgasm was close. He wished he could see her eyes. Were they rolling back? Were they clenched tight? He was dying to know. But her ass was just as beautiful of a sight.

A deep, evil chuckle left his mouth. He could make her do anything right now. She was like putty. He couldn’t wait to reshape her. Not with his hands, but with his presence, his words. Not into someone new, but into someone real. Her most authentic and free self. The version of Camille that the world had tried to bury, but that he saw so clearly, even when she didn’t.

He pressed his full weight into her, flattening her into his bed. His mouth hovered over her ear. “This my pussy now, right?” He teased, grasping her hands as he brought her closer to exaltation.

She closed her eyes tightly. “O-Only your pussy, Daddy! No one else’s!”

He let out a satisfied hum. There she was. The vulgar little temptress he knew she could be. “Yeah? So I should nut in my pussy right? Fill you up until you stuffed?”

“Please, Daddy,” she begged. “I-I-I want to feel full.” How could Terry deny such a humble request?

He leaned back and placed one foot on the bed, giving him the leverage to drill one particular spot in the goddess beneath him. She deserved it. Her moans and cries became sharp breaths as her pussy quivered around him. Terry was almost there. Just a few more strokes…

“Fuckkkkkkk!” Camille slurred, knees buckling as she splashed his sheets with her release. The sight of it pushed him over the edge. “Shitttt!” Terry hissed, tears pricking the sides of his eyes, the world crumbling around him, leaving nothing but him and Camille. His hips sputtered as his balls contracted, his cock shooting thick ropes of cum into his woman, painting her walls white.

He collapsed on top of her, careful not to smush her but enough to lock her into place. For a while, they didn’t move. Just breathed heavily as their climaxes subsided. As their souls untangled themselves from each other. Although he wanted to, Terry knew he couldn’t just lay there. He pushed her, probably further than she had ever been pushed before. If he wanted to keep her grounded, he had to give Camille her much needed aftercare.

He sat up slowly, balancing on his knees as he looked down at where they were still connected. She still spasmed around him, adding to the thick, creamy ring that formed at the base of his dick. A perfect mix of their pleasure. Of course, Terry hardened again, and he cursed lowly as he pulled out of her. His mouth watered as he watched his cum spill out of her, dropping onto the soaked, dark sheets below her.

God, she was a sight.

His dick twitched once more, begging to return to its new, warm home. But he knew she had given him all she could. For now. She was right where she needed to be. But he couldn’t keep her there forever.

He gently kissed her shoulder before he flipped her over tenderly. Shallow breaths still fell from her lips, her eyes glassy and her gaze far away.

Terry reached up slowly, reverently, his fingertips brushing along her jaw before cupping her face. She leaned into his touch without hesitation, her eyes fluttering shut for the briefest moment. His thumb stroked along her cheekbone.

“I love you, Camille,” he whispered, tone nothing but sincere.

Her eyes finally refocused. They locked onto his in a way that made his breath catch. For a heartbeat, she said nothing. Then, a soft, warm giggle escaped her lips. A single tear slipped down her cheek, catching the light as it fell, and she smiled.

“I love you too, Terry,” she whispered, the words trembling as they left her. He smiled back.

“Good to hear, baby girl,” he murmured. He brushed his thumb across the tear still clinging to her skin. “Now, let me get you cleaned up.” He stood, tugging her into a bridal style hold, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he made his way to his bathroom.

Stephanie

Stephanie walked down the stark hallway of the hospital’s psychiatric wing, the harsh fluorescent lights overhead casting a sterile glow across the scuffed floor. Her heels clicked softly beneath her, muffled by the hum of machines and the distant murmurs drifting from behind closed doors. She adjusted her oversized sunglasses with a practiced flick of her wrist, despite the fact that they barely masked the exhaustion and fury simmering just beneath her polished exterior.

This was the fourth hospital she had visited today. But this time, she finally found who she was looking for.

A nurse at the front desk had bought the concerned-girlfriend routine without hesitation, directing her with a sympathetic nod and giving her a printed visitor sticker. Stephanie hadn’t even needed to fake the tremble in her voice. Her nerves were still frayed from this morning’s… incident with Terry.

Her stomach turned at the scent of industrial cleaner. The quiet, occasional thuds or groans behind doors creeped her out but she pressed forward, undeterred.

She was on a mission after all.

This morning’s altercation with Terry had been a disaster. She had miscalculated, overplayed her hand. Threatening to expose him, flashing the truth of what he really was, only earned her a choking hand around her throat. And while it was beyond sexy, it was a reminder of what he was capable of. He didn’t fear her. And why would he? Who would believe that the beloved Terry Richmond was a vampire? She wouldn’t have believed it had she not seen it with her own eyes.

But where her threat had failed… she’d discovered something else she could use to get him to bend to her will.

Camille.

Stephanie had been so blind. She was so focused on Camille’s infatuation with Terry that she didn’t even notice his infatuation with her.

But now she understood.

Camille DeWaterson was Terry’s weakness, the key to Stephanie getting everything she wanted. And she would gladly use that slut against him.

Stephanie halted mid-stride as she reached Room 718, the number the nurse had whispered with that oh-so-reassuring smile. She tilted her head, peering through the narrow window in the door, where the blinds had been left slightly ajar.

Inside, the room was dim but not empty.

Aston sat upright in the hospital bed, wrists bound tight in restraints, fingers twitching. He stared at the ceiling. His mouth hung slightly open, lips dry, his pupils wide and unfocused. Heavily medicated, Stephanie noted. The cocktail they had him on must’ve been strong.

Her gaze shifted to the older couple hovering near the bed’s edge. A man and woman, seated on either side with identical blank expressions. The woman’s elegant updo had started to fall, and the man’s suit jacket was wrinkled at the elbows. But even disheveled, they reeked of money. She recognized them instantly from the night before.

Mr. and Mrs. McCoy. Texas oil money, she thought, lips twitching into a slight smirk.

She let her eyes linger on their outfits, clearly what they had worn the previous night. No doubt, they hadn’t left their son’s side since then.

Stephanie didn’t hesitate.

She pushed open the door and stepped inside like she owned the place, the scent of antiseptic rushing up to greet her. Instantly, all three heads turned in her direction.

Aston’s dull eyes flickered, as if he was coming back to life. He tugged against the restraints with new energy, his voice cracking as it spilled out in surprise. “Stephanie! Baby, I’ve missed you so much!”

He tugged at the straps like a child reaching for a toy just out of reach, his frown deepening when the restraints held firm.

“Somebody get these fucking things off me!” Aston's voice cracked as he strained against the restraints, his eyes wild with a mix of panic and desperation.

His parents sprang to their feet, their movements hurried as they attempted to soothe their son with gentle words and reassuring touches. His mother turned to Stephanie, her expression tight with barely concealed frustration.

“I apologize for what happened last night,” she began, her voice measured but firm, “but you need to leave.”

Stephanie’s lips curled into a faint smile. She rolled her eyes theatrically, the gesture dripping with feigned exasperation, as Aston’s shouting escalated.

“If you want your son to get better,” Stephanie replied coolly, “you need me here.”

She took a deliberate step closer to the hospital bed, each stride measured and confident. Reaching the bedside, she leaned slightly forward, her presence commanding Aston’s attention.

“Hey, Aston,” she cooed, her voice dripping with sarcastic sweetness. She plastered a fake smile on her face as she observed his frantic movements gradually stop, his focus on her like a moth to a flame.

“I've missed you too!” She lied with ease. “But I need you to calm down, okay? You don't want to upset your parents, right?”

Aston's gaze flickered momentarily, a brief flash of clarity before he succumbed again, his eyes locking onto hers. His hands, still bound, settled into his lap, his posture slumping in defeat.

“N-No, baby,” he stammered, his voice small and apologetic. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.”

Stephanie's smile deepened, savoring the small victory.

“Good boy,” she murmured, enjoying the control she had over him.

Turning her gaze toward Aston’s parents, Stephanie observed their reactions with keen interest. His mother wore an expression of sheer horror. Her lush, Southern accent trembled as she addressed Stephanie.

“What have you done to him?” she quipped, her voice laced with terror.

His father remained eerily silent, his eyes narrowing as they fixed intently on Stephanie, analyzing her every move with a calculating gaze.

Unfazed, Stephanie met his father’s scrutiny with unwavering confidence. “I haven't done anything to him,” she replied smoothly. “But I know how to get him back to normal. I'll just need a few things from you all first.”

Before his mother could retort, Aston's father's calm voice interjected.

“Let her speak, Lily,” he said, his tone surprisingly composed. Stephanie couldn't suppress her smirk, her lips curling as she tossed her hair over her shoulder.

“First,” she began, her voice smooth and deliberate, “I need you to help me disappear.” She watched as they exchanged glances.

“Go on,” his father prompted, his expression unreadable. Stephanie’s eyes darkened as she thought about her next request. She hated that she even had to mention that homewrecking bitch’s name.

“And when I say when,” she continued, her voice tinged with barely contained irritation, “bring me Camille DeWaterson.”

a/n:

OK, so please, nobody shoot me. But I'm going to have to pause updates until May 9. School, work, and research are really kicking my ass right now, and I just can't give that much time to writing right now. But I really thank y'all for supporting my work and checking in on me! It really does help me get through everything. Especially all the funny and detailed comments and reposts. 😭 I'll be ready to jump back into things once my school stuff dies down. But until then, thanks again for reading, engaging, and interacting!

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@nayaesworld @slvt4her @writingsbytee @notapradagurl7 @23jammy @kaylaahisthebestest- @theogbadbitch @wabi-sabi1090 @hotgyalaroad @nubiagurllll @lovedlover @dimepiece09 @lavaniiii @simplyzeeka @susanhill @next-bex-bet @sparklytemi @sonotlauryn @ranikyani @loveschrisbrown20 @daddyslittlevillain @blackchickinthedesert @sparklytemi @sonotlauryn @hello-therree @solunaseira @hotebonynearby @key05marie @moebuttta @winorlosetogether @nohatingpplbczhtingpplr @alexinmotion @queencb2462 @kismet83 @bruleecream @playingaymes

#terry richmond #terry richmond smut #terry richmond fic #rebel ridge #aaron pierre #aaron pierre smut #aaron pierre fic #terry richmond x black character #aaron pierre x black!oc

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skeletonh0e · 5 months ago

Note

Headcanons about us overstimulating the boys until they go dumb pls? 🥺👉👈

Oh ho! I like how you think, read more for NSFW, the reader is gender neutral and I kept their anatomy vague. There's talk of a "hole" but no explicit reference to any type of genitals.

Also so I don't have to repeat this for each boy, there is a safe word in place so they can always legit tap out if they need to. Remember to practice kinks like these safely

Overstimulation | 🔞 Minors DNI

Classic Sans :

Let it be known Sans is not someone that loses his composure very easily, he remains calm, collected and confident even under some extreme pressure

So it makes you rather proud when you have him whimpering, panting and moaning beneath you like a bitch in heat.

You loosely tied his wrists to the headboard of the bed, placing yourself happily in-between his legs to play with his cock at your pleasure. Sucking, stroking, licking, milking orgasm after orgasm out of him, strains of his cum littered on your face and chest

A borderline devilish smirk on your face as you do so, one that really completes the look you have going on right now

There is a part of him that's trying to act like you aren't getting to him as much as you actually are, but it's not really an act he can put up for long.

Especially as you make him cum again and he nearly cries from the oncoming wave of pleasure, hips bucking wildly as you pull your hot mouth away from his aching member

"holy fuckin' hell you're gonna be the death of me at this rate-"

You giggle as you watch the fresh load of cum spill out of him, idly collecting it with your hand as you go down to massage his seed around your hole, you don't need much preparation to be honest but it's a little show to put on for him

You can see his dick twitch pathetically despite another whimpering erupting from him

"You you wanna fuck me?"

"y-yeah..."

He's so cute like this you almost consider making him cum again and really beg before you let him inside you, but you have some mercy on him and position yourself properly. Feeling accomplished at the relieved groan he gives once he's finally penetrated you

You ride him for the next several rounds, while it gives you some much needed relief you're still hellbent on uttering pampering your boyfriend, making sure he finishes plenty. He's basically an exhausted bag of bones who might as well be brain dead by the end of it

You're there for after care, soothing him, cleaning him, cuddling him, always double checking to make sure you didn't actually go too far.

Which he always just chuckles at before teasing you, "really know how to make a skeletons day night huh?"

Underswap Sans :

He's been such a good boy lately and you can't help but want to utterly spoil him, he's normally so hellbent on pleasuring you after all. So why not make tonight all about him?

And with your special touch? The poor boy is utterly pubby in your hands.

You hold him tightly in your arms as he trembles and whimpers, roughly plunging the vibrating fleshlight up and down on his cock. Enjoying all the cries that escape from him as he cums again and again and again, the poor boy cannot fucking cope. Especially when you keep the toy tightly down then rock it back and forth on his pelvis

He moans your name like a fucking mantra, face completely flushed as he nuzzles deep into your chest basically seeing stars at this rate

He starts to beg and moan that it's too much, that he physically can't cum anymore, that he can't take it before you soothe him, tell him that he's doing great, how pretty and cute he looks all the while, that you love him, that he's such a good boy and you nicely ask if he can just cum one more time

And before you know he's already finished again, whimpering all the while

Eventually the toy is removed the thing oozing with his seed, you make eye contact with Sans as you take a deliberately slow lick from it

Just like that his previously completely used up dick is hard again.

"You want more?"

"f-fuck me properly...please....please....please-"

How can you deny such a sweet request?

He goes for several more rounds before he actually is finished though, once again surprising you with his stamina especially during aftercare where he seems mostly recovered.

He is now dead set on "repaying" you for this and you can't help but just give him a little kiss on the forehead

Underfell Sans :

This man? This man right here?

Does not bottom often and it's very rare he lets you have any form of control when you are on top, so when he does let you switch it up? You go all out, he's tied up good and you tease the hell out of him. Taking your time with his body, massaging every spot that earns a moan, biting certain tender areas and your movements being slow delicious torture on his cock

And he's an utter brat about it the entire time

Constantly squirming, cursing like a sailor and demanding that you fucking get on with it already only for you to giggle then proceed to just take your sweet time

You take pride and joy over slowly breaking that haughty attitude of his, first time he cums he just scoffs, the tenth time he cums he starts to get....desperate...

Definitely makes you work for it, but you know how to press every button by now. What really gets him going is when you slowly run his member across your soaking wet hole then move away once he attempts to jerk his hips toward it

Especially as you cum alongside him, pleasuring yourself while the other hand works his dick. Getting him so close to where he wants to be but not letting him.

"y-you evil f-fucking bitch! i-i swear when I get my fucking hands on you when i get my hands on you when i-"

"Boys that use that language don't get to be inside me, try again."

He cums three more times, before nearly sobbing then properly begging to have him fuck you and be your little boy toy for tonight

And you enjoy every second of the sight.

Rest assured, though, he WILL have his revenge. Maybe not tonight but soon.

Horrortale Sans :

You gotta be bold as fuck to want to overstimulate this man, let alone overstimulate him to the point his mind goes blank from pleasure

He's a bit of a wild card even outside of the bedroom when he's perfectly calm, having him experience multiple orgasms? You're gonna drive him beyond feral

He needs to not only be restrained but muzzled because he will start biting and biting hard once you two get deep into it

You ride him, roughly without any regard for pace, taking full advantage of the fact that his restraints don't allow him to properly match any of his thrusts, always pulling yourself off of him the moment he cums and all you hear are the lowest growls out of him

It's quite literally like watching a caged animal slowly go insane, he growls, he grunts, he desperately attempts to get out of his restraints and at one point you're worried he'll almost break them outright then he'll be set upon you

Which turns you on more than it should honestly, but until that actually happens you keep your focus on giving your unhinged lover more and more pleasure until he simply can't take it anymore.

He's not much for conversation during this, then again he wasn't exactly the biggest on pillow talk period but you make sure to praise and tease him all the while. It's not entirely clear if he hears everything you say between orgasms but there are certainly times where his body clearly reacts

And it reacts violently

You do finally let him finish inside, earning what can best be described as a primal yell from him that outright echoes off the walls

He passes out once he's reached his limit, you unrestrain him then work on caring for him, but about half way through cleaning him up his socket suddenly lights up and you're pinned down before you know it

You're in trouble <3

Underlust Sans :

You two always like to test limits, experiment, and generally see the best way to fuck each others brains out, this is definitely not the first time you've pulled this kind of stunt on him

And if there was ever one word to describe him, it was resilient

He has a lot of experience with this kind of thing and a lot of natural control over his body especially when it comes to sex so it's a definitely a case of go big or go home

He's not only tightly bound, but blindfolded with a vibrating cock ring on the highest setting with another toy being thrusting roughly in and out of his rectum, you deliberately controlling every movement of course

And he loves you taunt you about it, "this the best you can do baby? might just fall asleep over herrrrreeeee-!"

A particularly harsh thrust of the toy gets him to cum mid sentence tongue sticking out as she starts to drool rapidly

Rest assured you return his energy, asking if he's really got it altogether, teasing him by pointing out how violently his cock is throbbing is twitching and smugly asking if you're officially too much for him

It's fun banter, but it gets harder and harder for him to keep up especially as you get more aggressive in your approach in utterly dominating him.

And he won't lie it's hot as shit especially you seeming so eager to abuse him until he's basically your little fuck toy built for your entertainment, drooling like an animal and the perfect picture image of a needy little slut

Your little needy slut

By the time he uses the safe word and taps you, he immediately starts brain storming ideas for the next session you have together. Most definitely planning to return each moment you made him cum without mercy personally

#💀 the boys (group post)#underfell sans x reader #sans x reader #underswap sans x reader #horrortale sans x reader #underlust sans x reader #sans x reader headcanons #nsft headecanons #sans x reader smut #minors dni #asks #requests

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vibratingskull · 5 months ago

Note

Hello, I had an idea for fic but it's a bit different to what you typically write so I understand if you wouldn't want to write it.

Imagine some rebels...maybe members of ghost crew intercepts some of Thrawns correspondence thinking that it's really important intel only to find it's some sweet back and forth between him and his SO.

They would be so surprised to find the big bad Grand Admiral being all cute in his messages. 👀

Interesting idea, let's see what it looks like!

⁺ 　 . ✦ Thrawn x F!reader ✦ . 　⁺

Tags: Kallus POV, pregnancy mention, Thrawn and reader are secretly married

Kallus types on the keys, eyes fixed on the screen.

Everyone is asleep in the Ghost but Kallus cannot sleep. They have been hunted mercilessly and now they are exhausted, Hera found a hideout and everyone fell face first in their pillows.

But Kallus is obsessed with a thought, something he did not have time to investigate while he was still a mole in the Empire.

He still needs to prove himself to his new rebel companions and he hopes that lead could be his ticket! Back when he was under the Empire he noticed ghost communications emanating from Grand Admiral Thrawn’s personal comms and terminals and while he found them suspicious they were not coded as orders that he needed to dig for the rebellion.

But now those communications shine in a very suspect light and he wants to get to the bottom of it.

He is no master hacker and Thrawn evidently changed all the codes of his ship to prevent Kallus from recovering them now that he is a rebel, but Thrawn cannot decide how to modify such encryptions, it obeys a very specific bureaucratic imperial logic.

Logic Kallus grew accostumed to.

For 4 weeks he tried to break the code, spending sleepless nights on this forsaken screen destroying his eyes in the dark and tonight he finally got it!

This is a one-time thing, knowing Thrawn as he does he will realize someone broke his security and stole his secrets.

And considering the encryptions on those communications, he will be absolutely furious and the hunt will get worse.

Kallus knows it

He enters, gathers a maximum of information, eliminates as many proofs of his presence, and runs to wake up Hera to change hideouts immediately!

He thought he would discover a one-way channel through which Thrawn transferred his plans to the Imperial palace to the Navy’s siege or even Lord Vader or the Emperor...

But he noticed those data left the Chimaera to return straight back to it...

Internal ship discussions do not use the triads to be sent and use an intranet and a computer to communicate informations. But Thrawn decided to muddy his trail by sending the data to a triad that recodes it again before sending the data back to the Chimaera.

With whom was he communicating and about what!?

He finishes typing his command and a new window pops up before his eye

A Discussion

To a certain “Ch’acah”

He never encountered that word. Is that a title? Nobody on the Chimaera is named Ch’acah.

...

What the hell...?

Ch’acah: ”How was your day, Thrawn?”

Thrawn: “Uneventful. My planning brought us to victory again and we are gaining in the rebels. Only Konstantine remains a wild card.”

Ch’acah: “Again? When will he learn that we need his cooperation for the plans to work as intended? He can’t allow himself to do what he wants like that!”

Thrawn: “I agree.”

Ch’acah: “I will try to have a word with him.”

Thrawn: “Thank you for your concern Ch’acah, but I would prefer you refrain. It will only had to your stress, and you do not need stress right now.”

Ch’acah: “I am pregnant, not dying, silly.”

Thrawn: “I prefer to be safe than sorry.”

...

Kallus blinks and reread all of that.

Pregnancy? Daring to call Thranw ‘silly’?

What did he stumble across?

He keeps reading

Thrawn: “I would never forgive myself if something happened to our baby.”

Ch’acah: “Nothing is going to happen to me or the baby, especially when I am with you on the Chimaera. I know you will do your best to protect us.”

Thrawn: “I am doing my best. Nothing will ever reach you two while I am alive, I swear it Ch’acah.”

Ch’acah: “Hihi, I know my love, I know.”

Thrawn: “I miss you daily even though we see each other every day. Hiding ourselves from the world tear my heart to pieces.”

Ch’acah: “You can reenact your marriage proposal on the bridge before everyone else if you want! <3”

Thrawn: “ (Y/n)... You know I cannot.”

Kallus almost spat out his caff

YOU?

You and... Thrawn are together? A couple? And you are pregnant?!

He remembers chatting with you from time to time and honestly praising your performance when he was still loyal to the Empire, when he turned to the rebellion he started avoiding you, judging you as a danger to his cover.

He always found you competent and intelligent, and visibly Thrawn thought the same and got seduced.

He would have never guessed Thrawn would get his heart stolen! And by you?

You were more dangerous than he first judged!

Thrawn: “If we are revealed you would become a target. The rebels and the Empire will try to get to you, to the baby, to reach me.”

Ch’acah: “I know... I was joking. Me too I would prefer to be free to hug you whenever I want...”

Thrawn: “Soon, Ch’acah, soon... When my true plans will succeed, when I know everyone in the galaxy is safe from that exterior threat, we will be together and free. I love you, ch’eo Ch’acah, more than anything.”

Ch’acah: “Me too, my love, more than anything.”

Kallus takes a minute

This is not what he expected

Not at all even

He feels like he walked in on something he should have never seen...

He never suspected that... softer... side of the Grand Admiral Thrawn.

He doesn’t know if that humanizes him in his eyes or gives him the creeps.

Thrawn is deadly and Kallus doesn’t really want to discover how he is when someone were to stand between him and you...

Between him and his baby...

Kallus thinks, does he even have it in himself to target a pregnant woman?

Would it not be what an Imperial would do? A rebel would probably have more morals than that...

Kallus contemplates the messages, the love that was hidden even to his eyes. He remembers you as a diligent and loyal officer to Thrawn and the Chiss showed respect to your person and gave a lot of consideration to your opinions on his tactics and plans in retrospect.

Now that Kallus has those informations, a lot of things click in his mind, about you and Thrawn’s behaviors in the presence of the other.

A secret couple

A hidden pregnancy

Thrawn is right about one thing, the Emperor will certainly try to get that baby, the offspring of his most prized tactician

This is literally a death sentence for you, it is only a matter of time. No rebel will even need to intervene: if Thrawn does nothing, the Emperor will get to him himself.

Kallus decides to exit the conversation

Destroys as much proof of his visit as he can

And stand up to wake up Hera and flee somewhere safe.

Thrawn will never allow such secret to spread and will do his best to hunt the intruder until he slits his throat

But somehow

For some reason

Kallus sympathizes with his new enemy, he would not want to be in his position

Never.

@bluechiss @justanothersadperson93 @thrawnspetgoose @thrawnalani @twilekchiss @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @obbicrystaleo @elise2174@davesrightshoe @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni @princesslunamoon19 @janjtje @helrose8

#thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #mitth’raw’nuruodo #thrawn x reader #thrawn x you #thrawn x f!reader #thrawn x y/n #fanfic #vibratingskull

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rubra-wav · 1 year ago

Note

I had this interesting scenario where Vox one day becomes exhausted from his rivalry with Alastor after realizing that the one-sided interactions were becoming old. He later meets the reader (who can also be a part of the hotel) who starts hacking into Voxtech's database to troll the company for shits and giggles. This catches Vox's attention and he's pissed about it. You can do what you want for the rest but they continue to have this rivalry to the point where it's very well known around hell. From an outside perspective, there is just back-and-forth angry banter but there are moments where they're just;

Reader: *appears on screen* Hey Box head, guess who found some good blackmail with your name on it- Vox: *Is so close to having a breakdown, he had a bad week.* Reader: Oh shit- did something happen, are you okay? 😰

They hate each other but they don't hate hate each other. This can be taken as platonic or romantic. I sent this request to someone else but I wanted to share anyway.

Vox x troll/hacker reader: Why So Blue? (Oneshot/concept version)

Why So Blue fic Masterlist

A/N me when I get to write Vox getting utterly humiliated by a troll-y hacker demon 🫶

I changed about the order of stuff as things happen a bit and took creative liberties with this one - sorry if it's really different then the thought you originally had.

(REQUESTS ARE CLOSED, THIS WAS FROM THE LAST TIME THEY WERE OPEN)

Update: This was really well-received, and several people have requested a part 2. I've decided that I will be writing it properly from the start in a proper chapter kind of way rather than in this format so it makes continuity kind of work better rather then the drabbl-y format used here.

Cw: SFW, romantic, enemy's to lovers type beat, references to one-sided radiostatic, also references to staticmoth, mildly suggestive in one part 💀, gn reader, mostly light-hearted - idk if it qualifies as quite hurt/comfort lmao

- It was just a normal morning for Vox when you first showed up.

- As usual, he booted up for the day, got changed out of his casual clothes, and made his morning coffee.

- As he walked into his computer room, absentmindedly sipping his coffee while looking at his phone, he sits down in his desk.

- Then promptly spits out his mouthful.

- When he finally looks up at the screens around him, he's mortified to see a muted video of himself passionately (and very drunkly) singing and dancing horribly from last night while he was out with Valentino and Velvette.

- Posted on Sinstagram from his own account.

- Hundreds of comments flooded in underneath it; laughing, saying it's cute, complimenting his singing, and talking about the caption underneath with curiosity.

- The caption reads; 'For someone who talks so big about being ahead technologically, it was awfully easy to hack old Boxy here LMAO'

- Vox flips out instantly.

- It doesn't take long to take down the post, change all of his details, and post an official apology for his lack of professionalism with a hypnotising message to forget the whole incident occurred at all. He also does a massive comb over for any other breaches and changes all of his systems to be even more impenetrable to a potional attack.

- He calms down, and the incident fades away to the back of his mind.

- But then it happens again.

- Another morning, an employee is rushing into his studio as he wakes up properly, telling him this time that someone is somehow broadcasting Rick Astley's 'Never Gonna Give You Up' to the entirety of hell at 6 am, interrupting every one of the scheduled programs.

- There's a message in big letters on the bottom of every screen in hell, under the god forsaken video and song playing, saying, "What is love~? - U" Underneath them.

- And that's how it starts, the infuriating thorn in Vox's side that is 'U'. No matter how hard he tries, you're constantly undermining his efforts to keep you out of the system and tormenting him in ways that aren't necessarily malignant but are extremely damaging to his image as the overlord of technology.

- For some reason, he's the only Vee you seem hellbent on coming after as well. Vel finds your pranks funny or cute when they don't inconvenience her, and Valentino just likes to prod Vox into getting angrier further.

- He just cannot work out what your motivations are at all. Is it truly that you just want to piss him off? He doesn't understand why someone with such clear skills would simply use them to taunt him and leave him messages to unveil as he undoes whatever you do.

- It vexes him even farther when these messages from you that you leave for him to decode start to sound borderline flirtatious, which makes him feel all the more humiliated.

- He is a grown demon, skilled businessman and entrepreneur, an overlord, and yet you insist upon calling him things like Box, Boxbabe, Boxbitch, and even babygirl of all things for some goddamn reason.

- The back and forth goes on for months, and 'U' quickly becomes a long lasting meme, several people, much to Vox's horror, shipping you two together and even partaking in ship wars as to whether Vox x 'U' is better then Vox x Val.

- Theres one day where Vox quickly puts his phone down after reading a rather concerning expert from what is certainly explicit fanfiction between the two of you, even him deciding that that's enough internet for today while just sitting staring off into space silently for a solid 10 seconds.

- Vox's sleepless nights pouring over his code to try and keep out your attacks, him glitching out whenever he finds infuriating messages left by you, etc. Begin to become routine and he just anticipates the consistent blows to his pride you give him at every turn.

- A weird, unconscious part of him deep down begins to enjoy your rivalry, almost wanting to see what punches you pull out next to disarm his constant losing battle to keep you out, but it gets squashed down the second he becomes aware of it.

- The rivalry is always at arms length, but sometimes he has to stop himself from replying with the same vaguely flirtatious tone you take on whenever he experiences a small win against you.

- He fights to make sure he doesn't have any potential of getting too into it.

- Things take a different turn, though, with the double blow of Alastor coming back and his on-off relationship with Valentino once again going up in flames.

- After stopping his usual monitoring of all things going on in hell online and in real life as picked up by his cameras, he presses his face into his hands with a long, exhausted groan as he fights crying.

- All the people he was actually interested in were as unrequited as per usual. He always tried so hard with Alastor, but as always, he never got anything but met with the clear reminder they would never be anything more.

- And, of course, any potential of anything more happening with Val was completely off the table. It would be stupid to even think about anything real with him.

- He shut his eyes, putting his screen on the desk in front of him.

- Was he just not worth it? Was that it?

- He startled when he heard the familiar crackle of the speakers coming to life around him. It was rare he ever heard your voice coming through his speakers, you usually preferring to just leave messages, however you decided to surprise him tonight apparently.

- Your blurred out face appears on the screens, only showing the lower half of your grinning face.

- "Oh Boooooxybooooy! I found some world-shattering cringey shit you did 2 months back, i-" You begin singing out, before stopping, seeing by his expression.

- Vox was trembling, looking as if he was about fall apart at any second. His monitor was dulled, red eyes half lidded with pixelated bags forming under them, his bottom lip slightly quivering around his sharp teeth.

- "What the- fuck- ....are you alright?" You asked unsurely.

- Vox finally snapped out of it, realising that you were here witnessing him in a way that was very much not something he wanted you of all people to see him in. His mask slid back on, but it was hardly convincing.

- "Of course it is. What the fuck do you wa-ant. I've got shit to do." He inwardly cursed as his voice glitched slightly. God fucking dammit why did you have to show up.

- He watched your lips on your mostly blurred out face slightly curl as you hummed, clearly not buying it.

- "You wanna stop with the lying bullshit and tell me the truth, Boxhead?" You somewhat chided him, your hand coming into sight as you leaned your cheek onto it. Vox let out a growling sound, going to spit some vitriol at you, but was cut off as you absentmindedly made your next comment.

"Felt you once again have a fit about the radio demon going online. Lights in my house and the houses out my windows started flashing and shit. Is it hi-" your brows shot up and eyes widened, this hidden behind the censorship as you watched Vox, leader of the Vees, your rival, let out a shuddering breath and actually start crying comically pixilated tears right before your eyes.

- Vox's claws gripped into his desk as he grit his teeth as he let out a gasping breath he fought to stifle. He was so goddamn exhausted that he just couldn't be assed to keep it all up anymore. It wasn't like you hadn't seen rather unsavoury things he'd been trying to hide anyways.

- "No shit it's about Alastor. It's always about him. Does it get you off knowing I can't get with the guy I have always wanted no matter how hard I try? There. Are you fucking happy now?" His voice cracks as he snarls the words out at you.

- You let out a long humming sound, as if thinking. "I mean, not really. I'd only be happy if you were this upset over me, not some old hazbin radio announcer who fell off years ago." You shrug with a slightly sad smile.

- Vox squinted at you, confused.

- "I mean, come on, I'm your rival too. Why neglect me so much in all this?" You press your bottom lip out in mock sadness, tone mocking again. Your words are true despite the joking tone however, it did bother you that he always seemed so much more ready to go running after the most obviously aroace man you think you had seen in your entire fucking life.

- Vox couldn't believe what he was hearing, hot embarrassment caused his monitor to start heating up a bit, painting animated flush over his cheeks. "Oh, stop taking the piss, U. Fuck off." He scoffed, rolling his eyes, looking to the side in irritation.

- You chuckle at him, shaking your head and causing the thing blurring your face to shake with it. "Is it really that hard to believe I'm into what we have going on here?" Your voice is still lined with the usual tone you take on with him, but much less so.

- Vox looks back at your blurred, smiling face incredulously. "Yes." He growled, blinking his tears away as he regained his composure a bit.

- You sigh heavily, rolling your eyes. "Ooookay, well, once you're done riding the coattails of a man who will never want you, come hit me up, Boxhead." You say through smiling lips, before abruptly pressing 'hang up' on the call so he didn't have time to actually respond.

- Vox sat in bewildered silence, not able to react properly as his brain felt as if it was working on low resolution comprehending what you just said.

- His face heated up the more he thought about it, heart beginning to hammer in his chest as he laughed in disbelief. No way. No fucking way.

- But you had said it.

- Despite his usual pessimistic nature, he allowed himself to actually believe it, chuckling.

- He looked over to his phone as a notification sound rang out to see a photo of himself presumably just now; flustered, eyes wide in disbelief and unfocused while staring off into space, a crooked grin on his face.

- It was captioned as follows; 'POV: local pathetic radio simp finds out other rival actually wants him'

- "FUCK." He yelled out in embarrassment, knocking out several of his monitors with a surge of electricity.

I loved writing this sm omfggg.

There's definitely part 2 potential to this one, but it would have to be in a while w all the other stuff I'm gonna get to first.

Masterlist

#vox #vox headcanons #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox x reader

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milkteabinniechan · 11 months ago

Text

♡Knockout Love - Changbin

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: boxer! Changbin x fem! reader

summary: In a bustling city, a talented fighter is climbing the ranks of the professional boxing world. During a crucial match, Changbin locks eyes witn you in the audience. Distracted, he takes a hard hit to the face...

warnings: just fluff, kissing, physical fighting (punching, kicking), gambling

a/n: this one was a little more personal and I just thought binnie fit the role so perfectly! Happy birthday Binnie baby!

Adrenaline is defined as a substance that is released in the body of a person who is feeling a strong emotion, causing the heart to beat faster and give the person more energy. Changbin was close to the finish line. Years of running in a straight line had led him to this exact point. He could see it just ahead.

The arena buzzed with excitement, the crowd’s roar echoing off the walls as the two fighters entered the ring under the bright, unforgiving lights. In one corner stood Changbin, his muscles taut and eyes focused. Across from him stood his opponent, a well-known fighter who bounced lightly on his feet, exuding confidence and agility. Changbin watched as he flitted back and forth, arms already raised and ready. Something about this fight felt different, some kind of electricity buzzed in the air around them.

As the first bell rang, his opponent charged forward, throwing a series of quick jabs. Changbin deftly dodged and countered with a powerful uppercut, landing it squarely on the other fighter’s chin. Changbin’s opponent faltered for a moment but quickly recovered. The fighter danced around the ring, his footwork impeccable. While Changbin relied on brute strength, delivering punishing blows whenever he saw an opening. He could hear his coach shouting at him from the corner of the ring.

Come on! Hit him! Don’t back down!

Everything had been leading to this. All of his training, all of his tireless, bleeding, aching, miserable moments had led him to this. Changbin had never known anything in life that he wanted more than to win. Until he saw you.

********************

You were on a terrible date. Not just terrible. But a boring, incompatible, mentally exhausting date. The man escorting you around town was exactly your type. He was tall, handsome, successful and arrogant. But as the two of you walked downtown, you couldn’t help but wonder why you were so miserable. He was everything you had always looked for in a man. He even smelled rich, so what was the problem?

He continued to talk on his phone as he led you down the street. He was presumably on a business call with some other rich assholes that were most likely just as arrogant. Mr. Wall Street. He led you to a rundown building that looked like it should be condemned. You furrowed your brow at the sight while your date gave you a cocky smile and a simple: trust me. You followed Mr. Wall Street down a flight of stairs that opened up to a large, abandoned warehouse. Inside was one single boxing ring surrounded by hundreds of screaming men. Some men yelled obscenities while some had fists full of cash they were swinging around wildly.

“Why did you bring me here?” You asked with a sneer.

Mr. Wall Street looked you up and down and rolled his eyes. “Come on baby,” his arm already snaking around your waist, “it will be fun. Besides, I always make great money on this guy.”

His finger pointed to a stocky, but chiseled boxer at one end of the ring. Your eyes drank in his entire form, his arms glistening from the bright lights, his forehead dripping with sweat. While his body looked very strong and almost intimidating, his face looked soft and kind. You continued to stare at the boxer as you and Mr. Wall Street took your seats beside the ring. You listened to the MC announce his name as Seo Changbin.

The fight had begun with the first bell ring. You watched the way Changbin moved and landed blows with an almost water-like fluidity. The crowd erupted with every successful hit, a sea of cheering, gasping, and shouting, their energy feeding the intensity of the match. Your heart picked up speed as your eyes followed Changbin’s movements. You had never been to a boxing match before, never even watched one on the television. However, you found yourself captivated with his ebb and flow.

“Didn’t I tell you this guy was great?” Mr. Wall Street slugged his arm around your shoulder and pulled you into him.

Your body reacted immediately, tensing up and already trying to pull away. But instead you nodded your head, fixing your eyes back on the match.

In the final round, both fighters were exhausted. The score was tied and everyone waited with bated breath as the bell echoed through the room. Determination etched on his face, Changbin fought through the main that was coursing through his muscles. The first rule they teach you, before anything else, is to keep your eyes on your opponent. Never break eye contact, even for a second. Because that second could change everything.

Changbin’s fists were like pistons, relentless and powerful. His opponent's moves, however, were calculated. Each punch landed with a resounding thud, sending ripples of pain through their bodies. Sweat flew off their brows with every impact, muscles straining under the pressure. Pressure was all Changbin had been feeling for months. He dodged another hit, this time barely missing his chin. As he turned his head swiftly to the left, his eyes locked with yours. You were luminous. The harsh lights of the arena seemed to give you an angelic glow that singled you out from the rest of the crowd. He had never seen anything so beauti-

Never break eye contact, not even for a second.

Changbin’s opponent saw his opening and pounced with hestistation, landing a devastating hook that sent Changbin to the mat. The crowd exploded in a mixture of cheers and anger. Some men even tried to rush the ring, seeing their money, their bets, fall flat onto the floor of the mat. Changbin laid unconscious for a moment, his coach at his side, shaking and slapping his face. The referee soon entered the ring and lifted the arm of the other fighter. The audience was en emotion mix of joy and sadness, including Mr. Wall Street.

You stood from your seat and tried to see Changbin from the waves of angry men that were now surrounding him. As you attempted to get closer, your date grabbed your hand and pulled you aside and down a hallway.

“What-What are we doing?” You stammered as your date continued to pull you behind him.

“That asshole owes me money! I can’t believe he lost…” Mr. Wall Street was fuming, his grip on your hand growing stronger.

The two of you finally stopped outside of a plain, white door. His fists pounded on the door and demanded to see the fighter, Changbin. Changbin opened the door slowly, holding a small ice pack on his cheek.

“Yeah?” He spoke with a soft exhaustion.

Mr. Wall Street stood fuming. The air was thick with anticipation as the two men faced each other. Changbin hadn’t noticed you standing there, his head still cloudy from the fight. Your date stepped closer and demanded money. He told Changbin that he is not a man who likes to lose. He told him that he was getting that money one way or another. Changbin scoffed and rolled his eyes. This was not the first time an entitled asshole came crying to him when they lost a bet. You slowly stepped in front of your date and apologized.

“Sorry about this, about the fight.” You said in a tender voice. You weren’t really sure what to say, but you felt you had to say something. Changbin’s eyes softened as he recognized your face again. His body instinctively moved towards yours as you spoke. His eyes watched you closely, almost hypnotized by the sound of your voice.

Mr. Wall Street huffed and swiftly grabbed your arm, pulling you back behind him. You let out a sharp gasp as you stumbled backwards. Changbin felt lightning shooting through his fingertips at the sight of you falling back. He didn’t think about his next move, he didn’t have to. His fists clenched as his jaw tightened. With a swift motion, Changbin swung his fist, landing a solid punch on Mr. Wall Street’s jaw. A sharp crack echoed, and he staggered back, pain flashing across his face. He looked at You then back and Changbin before finally shouting “fuck this!”

He was gone in a flash down the hallway while the two of you stood across from each other in complete silence. Changbin shook off his hand, his knuckles tingling slightly from the impact. He looked at you again, “Are you alright?” His voice was a little gruff and irritated.

You didn’t think about your next move, you didn't have to. Your heart raced as you crashed your lips into his. His lips were soft and warm against yours. You felt the gentle pressure as he pulled you closer, his hand resting lightly on your back. A rush of warmth spread through you, a mix of excitement and tenderness. The entire arena seemed to fade away and all you could think about was how right this moment felt. Changbin held you close against him, his arms surrounding you completely. He was so delicate with you, so tender. Changbin moaned softly into the kiss as you leaned further into him. He had never been so happy to lose a fight.

taglist: @simply-trash5 @sugawhaaa @trixiekaulitz @chrizzztopherbang @cassidymb121 @roanns-posts @staysinbloom @yaorzu-blog @bubblebisk @cotton-candycloudz @beautyinhypnosis @domicaru @strawberry31 @slxtmeri @newhope8 @tinyelfperson @dandelions-143 @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @msauthor @fun-fanfics @ell0thebell @stephanieeeyang @juskz @kimahreummm @readr1221 @kayleefriedchicken @ovulatingrn @hwnglixho @darthmaddie25 @queen-in-the-shadows @itgirlalisaa @miinhoo @greyaia @chanchansgirly @skzleeknowcore @skz-smut-reader @thatisrankharry

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linnielovesellie · 4 months ago

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barista!ellie cutsomer!reader// hc //

warnings: cussing, mostly fluff? horrible grammar probably and bad writing.. i’m still new to this (lmk if i missed something)

notes: hi okay so idk if i even did the head cannon thing right tbh it’s more like a fic in a way? idfk maybe it isn’t a fic idk what this is anyway..hope you like it (NOT PROOF READ SORRYYY)

summary: ellie is a barista and your a regular costumer ellie eventually begins to developea crush on you.

➷ barista!ellie: who started working there in july it’s now august and she knows her way around things now who memorized the basic drinks who never cares to memorize the regulars drinks to her they were just customers never needing to get to know them.

until… you walked in looking at all the pastry’s at first she didn’t notice you too busy taking a customers order. You had just got back from a long exhausting day of school and since your favorite coffee spot was unfortunately closed since the business shut down you didn’t care why you were just bummed so you gave this coffee shop a try.

“what can i get you?” you hear a voice say a tall freckled women behind the counter with her apron on

“mmh can i do a-“ you began to order your drink it was a long order you liked your drinks perfectly made you could tell the auburn hair women got annoyed but you could care less you wanted your order as perfect as possible

“will that be all?”

soon once you payed she began making your drink as you sat on a small table typing away working on what looked to her school work. ellie annoyed and frustrated who needed this much stuff in their drink? and why the exact amounts ? but she did what you asked anyway once your drink was done she gave it to you and immediately your face lit up smiling away your drink was perfect you said your thanks and sat back down.

God ellie wanted to see your smile again you were so gorgeous and breathtaking to her you even tipped her well so maybe your long ass drink was worth making ellie thought.

➷ barista!ellie: who noticed you coming in almost everyday now she soon memorized your drink because of how often you came in the drink was a hassle to make but you tipped her well.

You came in almost everyday after college or before and on the weekends sometimes today you came in as usual.

“your usual?” she ask you didn’t expect her to know your drink that quick i mean you’ve only been coming in for a few weeks and it’s not like she works everytime you come in but she did work most days you came in you shrugged it off.

“yes please”

ellie who when writting your name decides to add a little star at the end of your name with a little “have a good day!” a simple gesture but she couldn’t help but being nervous at how you ”how would you react would you even notice? whatever it’s just a star..” she thought to herself she didn’t know why she was overthinking this so much maybe because you were pretty or maybe because she really hoped to see your smile again.

“here it is miss” she hands you your drink and your receipt

“thanks..”

you immediately notice the small star and the “have a good day” written on your cup you smile at her “nice star.”

ellie immediately gets shy and flustered a small red tint spreading on her cheeks she just nods and goes back to making drinks.

you go to your usual table and begin studying. Soon you leave ellie goes to clean your table noticing you left your receipt it had small writing on it.

“you too!” with a star next to it. Ellie can’t help but smile and blush a bit she doesn’t know why she’s getting all flustered over this.

➷ barista!ellie: who ever since that day has been writing little messages and drawing on your cups and you write back on the receipt it’s become a habit. Sometimes she’ll write little jokes on it which are a bit cringe but you both laugh at them and you respond with a cringe joke back.

how do you invite a t-rex for tea? tea, rex.

➷ barista!ellie: who after a few more weeks of you going and many back and forth writing and free drinks finally decided to compliment you oh but she couldn’t say it.. so she wrote it.

“you’re pretty.”

it was written so small you

like barely see it ellie did it on purpose hoping maybe you wouldn’t see but as usual you always looked forward to ellie’s jokes and drawing on your cups but to your surprise.. she had complimented you. Immediately after reading that your cheeks flush and you look up at ellie who’s cheeks are flushed as well pretending to clean the machine anything to keep her busy she couldn’t look at you.

“t-thanks”

she just nodded her head looking down her face all flushed her hands trembling as she cleaned the machine. As you went to your usual table her co-worker nudged her smiling.. “quit..” ellie mumbled under her breath her co-worker just happy she finally did it.

As usual ellie goes to clean your table and you left behind your ticket as usual.

“you’re pretty too.”

ellie immediately flustered shows her coworker.

➷ barista!ellie: she sees you on a regular basis her writting things on your cup and you responding through writing on your receipt today ellie makes your drink like usual as your getting money she says

“uh..it’s okay it’s on me”

“yea?”

you smile at her you were having a rough day this definitely cheered you up which ellie noticed you weren’t your usually cheery self.

“y-yea..i can pay for it don’t worry”

in reality she could barely afford it her apartment was costing her a lot especially with what she makes as a barista it was barley enough but she didn’t care she wanted to see your smile.

“you don’t have to i have-“

“please let me pay for it..”

you immediately blushed she was so insistent how could you say no you finally agreed and she gave you your free drink. After that you wrote on the receipt.

“thank you for the free think you’re so sweet.”

Once you left ellie cleaned up your table and saw your receipt she smiled thinking it was worth it as long as you were happy and you thought she was sweet.

➷ barista!ellie: once you and ellie began writting things on your cup and ellie always going to look at ur receipt you left. her co-worker immediately noticed and asked what was up and ellie would show her your receipt talking back to ellie.

“dude you guys are basically passing notes why don’t you just ask her for her number”

“because.. isn’t that unprofessional?”

“who cares? who’s gonna tell the manager”

“still..i don’t even know if she even likes girls.”

ellie would often talk about you to her close friend who was her co-worker dina. Even calling you “my customer”. As soon as you walked in dina would take notice.

“ellie your customer is here”

ellie and dina immediately switched so ellie would be able to take your order and make it.

“ellie can you take out the trash?”

“but it’s almost 4..”

“look els you don’t always have to take her order jared could do it”

“but she’s my customer..”

ellie would mumble dina would just laugh at how possesive ellie was and eventually take out the trash for ellie while she took your order.

➷ barista!ellie: who you haven’t seen in days today you were sure you were gonna see her she always worked saturday mornings but to your surprise she wasn’t there just some random guy.. did she get fired? was this her replacement? where the hell is she?

“what can i get you?”

“uh..i have a question where’s the auburn hair girl? she works here she’s usually here.. she has green eyes and freckles on her cheeks..”

“uh.. i don’t know”

he says he clearly doesn’t care.

“uh well..okay..can i just get a-“

your long ass order annoys him he rolls his eyes at how precise you want everything to be you can’t help but miss the freckles women who would make your drink she wouldn’t have got annoyed in fact she wouldn’t even have asked what you wanted she knew your drink and for fucks sakes you can’t even remember her name.

“here. your total is 12.86”

you nod and pay and go to your seat bummed out. you take a sip out of your drink immediately you know he didn’t do it the precise way you wanted way too much almond milk for your liking. you know it’s not his fault he’s probably not used to making a order like yours but your upset you miss your barista.

your so annoyed by this that you don’t even go in anymore you walk pass the place and if you don’t see her there you don’t even go in.

➷ barista!ellie: who stops by the library to buy a book researching for her upcoming project who when’s she’s gonna check out she sees you she gets nervous ellie thinks you’ve been avoiding her and not coming in as much anymore that you probably lost interest since she never asked you for your number because she was too much of a pussy.

When she goes to check out she sees your face lit up a smile she’s a bit confused but smiles back.

“hey..it’s you”

“my favorite customer.”

“why haven’t you been working..”

“i have?”

“same place?”

“yea..yea why haven’t you gone havent seen you in awhile”

“mmh.. every-time i go i don’t see you so i just..don’t go in the others don’t know how to make my drink like you do..” you mumble softly a bit embarrassed and your cheek flush.

ellie’s cheek flush as well her hands a bit shaky once she puts the books down for you to scan

“oh..shit i did get my hours changed.. i work 1-3pm on weekdays and nights on weekends.”

“so..basically we’ve been missing eachother completely?.. 1-3 i have college and i usually work weekend nights here”

ellie sighs she won’t ever see you again what is she gonna do? fuck if only there was a way you both could-

“can i get your number?”

she blurts out instantly regretting she’s embarrassed ready to face rejection you just giggle.

“yea..can’t have my phone out at work but..i’ll write it on something..”

you look around for something your checkout desk full of books and clutter but you find a pen but no where to write anything on all the paper there is too important to write on.

Ellie sees you struggling she gives you the palm of her hand so you can write on and you do.

“what’s your name again..?”

you ask awkwardly you never bothered to look at her name tag when she was a barista but you should’ve if you had looked you could’ve searched for her instagram or something.

“ellie.”

As soon as ellie gets home she’s excited to text you but nervous to ellie has been one to overthink she’s scared she put you in a awkward position and you have her your number out of pity to avoid a awkward situation but nonetheless she texts you she figures if you really don’t like her you won’t text her back and she’ll just have to accept it.

“hey this is ellie”

she then waits for your text back minutes go by and she’s overthinking everything maybe she did pressure you into giving out your number to her fuck if only-

buzz buzz.

ellie immediately unlocks her phone a notification from you she smiles instantly.

“hiiii you get home okay?”

note: ahhh okay maybe i’ll make a pt 2 to this! hope you guys liked it i had so much fun making itt

#ellie willams x reader #tlou #ellie williams #headcanon

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bambisworlds · 6 months ago

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weekly tryst

cassian meets with a teacher at nyx's school once a week. she's the most perfect thing he's ever seen (1,698 word count)

content warnings, mdni 18+

f!reader, just pure smut, oral (f. receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, slight size kink, use of good girl, spanking (once), cassian's down bad for her, let me know if i forgot anything x

my masterlist

note: we’re just gonna pretend nesta doesn’t exist or she ended up with eris lol. also i basically just use the name bambi instead of Y/N cause i get sick of typing it so imagine her however you want :)

Cassian was hooked. That was the only way to put it. Ever since he spent that first night with Bambi… he was addicted. Cassian had offered to pick Nyx up from kindergarten a couple times last month to help Rhys and Feyre out. Feyre was pregnant with their second child, while Azriel had been busy with Gwyn, his newfound mate. Cassian didn’t mind helping out though, he was Nyx’s uncle after all.

What he didn’t expect was Bambi. She was the first grade teacher at Nyx’s school, and gods… Cassian thought she was the prettiest woman he’d ever seen. Soft hips and full lips on such a small package. Cassian is 6’7, so even though Bambi was 5’5 he still towered over her. Her head only reached his shoulder.

He wasn’t exactly sure how it happened, but he wound up with Bambi tangled up with him in his bed two days later fucking like rabbits for 4 hours straight before he finally passed out in a heap of exhaustion. Now, it has been a month of their weekly Saturday night trysts and Cassian was utterly obsessed with her.

Cassian’s eyes were rolled back into his head as he feasted on Bambi’s cunt, his paws for hands resting on her belly and sides. She somehow tasted better each time he ate her out, so naturally Cassian stayed between her legs longer every time he saw her. He had drool all over his lips, chin, and neck from how thoroughly drunk on her cunt he was., She tasted so damn good.

A sweet little gasp and arch of her back caught Cassian’s attention and he looked up at her. He smirked against her pussy as he watched her head turn back and forth every few seconds on the pillow like she couldn’t keep still. Cassian hummed against her clit, his large hands moving up to cup and squeeze her breasts, earning another gasp from Bambi. She had her legs bent and pulled up against her chest, her toes curling as Cassian began to thrust his tongue in and out of her. Cassian never considered himself to be one of those guys with a foot fetish, but even her toes somehow managed to look sexy.

Bambi’s lips formed a ‘o’ shape and her hand flew down to grip onto his long locks as she reached her peak, letting out a string of moans, gasps, and squeaks. Cassian could only moan like a wanton whore between her legs, his tongue lapping languidly at her entrance to catch every drop of her juices. When she did her usual sigh of satisfaction Cassian pulled back and snaked his arms underneath her thighs. He lifted her effortlessly as Bambi squeaked in surprise, her hands flying to grip onto his shoulders so she wouldn’t fall. As if he’d let her.

Cassian quickly sat on the edge of the bed, positioning Bambi in his lap. “Need you to ride me baby,” Cassian murmurs breathily, his arms wrapping around her to keep her steady. Bambi nodded mindlessly and pressed herself against him, kissing him with a soft moan. Cassian’s grip on her tightened as he worked his tongue into her mouth, almost wanting to swallow up all her saliva. That’s how obsessed he was with her, “You’ve got the most perfect fucking body…” Cassian mumbles against her lips with a slight shake of his head in disbelief. She smiled against his lips from his compliment, followed by a grumbling growl from Cassian. Even her smile turned him on. “Never mind, you can ride me later.” Cassian muttered, flipping them over so Bambi’s ass was hanging off the edge of the bed.

Cassian shoved her thighs apart widely so each of her knees touched the mattress as he slapped his cock against her pussy. “Gonna get you nice and full again, huh?” he smirks, teasingly sliding only the head of his cock into her. Bambi moaned raggedly and her head fell back against the bed. Cassian slid deeper with a groan, “Oh yeah… gonna get this pussy nice and full.” he murmured as he slid all the way in. Bambi gasped and her eyes squeezed shut. Nobody had ever made her feel as full as he did. Cassian’s wings flared as he bottomed out inside her with a rugged groan.

His big hands gripped her thighs, pulling her closer to him so he sunk even deeper into her. “Goddamn,” he panted as the head of his cock nudged insistently against her cervix, the muscles in his lower back twitched with the incessant urge to rut into her like an animal. Cassian maneuvered himself over her so his forearms were braced on either side of her head, "How's that feel baby?” Cassian asks, his voice low, seductive, and somehow controlled despite her vice-like grip on his cock.

“G-Good,” Bambi managed to gasp out, her legs wiggling slightly and chest heaving from the near unbearable fullness of his cock. Cassian smirked proudly at her reaction, this cute little thing had no idea how atrociously down bad he was for her.

“Nice and full now, aren’t you?” Cassian says as he leans even closer to his nose nudges against her cheek with a long inhale. He loved her scent. His hand pushed down on her lower belly as he spoke.

“Mhm,” Bambi whimpers, her breathing ragged. Cassian kissed her cheek, down her jaw, and grazed his teeth against his neck.

“If you were my mate I’d have you stuffed full of my cock 23 hours a day,” Cassian murmurs against her neck, leaving wet kisses on her skin.

“Not 24?” Bambi asks, a tremor in her voice from the unrelenting pressure of his cock against her g-spot.

“Gotta save an hour so I can taste your sweet little pussy,” he says as if it was obvious. Bambi shivered with a slight moan and Cassian chuckles, “Such a cute girl…” he murmurs before straightening up slightly for momentum as he begins to thrust. Bambi whimpered again, her trembling hands moving to grip onto the sheets. Cassian’s hands sneaked underneath her, lifting her by the lower back so his cock hit a new spot inside her. From her little smile and surprised gasp, he took it as a sign she liked it, “Mmm good girl,” he praised huskily as her moans grew a little louder. She was always so timid at first, but by the time he was done with her she was always a cock drunk mess. Cassian kept his left hand on her lower belly, pressing firmly on it, causing Bambis’ eyes to roll back with a choked moan. Cassian smirked triumphantly, her shy nature beginning to crumble as usual.

“That’s it, let everything else go,” Cassian grunted, picking up speed so her body bounced on the mattress. Bambi’s hands clawed at the sheets, her breasts bouncing wildly as he pounded into her. His eyes drank in the sight of her, “Goddamn you’re perfect,” he said breathily amidst his unrelenting thrusts, “You’re my perfect little girl aren’t you?” Cassian asks with a shaky moan.

Bambi nodded eagerly, “Y-Yeah,” she squeaked out.

“Damn right you are,” Cassian grits out, shoving her onto her side and holding one of her legs up so he reaches new spots inside her. Bambi cried out from the new angle, her eyes squeezing shut with rapid breaths. Cassian moaned lowly at the sight of her pert ass jiggling with each thrust and he let go of her thigh only long enough to place a loud smack on her ass. Bambi whimpered from the sharp sting of his hand, but her mouth quickly fell back open with an unrestrained moan. Cassian reached back with his free hand to caress the side of his wing, shivers and sparks of pleasure shooting down his spine with a choked moan. Wanting her to touch his wings instead, he pulled out of her sopping cunt and pulled her into his arms before sitting on the bed. Without wasting a second Cassian quickly plunged back inside her, his hands gripping her hips to lift her up and down on him before she could even catch up with what he was doing.

“Touch my wings,” he demands between ragged breaths. Bambi nods mindlessly, barely able to keep her eyes open as he manhandles her up and down on his cock. She traced two fingers along the edges of his right wing and he moaned raggedly, pulling her down even harder onto his cock now.

“Oh g-gods,” Bambi gasped, her eyes shutting and mouth falling open, her fingers still absentmindedly dancing along the edge of his wing.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum,” Cassian grits out, reaching his peak far quicker than usual from the stimulation on his wings. Cassian slammed her down hard onto his cock as he came with a strangled groan, his hips bucking off the bed to try to reach even deeper inside her which was practically impossible. “Holy fuck,” Cassian gasps out, his tone hoarse from the intensity of his orgasm, “Oh gods…” he sighs as the tension in his body finally began to subside, his hips still pumping slightly, “Holy shit,” he mutters, looking up at Bambi who was equally as winded but still coherent, which wouldn’t do, “Need you to cum for me still,” Cassian pants, lifting her up and down on his cock again with another strangled moan, his cock was nearly unbearably sensitive from just orgasming but he didn’t care. She hadn’t finished yet. His seed had begun to leak out from around his cock, dripping down onto his balls.

“Gonna… I’m gonna…” Bambi babbles, her hands clawing and gripping at his shoulders.

“Yeah, I’m gonna-” Cassian gasps helplessly. The vein in his neck nearly popped out as he came again, this time with Bambi’s cunt clenching exquisitely around him. His head fell back with a strangled cry, fucking her through their orgasms, “Oh fuck, oh gods,” he rambled, still pumping into her as Bambi sobbed and moaned while her body turned to jelly atop him. When they were both finally spent with only the sounds of their heavy breathing filling the room Cassian spoke up, “So… same time next week?”

if you have any fic requests including the people on my masterlist please comment them below or on my masterlist!! (check here: about my blog to see what things i'm not comfortable with in regards to requests <3)

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #cassian acotar #cassian smut #cassian acotar smut #cassian x female character #cassian x original female character #cassian x oc #cassian fanfic #acosf #acotar fanfic #acotar series #acotar fanfiction #acotar fandom

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lucygxybaird · 5 months ago

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billy x shy reader - preview

“You with me, sweetheart?” Billy says softly, ducking his head to look you in the eye. “If you really wanna go home, we—”

You shake your head firmly. You don’t want to go home, not least of all because you know Billy really wants to stay; it’s hard for you, to be around people you don’t know very well, but Billy is the type of man who has never met a stranger. He likes parties like this (at least ones that are given by his friends, rather than — for example — a selfish, self-serving smarmy slimeball with an Irish accent and a proclivity for taking what doesn’t belong to him).

You’re determined to stay at least an hour for him, maybe two if you can manage it. You know you’re going to be exhausted by the end of the evening, wrung out like a rag hung on the line, but you want to stick it out for Billy’s sake.

It does help that he looks good. You love to see him in his neatly pressed shirt and waistcoat, the string tie — which you helped knot — around his neck, his hair neatly combed and smelling faintly of the apple-scented pomade he uses to make that sweet little cowlick he has lay flat. As if he’s reading your mind, Billy leans down further, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Everybody’s gonna be jealous of me, walkin’ in with you on my arm,” he says. “Stick close to me, honey. I don’t want anyone stealing you away.”

You only have time to giggle before the door is swinging open, revealing one of Tunstall’s maids. She gestures for you to come inside, and by the time you’ve flashed her a small, tight smile, people have already come up to Billy. You relax a little when you realize you recognize some of them — Manuela and Charlie, Tom, Mr. McSween and his wife, Susan.

“You look lovely,” Susan says, smiling softly as she cups your elbow.

Your heart gives a little uneven thud, and you swallow. “Thank you,” you murmur, the corners of your mouth flickering briefly in return.

You don’t let go of Billy’s arms as Charlie and Billy start talking about the last herd of cattle they moved for Tunstall, with Manuela and Susan chiming in every now and then — how Charlie came home late one evening, a cow pie smeared all over his boots and the seat of his pants; how Susan remembers one summer when she stayed with her uncle, who raised cows, and she gave them all flower names.

You have a story yourself, one about your father trying (and failing) to get a cow up a flight of stairs to play a trick on a friend of his, but you can’t quite get your mouth to work.

Even though you know these people, your throat still feels a little tight, the pit of your stomach going hollow, like you’re balancing on a tightrope. A part of you knows you’re being ridiculous. It’s the part that sounds an awful lot like your mother, when she would tell you to speak up, to enunciate, to stop hunching your shoulders.

You wish you could explain it to her — to anyone — but it’s so difficult to put into words.

Sometimes you feel as though who you really are is wrapped up in all these layers, wound around and around you, bound up so tight that it can be suffocating. You have to fight tooth and nail to drag out the same words, the same smiles, that seem to come so easily to everyone else.

It takes time, to get through those layers, and not many people seem to want to put forth the effort. Certainly not at a gathering like this, where they’re just trying to have fun. And you can’t really blame them for that. You yourself have often wondered if what they find is worth the effort.

Then, of course, there’s Billy. He’s never once made you feel like getting to know you, working through the awkward pauses and nervous huffs of laughter, the uncertain silences, is anything less than a pleasure. As if all that is nothing but a treasure map, and you’re the fortune waiting on the other end.

#billy the kid 2022 #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid fanfiction #william h. bonney fanfiction #tom blyth

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

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The Man 12

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Lloyd Hansen

Summary: a demanding customer complicates more than your work life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Lloyd squeezes your neck until you hack. Your back arches deeper as you claw at his veinous forearm. You kick your feet and writher as he bends over and snarls.

“I swear to Christ, the next time you speak, you’ll be screaming my name,” he bares his teeth as he keeps you pinned to the glass. “My actual name.”

You blink and trails your arm up to his bicep. Ooh, hard.

His fingertips tickle up your thigh, sending you into another twitch. The air cools on your wet cunt as he traces along the crease of your leg. You cough and squeak, clutching his wrist as his strength threatens to crush your esophagus. You hope he isn’t to that hold dead fish type kink.

He feels along your folds and dips between them roughly. You spasm again as he pushes down to your entrance then flicks back up to your clit. Your puff through your nose as your eyes threaten to roll back at the flare of his touch. He rolls your bud firmly and your breath is hampered by more than his grip.

He toys with you. It’s so much more intense when it’s someone else. You can barely handle the way your insides clench and the tingling that you can barely contain. Maybe it’s just the loss of control or maybe it’s him but his touch is electric.

Your lashes flutter and puff through pouting lips. Oh gosh. It’s always easier the second time. Quicker. You’re at your peak already. It hits you like a bus. You shake and still as the swell of tension breaks and flows over you like tide. You wheeze within his hold, head lolling as you close your eyes.

“Not so mouthy now,” he sneers as he pushes his finger against your entrance, “are you, sweet lips?”

He slips a finger into you and you groan. Your back curves again and your feet slip over the edge of the desk. Your legs dangle as he sinks in to his knuckles. He presses his thumb to your clit and rocks his hand. You moan into a gurgle as he continues to strangle you. Each time his grip loosens it quickly tightens again.

You hold your breath and turn your head. He pulls back and dips another finger into you. He spreads his fingers as he tests your limits, tilting his hand faster and faster. He bends his fingers and feels around, pressing against the top of your cunt until a new pressure forms.

You throw your hand up to slap his shoulder. Fuck. You cum again, quaking as you puff out your throttled climax. He slows and eases his fingers out of you. Your lashes part slightly as he holds up his shimmering fingers and wiggles them. He wipes them across your mouth and snickers.

“What’s my name, sugar tits?” He pinches your nipple for effect.

Your head moves back and forth and your lips open and close like a fish. You couldn’t speak even if you could remember if it was Floyd or whatever. He drags his hand down your stomach and slaps your thigh. He releases your neck and smacks your other leg, pushing them wide as you grasp the edge of the desk to keep from slipping.

He bends further and your eyes open fully as you watch him stare down your cunt. Oh, he’s going too--

You let out a yelp as he buries his nose in your cunt. Oh god. Is that his tongue? It feels like a slug, wait, no, it feels good. Not—oo, like that. Oh yes.

The melding of hot and cold has you writhing once more and you drop your head back. You reach down blindly and grab onto his hair. The gel makes your fingers greasy but you don’t care. You cling to him tightly as he brings a hand up, trying to peel yours away. When he can’t, he presses his hand to your thigh and jabs his nails into your skin. The pain only heightens your mounting pleasure.

He wiggles his head, flicking and swirling his tongue, lapping you up. You can’t help but wonder if he likes the taste. You won’t lie and say you never tried it. It was alright, better than a dick, not as salty. Hm, maybe you should experiment a bit more. That wouldn’t be hard considering this is as wild as you’ve got.

You chuff and bring your other hand down to the back of his head. Oh, jeez. He knows what he’s doing. Or maybe you’re that easy. You can’t say which is more likely.

You moan and whine. You must sound ridiculous but this isn’t the time to worry about that. You’re about to blow.

As if he can sense you nearing the edge, he prods at your entrance with his finger. You squeak as he slides into you. He moves his fingers in time with his tongue, the sloppy noises a bit icky but not enough to counter the delight pinging off you like sparks.

You clasp his head tight, rocking your hips hungrily, and he purrs. The rumble does something to you. Something irresistible. You buck and surrender entirely. It’s like an explosion inside of you, then a deluge as you feel it gushing out around his fingers. The squelching mingles with your droning voice as he thirstily drinks it up.

“Oh, gosh, golly,” you cry out, “L-L-Lloyd!”

As you crest your orgasm and descend, he slows and reluctantly drags his tongue from your cunt, dislodging his head from your hands. He pushes his fingers as deep as he can. You close your eyes, hiding, steeling yourself. You hope you got his name right.

He chuckles and you hear him suck his fingers. You pop one eye open and raise your head. You look at him sheepishly as his eyes linger between your legs. You close your thighs and warily sit up.

“Now you remember my fucking name,” he growls and wipes his mustache, wet with your cum, “don’t fucking forget it.”

“Yes, sir,” you salute him and he hesitates, sighing as he pinches his nose.

He shuts his eyes and turns on his heel, caught in some sort of internal battle, “every time I think you might actually be hot, you go and do something stupid.”

You watch him. He’s right. That has historically been your downfall. You can’t help but ruin the moment. Still, for all his frustration, you can see he’s rather... excited through his pants. The colour does little to conceal it.

“Sorry, sir,” you wiggle to the edge of the desk, “but I’m not the only one at attention so I was only taking your lead.”

He faces you and follows your eyeline to his crotch. He shifts his feet and tugs on his belt.

“Yeah, well, kinda happens when you’re face deep in pussy,” he rolls his eyes.

“Right, right, I wouldn’t know, obviously. I don’t have a dick and I’ve never you know... been spelunking.”

“Spelunking?” He narrows his eyes and tidies his mussed hair, “right, I got a meeting,” he checks his watch, “so scram.”

“Scram... to where exactly?”

His nostrils flair but you don’t get his agitation. What the heck are you supposed to do? Stand in the closet like a broom?

“Follow me,” he huffs and side steps you, grumbling as he gestures with his hand, caught in a silent argument with himself.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #series #drabble #the man #au #mob au #the gray man

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devnmon · 1 month ago

Text

stress relief

sam drake x reader

summary: sam has been the nicest house guest. he's cleaned dishes, done laundry, and whatever else he could to make up for staying at your place. you wonder how you can pay him back...

warnings: unprotected piv, oral (f!receiving), fingering, just reader being a slut for that man basically. nothing crazy.

word count: 3.7k

a/n: *drops this. runs away.* another one for mister sam drake iktr! have my plethora of horny thoughts abt him in another fic. more coming soon x

Sam Drake's voice was distracting, to say the least.

You shouldn't be surprised the older Drake's tongue down your throat had been the only thing crossing your mind when you saw him. A classic case of a man you shouldn't be involved with: smokes, never stays in one place for too long, and always planning his next adventure. Not really a committed to anything type. Except maybe treasure hunting.

An eager, street style guy with a mop of soft brown hair and that same denim jacket he always wore? You should've been the furthest thing from enticed.

But still... he smelled of cigarettes and leather and the same cologne he'd convinced Nathan to buy him. Sam rode around on the same old motorcycle, engine roaring in the streets whenever he showed up looking for a place to crash. He spoke Spanish, Latin and Portuguese... safe to say a lesser intelligent man wouldn't have such a skilled tongue.

So, it was true; he'd spent more than enough nights on your couch for him to try and find a way to make it up to you. Sam had brought you dinner, a nice bottle of your favorite wine, and even offered to do your laundry on different occasions.

He was the perfect house guest, you've told him. In turn he's constantly over your shoulder asking to help out, even when you told him he didn't have to. You didn't want to take advantage of his quick hands and strong arms and skill to do basically anything around the house. How he'd not settled down himself, you would never know.

Sam smoked on the balcony at night mostly, you think it's because he doesn't want you to see him indulging in more than half a pack in one day. But he knows you disapprove... even if the smell instantly reminded you of him. A whiff of nicotine and you're glancing around to see if he's near. Especially when you knew he was miles away.

You had flirted very lightly back and forth at times, your chest pounding even harder at times when his voice would lower to a deeper octave. It only made you want him more.

He once caught the load of clean clothes you were close to dropping out of exhaustion.

"Sweetheart, I told you to let me get those."

There he went with your favorite pet name, the sweetest hazel eyes and natural aroma wafting around where he stood.

"It was my last load for the night... I thought I could just get it over with."

"Well, you've overworked yourself enough this week. May I?"

"You've already taken the pile from my hands, Sam." You chuckled, rubbing your eyes before starting towards your bedroom, hoping he'd follow.

Sure enough he was, carrying your clean and folded clothes in his arms. It wasn't a heavy pile, but his muscled arms still bulged out from his t-shirt, veins traveling up his forearms bulging out. The moment you smiled back at him, you realized his scent would be all over your laundry and didn’t know whether to leave it be or wash them all again.

The closeness of his scent on your clothes would ruin you if you left the thought idle for too long.

God, how could he be such a gentleman and... so different from the other men you'd been interested in.

He stood in the doorway after you entered, lingering with his eyes on your body.

"Um, where can I put these?" Sam asked, slowly stepping into the room. You realized this is the first time he's ever even been in it, and the rush of butterflies in your stomach said enough.

"Just over there," you replied, pointing to the chair in the corner of your room.

The groans of discomfort weren't lost on him with his back turned, he's always had sharp ears. It's not like Sam wants to leave you alone for the night, although he knows you'd much rather catch some shuteye than stay up and spend time with him. But he had to do something– he couldn't just sit downstairs by himself on your couch without even attempting to make you feel better.

"Can I do anything to help?"

"Please, Sam. You've done so much already."

"No, I mean for you. You're in pain and obviously I don't have magic powers but... I could at least get you some Advil and water before you go to bed?"

A sigh leaves your chest, almost wanting to jump on him right there and kiss him. But you don't.

"You're sweet. That would be great, thanks, Sam."

"Alright." He swings his arms together as he walks out of the room, retrieving two pills and a glass of water from downstairs before heading back to you. Much to his surprise, you've already gotten dressed for bed. Your lounge clothes left nothing to his imagination, one he'd been trying to shut down for weeks on end.

Every time he stayed with you, the desire to lay you down grew even harder to resist. Sam's guilt multiplied with each night, all the times he'd get hard imagining you on top of or under him. Crying out in pleasure from him, because of him. It was as if his greedy hands had to be sedated lest he lose himself and press you up against the wall one of these days.

Once he walked up to the door frame again, you're stretching your body, shirt riding up and revealing just a sliver of your midriff. It's quite a sight, since the only thing he's really seen you in are your baggy at-home clothes. Nothing this revealing. He swallows thickly, before knocking on the open door.

"Here you are." He starts, that Boston accent coming out in his voice so beautifully, before placing them on your bedside table. Sam averts his eyes before you caught him staring.

"Oh, thanks." You try to speak more but you're hit with a yawn instead, and god damn is it cute watching your eyes squeeze shut.

He nods, about to step out of your room and leave you to get some rest, until you call his name again.

"Sam?"

He's all ears.

"Hm?"

"Um... this might sound weird but, could you.. massage my back? You can say no, obviously. But I think I might sleep better that way."

He's speechless at what you've asked of him, but he steps deeper into the room anyway.

Blinded by the desire to look down at them, calloused and worn, you decided to avert your gaze anywhere else. Because the other images swimming around in your head- the ones where he cups your face to kiss you or trails one of his hands down between your legs– were already too much to bear.

A prickling of sweat already emerged on your palms, watching him step further into your room. As if he’s been in here a million times before.

“My hands are kinda rough…” He smiled sheepishly, hoping you wouldn't take back what you had asked him.

Sam looked down at his palms, maybe he should've taken better care of them. Used moisturizing lotion after every venture he took, or something. How was he supposed to know you'd want him to do this?

“Oh, that’s alright. I figured they were, but it’s okay. I don’t mind.”

Your question still resonated in his mind.

Did you really just... ask him to touch you? To use his worn hands and bring you relief for something he’s wanted to make go away since he’d been staying with you? His head spun with the reality of it all. Another pang of guilt stung in his chest as he spoke again.

"Well, then I'd be honored." Sam replied. A moment's silence passed and he spoke nervously again, "I-I mean, you clearly seem to be in some discomfort and I'd be damned if I didn't do anything I could to help you feel better."

You could've cried with how eager he was. The only thing that made your palms sweat at the image of his hands on your body would be the experience of his hands on your body, and how the hell you were expected to stay composed.

I am going to hell. Sam thought. No big deal. Just massage their back and get on with your night.

He knew it was going to prove difficult when he felt his cock throb a little in his jeans from how you looked right now. You were so attractive in every way, but in your lounge wear with half lidded eyes and that low, groggy tone in your voice? His mind clouded with your vision.

Sam could’ve sworn he was floating as he watched you flop onto your stomach, the soft mattress and clean linens already lulling you to sleep. It was then you felt his weight join yours, your heart skipping a beat.

Was asking him to do this too far? No, just shut up and let him relax you. If that was even possible when you knew he was nearing closer to your body.

He crawled over to you, eyes raking over your figure indulgently. Every part of you was perfect, and he’d be goddamned if he spent his whole life taking from you with nothing in return. His hands pressed to your lower back, touching his fingertips lightly like he’d break you if he was too rough.

“You can press harder. I’m not gonna break if you do.”

“I just don’t wanna hurt you, sweetheart.”

You swallow thickly before speaking again, "My back just feels tight. Like I've been sitting in an office chair for too many hours. There's probably tons of knots so.. you know... use whatever you've got. I know you're strong."

So he wasn’t dreaming when he’d catch you looking over at him when he was outside lounging in the sun.

Were his cheeks getting hot?

"Yeah, well... if somethin' feels bad, you gotta tell me."

"I will... now please..."

He couldn’t deny you, not when you asked so nicely.

Sam didn't know the stars could align so wonderfully in this moment. He'd been hard pressed to find any moment to make a move on you, when he'd ached to do so for much too long.

At your request, he began to put more of his strength into massaging the muscles of your back before he even thought about taking such a huge leap. You deserved some relief from all your hard work.

His body heat lingers right beside you, soft cloth of his sweatpants making contact with your skin. Sam smelled so lovely from his previous shower an hour or so ago. Much different than his usual musk of cigarettes and the outside, but either way it suited him.

A moment later the ball of his palms began to press harder into your back, taking a circular motion between your shoulders and down your spine. He switched from the palm of his hand to his thumbs with the same motion down to your lower back.

Sam had definitely lied about having magic powers.

Immediate relief flooded your body as his hands' perfect amount of pressure melted away the tightness in your back little by little. His warm, rough palms and soft fingertips lifted all the pain as if he was plucking it from your body with every knead.

"Oh my god, that feels so good. Keep going."

Sam smiled to himself, content with how you praised him and how much better you seemed to be feeling. As he continued along the canvas of your back, he couldn't help but listen to the soft sighs leaving your lips. How your comfort in this very moment was because of him, and he wouldn't trade that for the world.

Granted, he still felt the urge to kiss every inch of your skin so, so gently. When your sighs turned to little 'mmm's and 'ah's, that's when he knew he was in trouble. Your sounds were only the slightest, but still caused an overwhelming amount of desire to course through his veins. His cock throbbed again.

Shit.

If you knew what you were doing to him as you made those sounds, you were very good at hiding it. Sam attempted to take a deep breath and steady himself once more, but doing so just made his body aware of how badly he wanted you. His mind wandered to kissing you again and he was zoning out, focusing too much on moving his hands where he really wanted to put them.

It wasn't too long after that you'd noticed he wasn't moving anymore.

"Sam?"

"Hm?"

"Why'd you stop?"

"Oh, uh, s-sorry. Just got lost in thought I guess. Didn't know you were still awake."

"When your hands feel that good, I’d want to be conscious for it." You lifted your head and opened your eyes to look at him. Was he... blushing?

"I thought you were tired."

"I was... but now I'm not. You must be magic or something ‘cause my back feels so better."

"Oh, well good. I'm glad." He smiled down at you, watching you sit up to face him. Your hair was disheveled a bit from laying on your pillow, but you still looked so good.

"My hero." you giggled.

God, did you have to be so adorable? He had to bail before he felt any more surges of wanting to kiss you before he couldn't control himself.

"Anytime." he exhaled deeply, "Well, I should probably leave you to get some shuteye..."

Sam began to stand up, but you grabbed his hand before he could walk out the door.

"Sam, wait."

"Uh huh?"

"I want to thank you. It means a lot to me how you did that for me."

"Yeah, sure. No problem."

“And for everything else, too.”

“Oh, well…. I’m staying in your place, my gratitude can’t go unnoticed.”

"No, Sam. I want to show you how much I mean it. I…” you trailed off.

“What is it?”

“I want you."

Oh?

You have his full attention.

Your eyes locked onto him as he sat back down, your thumb rubbing over the top of his hand softly. Scooting closer to him, his eyes raked down your figure and back up to your face, not before stopping right over your lips.

"Sam, I want you right now."

He took a deep breath before meeting your eye.

"Sweetheart, I don't know how long I've been waitin' for you to say that."

Your lips in a desperate kiss after his words lingered in the air for half a second. One of Sam's hands cupped your face, his rough palm warm against your cheek as you were pulled into his lap. You could taste the nicotine on his tongue as he pressed you down into the mattress. Just like you thought he would taste.

“You kiss exactly how I thought you would, so sweetly… and I haven’t kissed anyone in such a long time…” you admitted between kisses.

Sam bit his lip, “Thought about this a lot, too, sweetheart.”

“You’re adorable.”

Fingers raked through his brown hair, soft when it twirls around your fingers. He hums against your lips, one after another, intoxicating the both of you.

It’s a second later when he’s reaching behind his head and pulling his shirt off, his abdomen with bullet scars and soft hair such a sight to you. Sam’s arms came down and caged your body in under his. A rush of intimidation ran through you for a split second, but when he kissed you again, it all faded away.

Your shirt was next, his eyes widening when he noticed you weren’t wearing a bra.

“Shit, sweetheart. You’re so beautiful…” His lips connect to your neck, stubble scratching your skin just the slightest.

“Speak for yourself.” you replied between breaths, admiring the hair that littered his chest. There was no way to hide the warmth in his cheeks now, his lopsided smile infecting you to do the same.

Stubble scratched your neck as he kissed his way down between the valley of your breasts and your torso.

“Can I- shit…” Sam glanced up at you before he went any further. The look he gave you was lust blown, hazel eyes searching for any sign of discomfort as to what he was suggesting.

“Yes, please, Sam.”

He chuckled to himself and pulled down your shorts, your underwear the only thing keeping him from sinking his tongue into your warmth. Lidded eyes flit to your face and back down, hooking his fingers under the waistband to discard your underwear. There wasn’t a second thought in his mind as he ran two fingers through your folds, your arousal instantly coating his fingers.

“Oh, you have been thinkin’ about this, haven’t you? You’re already soaked…”

“So much more than you could imagine.”

“Yeah?”

Two of Sam’s fingers slipped inside you easily, while you gasped at his sudden intrusion.

“Mhm…”

He curled them inside you while dipping his head down to run his tongue through your folds and circle your clit.

“Sam–!” You moaned, back arching as he continued to drag his fingers against your walls, curling them against the spot that sent jolts of pleasure through you. His tongue did an impressive job of agonizingly teasing your clit with his fingers inside you.

“Want you to fuck me… so bad… please…”

“I know, baby, I know. Gotta get you ready for me. Don’t wanna hurt ya.”

“Cute.”

Sam wanted you to feel nothing else other than pleasure and he’d hate himself if you were in pain while he was doing so.

His fingers pulled out of you, moving downwards through your folds with his tongue and flitting it around your entrance. Your back arched again, pressing your heat directly into his face once again.

The eye contact he kept with you was so intimate that when he smirked, you jolted even closer to release. Sam devoured you to the fullest extent, sending your hips stuttering tenfold.

Just as your high began to peak, he pulled away, leaving you desperate and throbbing for just a bit more. One more flick of his talented tongue over your most sensitive parts and you’d be crying out his name as you came. But he didn’t.

Instead, he pulled his sweatpants and boxers down to reveal his cock, pretty as ever, with a tuft of soft hair resting at its base. You knew he’d been so much more worked up than you were by the bead of precum sitting prettily on his tip. Instantly imagining what it would feel like in your mouth sent you moaning, while he crawled back up to kiss you again.

“Ready for me, baby?”

“So, so ready.”

Sam pressed himself into you slowly, watching your face contort with pleasure inch by inch. He intertwined his fingers with yours as he bottomed out inside you.

The heat in your cheeks returned when you tasted his lips again, his hips pulling almost all the way out of you before thrusting back in fully. His pace set a steady rhythm inside you soon enough, drinking in every sweet sound you made because of him.

Vulgar, wet sounds came from where the two of you were joined, making it easier for him to slide in and out of you to no end. Sam grunts in your ear, desperate for more of those pretty sounds.

“Lemme hear you… make those pretty sounds… louder for me now, doll…” He angled his hips a certain way to press the special spot inside you with the crown of his cock. Without any control, you omitted a sound that was music to his ears.

“Thaaaat’s it, there’s the sweet spot…” he cooed, kissing it over and over again with the speed of his thrusts. It was so difficult for him to not lose himself inside you, to hold back rutting up into you like some feral animal. But when your eyes fluttered shut so prettily and your lips were all pink and swollen from his kisses, he faltered a little bit more each time.

Something inside you craved a more potent dose of the older Drake brother, and you rolled over on top of him to let his head hit your pillow. He chuckled at the vision of you above him, placing your hand on his chest to steady yourself.

Being on top of him created an unbelievable burst of confidence and power that ran through you with every lift of your hips. Each time your bodies connected, a vulgar squishing sound omitted and set you off dangerously close to release.

With both hands on his chest now, Sam couldn’t help but thrust back up into you as your bouncing became more and more irregular.

“Gettin’ close, huh?”

“Mhm…” you whined.

On account of your heavy breathing and the sounds you were making, it was obvious. His finger slipped between your legs to swirl at your core, immediately keeling over from the sensation. Your walls clenched around Sam’s length and there was no telling how much longer you’d last.

“Fuck… f-fuck, baby…”

“Oh, shit. You keep calling me that, I’m gonna come too, sweetheart.”

“Keep doin’ that, baby, yeah… mmh yeah…”

The high pitch in your voice gave away how close you were to exploding, and when he whispered in your ear, you knew it was over.

“Come for me…”

His accent was enough to send you over the edge.

Your body convulsed, falling over onto his chest as the orgasm ripped through you. Sam’s movements stuttered, until he pushed up fully into you, his warmth coating your walls with his spend.

The air was hot between your bodies, panting as you caught your breath in the warmth of your afterglow.

Sam glowed in the low light of your bedroom, a sheen of sweat covering his body while his eyes lay closed. Just a moment passed before they opened again.

“Shit, that was amazing,” Sam sighed.

“Even better than I thought.”

“Was that what you thought about? All those times before?” He ran a hand through his hair, a blush painting his cheeks just the lightest shade of pink.

“Mm, not just that. But don’t worry, I’ll tell you in time.”

For now, you slept like a baby in his arms.

#ryes ff #devnmon writes #sam drake smut #sam drake x reader #sam drake fanfic #uncharted fanfic #uncharted smut #samuel drake x reader #samuel drake smut

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