#exploring more brushes and lighting

[cut-aare]

I need to watch the movie...g

[aeyumicore]

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: caleb x female reader (afab) ━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, possessive caleb, dom!caleb, light choking, use of gege ━ .ᐟ✧ A/N: a smol lil study into how i will write caleb <3 just wanted to explore it a bit. this is very short, just had a brain worm i wanted to itch. expect more of these small blurbs because i have so many ideas for caleb that can't possibly all make it into full fledged fics.

The first time Caleb fucks you, he does everything humanly possible to ensure you can’t hold back your moans. No–he didn’t wait his entire life to have you like this, just for you to keep those pretty little cries from him. 

Nope–he’d earned them. They were his. You were his.

“Princess, I want to hear you,” he groans, fingers digging bruises into the soft skin of your hips. His muscled chest is pressed firmly into your back, leaving absolutely no distance between you, him, and the wall. He only tries to hold you closer, tighter. 

“Angh–! No! T-Too loud,” you whimper, arching back so you can lay your head onto his shoulder and look up at his sparkling amethyst eyes, reaching your hand backward to grasp his sweat-dampened neck. “Someone will–hah–hear.”

“You’re such a brat, baby,” he grins cheekily down at you, a smile you knew all-too-well. One you’d grown up seeing frequently, coming to both adore and abhor. A smile that meant you were absolutely in for it. No mercy.

He leans down to brush impossibly soft, fleeting, kisses along your shoulders, across the blades, and down your spine. A jarring contrast to the way his pelvis slams into you so bruisingly that you have to push your palms against the wall to keep from banging violently against it.  

“Don’t make me ask again,” he murmurs, one hand snaking up your chest to wrap around the base of your throat. With his other hand he delicately brushes your hair off one of your shoulders, letting his fingers tenderly graze the ridges of your spine along the way and reveling in your shivers. 

He bites the inside of his cheek as your bare skin lays exposed before him. Your back, your shoulders, your neck…The amount of times he’d imagined you like this–and now it was a lucid reality laid before him. The forbidden fruit finally in his arms.

Another kiss, this time to your nape. A gentle squeeze to your throat, just enough to have your core clenching in excitement at just how much you know he’s holding back.

“Be a good girl for me, yeah?”

You’re about to refuse–unwilling to alert anyone in the house as to what you and your dearest Gege were up to, locked away in your childhood room. But it’s impossible as, in the years Caleb had spent  fantasizing about having you like this, it seemed he’d already discovered every conceivable way to make your body submit to him. To make you irrevocably his. 

“Oh God–! Caleb–mngh, please!” you moan when he drives himself straight into your cervix, nestling into your g-spot like he never wants to leave your sweet little cunt again.

His Adam's apple bobs thickly at the saccharine sound of your pleas, his hips snapping into you particularly harshly, as if urgently trying to pull that same cry from you again. His name.

With a ravenous growl, Caleb spins you around by your wrists, pinning both of them up with just one of his impossibly large hands. He restrains them above your head, his forehead pressed against yours as he cages you in with his thick bicep, forearm resting flat against the wall, sweat-dampened bangs prickling your eyelashes.

The fingers of his free hand are splayed out against the small of your back, the sheer size of his palm allowing him to cup your lower half into him, driving him deeper into you.

You’re face to face with a near fervent Caleb whose lilac eyes had shadowed into a deep indigo maelstrom that reflected darkness you’d never seen of him before. A blackhole of desperation, torment, longing. 

Possession.

You felt like you should be terrified.

And maybe you would be–if you hadn’t wanted him for so fucking long.

You almost don’t recognize his voice when he speaks next. Gone was the boyish charm and playful lilt you’d come to expect of your precious golden retriever Caleb.

“Fuck–say my name again.”

© aeyumicore 2025.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

[peachesofteal]

Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: 18+ daddy kink

It’s too soon. 

The weight of this certainty is nearly too heavy to carry, his footsteps echoing with dread. 

You’re not ready. 

He’s not ready. 

It’s his fault. Selfishly, he’s encouraged your co-dependence, pulled you closer and closer into deeper water where he knew you’d have trouble swimming without him. He thought he’d have more time to help you develop coping strategies, to get you settled, moved out of your apartment and into his house. Now, he’s leaving you alone as you try to navigate an entirely different life while straddling two living situations, without him at your side.  

You’re at his house tonight. It’s becoming more common, three nights turning to four, then five and sometimes even six, letting yourself in before when he gets caught up on base. His brave fawn on stronger legs, taking self assured steps, and following his lead, his guidance. Your comfort in his home, this world he’s created for you, feeds the beast inside his chest, the dark one, the monster curled around your body in the night, possessive and obsessed. It’s a perfectly balanced scale, never tipping too far in one direction, all his parts and pieces perfectly arranged for you, expertly developed so he can love you in every way you need. 

He’s pleased you’re home and already in bed an hour before you’re supposed to be, curled in the middle with your kindle, your blankets and pillows arranged in the usual bird’s nest, lips parted, glasses halfway down the bridge of your nose. 

They became a new rule after he realized you were getting headaches from not using them. 

“What do you think is appropriate?” 

“For my recipe cards?” 

“For screens and your recipe cards, precious girl. Squinting and strainin’ your eyes is what’s causing these headaches.” 

“Oh right.” You nodded, and then lifted your chin. When you have rules, boundaries, you have security, confidence, support. You don’t have to think, agonize, try to step into a skin that doesn’t fit. All the things that worry you, frighten you, overwhelm you, they now belong to him, they’re his to deal with. You just have to focus on the rules. “Wear my glasses when I’m looking at screens or my recipe cards. Got it.” 

“Good girl.” 

He pauses in the doorway. 

You’re kneading. 

It started a week ago in your sleep. You’d find your way to his chest, rocking and rolling overtop his heart, working a rhythm into to his sternum as you slept, a physical manifestation of your peace, your trust, a subconscious recognition of feeling safe, and cared for, and loved. It’s become present in the quiet of the morning or an evening lull too, when you’re relaxed and content, kneading away on a pillow or his thigh. Such a simple, silent thing that says so much.

Knuckles thunk on wood, and you kick beneath the blankets, kindle falling into the pillows, your startle turning to surprise, and then the sweet spread of happiness colors your face. His drug. The way you beam and light up when you see him is the same way you bloom when you’re baking, or talking about baking, or feeding someone. Your bliss gets him high. A gift he could never repay, and something he’ll never give up. You’ve been able to venture outside of your comfort zone more and into his hold, no longer hiding yourself within his walls, cautious steps becoming more self assured. He knows you’ll always struggle, but he’ll always be here, ready to catch you when you fall. 

“Hi daddy.” 

“Hi sweet girl.” He leans over the edge of the bed to brush a kiss across your lips, little whimper falling into his mouth as he takes it farther, tastes you, nips you. You give him more and more, truly limitless in his arms, your home, exploring and testing, discovering both him and yourself. This willingness, this trust, is a precious thing like your heart. And it all belongs to him.

Your throat bobs when he pulls back and tugs his shirt over his head, sneaking a sly glance as he tugs his pants down next. “I need t’get in the shower. Stay put, keep reading your book, I’ll be a few minutes.” 

“Okay.” He’d have you get in with him, but you look so happy, so cozy, fuzzy socks on your feet, cuddled up in a sweatshirt, and he wants to leave you to your peace. 

Since he’s about to ruin it. 

Your hand is small in his, and too cold. The ice he finds there matches your frozen posture, your nervous expression buried beneath snow as you try to put on a brave face. His precious girl. 

“I don’t understand… I’m- a-are you…” you lose your words, hitch of panic in your breath as you scramble to find what’s needed, something, anything to convey the influx of emotions, the quick build of questions, and he squeezes reassuringly. 

“Take your time.” Normally, he’d just stay silent, give you the space and time, but right now, he knows you need more, recognizing the way you’re tearing yourself apart inside your head. You blow out a shaky breath. 

“How long… how long will you be gone?” 

“It’s hard to say, but I think it’ll only be a few weeks.” The flash of fear strikes through your irises like lightning.

“Okay.” You nod, but it doesn’t stop. You just keep nodding, trying to steady yourself, and he doesn’t think you know you’re trembling a bit, lower lip start to peel away.  “What if something bad happens?” It’s a question for the ages, one he’s wagered his entire existence. A longstanding bet with the reaper, one he never made a fuss about.

Now, he’d barter his soul for one more moment.

“Nothing bad is gonna happen, I’m very good at my job.” He tries to soothe you, but you’re already lost, tangled up in a web, one he should have cleaned up before.

“B-but you can’t promise that, right? I mean, you can’t be sure. Right?” 

“I’m going to be just fine, baby. I want you to focus on yourself instead of worrying about me, alright? You’ll follow all your rules and take care of yourself. Do you understand?” You have a faraway look in your eye, responding like he didn’t speak. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not handling this… I feel… I’m overwhelmed, I don’t…” He pulls you close, and you don’t waste a second, placing your cheek to his chest, ear just over his heart. 

“My good girl, following her rules,” you look up at him, so tortured, conflicted and scared, and his heart aches. “There’s no reason to be sorry. I should have prepared you for this, and I didn’t. That’s daddy’s fault, not yours.” You’re drowning. You’re too far underwater, trying to reconcile what you know with what you fear, kicking and swimming against a current that keeps sweeping you out to sea, desperately clinging to him, searching for your lighthouse in the storm. It’s too much, he knew it would be, and if he could put it off he would, but this is one mission he can’t delay. It’s a rescue, in the bloody jungle, one squad already failing to reach the other. He has no choice.

He curves around you, pulls you down into the blankets and pillows, kissing your salt soaked cheeks. “I know you’re scared baby, I know. I’m sorry.” The guilt stings and bites, a serrated blade between his ribs. He did this, it’s the consequences of his failure that you’re facing now, your uncertainty and fear all created by him. 

Your face presses into his neck as he applies pressure to your nape, murmuring against the shell of your ear, surrounding you with himself, blocking out the rest of the world. 

That’s where the two of you stay, long past the conversation, your tears turning to quiet whimpers before you fall asleep, snuffling against his skin, still holding him tight. 

“I’ll be good daddy, I promise.” He’s got a duffel slung over his shoulder and a backpack at his feet, truck running in the driveway, waiting. He should have left ten minutes ago. Fifteen even, but he can’t let go, still standing in the foyer cupping your face, memorizing every detail. There’s not much he can do now to fix his mistake. It will have to wait until he comes back, a razed city left waiting to be rebuilt.

“I know you will sweetheart,” he brushes his knuckles over the apple of your cheek, “everything is going to be fine.”

“And you’ll call when you can?” He kisses your forehead. 

“I’ll call when I can.” He’ll need to release all of this before he steps on the plane, but for now he allows himself to feel it, ruminate and own it. He’s worried. This is his fault, he’s pulled the rug out from beneath you without any semblance of a warning, he’s changing your routine, your life, again, uprooting you just when you’ve started to feel comfortable. You’re vulnerable, and he’s abandoning you. Ripping a freshly healed wound wide and pouring salt in it.

You lean in, turning your cheek to press your ear over his heart. “I’m going to miss you.” 

“I’m going to miss you too sweet girl, so much. But I’ll be home soon, I promise.” His younger self would scoff at him, chastise him for making such a promise, but it’s different now. 

He’d dig himself out of grave all over again just to crawl home to you. 

[moonlightwritingf1]

No Mercy | LN4

💋 summary ━━━━━━━ Lando and Y/N are still in the early stages of their relationship, discovering each other emotionally and physically. After a night out, Lando takes control in the bedroom. 

💋 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

💋 word count ━━━━━━━ 5.2k

💋 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, creampie, rough sex, aftercare, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f receiving), dirty talk, begging for creampie

It had been a long night, the kind that left them both buzzing with energy yet exhausted in equal measure. The event had been glamorous, filled with champagne and laughter, but now, as she stepped into Lando’s apartment, the world felt quieter, more intimate. 

She kicked off her heels, letting them clatter to the ground, and tossed her clutch onto the couch. Lando stood by the door, his coat still on, hands in his pockets, watching her with a sly smile that made her stomach flip. He was always like this—confident, charming, and a little bit dangerous. It was one of the many things she found irresistible about him.

“What do you want to eat?” she asked, turning to face him. Her voice was light, teasing, but there was an edge to it, a hint of something deeper that neither of them had fully explored yet. They were still learning each other, discovering the ways their bodies fit together, the ways their minds connected. And tonight, something about the way he looked at her made her feel he was about to show her another side of himself.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned against the wall, his eyes tracing over her body with a slow, deliberate intensity that made her breath catch in her throat. His gaze lingered on her lips, then lowered, sweeping down her chest and hips before finally meeting her eyes again. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost a whisper, but it carried a weight that sent shivers down her spine.

“Bend over,” he said.

The words hung in the air between them, thick and charged with meaning. She blinked, momentarily unsure she’d heard him correctly. But then his smirk deepened, and the glint in his eye left no room for doubt. He wasn’t teasing. Not this time.

Oh, she thought, her heart pounding faster. This is different.

She hesitated just for a moment, caught between surprise and curiosity. Lando watched her, patient but insistent, his posture relaxed but his presence commanding. He wasn’t going to push, not unless she gave him the go-ahead. But the look in his eyes told her everything—he wanted this. More than that, he wanted her to want it, too.

And she did. Somehow, in the span of two words, he’d managed to make her feel bold, reckless. She swallowed hard, her pulse racing as she took a step toward the kitchen counter. The cool surface pressed against her palms as she leaned forward, knees slightly bent, ass angled just so. The position felt vulnerable, exposed, but it also sent a jolt of anticipation through her.

Behind her, Lando moved. His footsteps were quiet, measured, but they echoed in her ears like thunder. She could feel his presence behind her, close enough that she sensed the heat radiating off his body. He didn’t touch her right away, though. Instead, he paused, letting the silence stretch out until it was almost unbearable.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his voice rough with desire. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to see you like this.”

His hands came down on her hips, firm and possessive, pulling her back against him. She gasped at the contact, her body already reacting to his nearness. His erection pressed into her lower back, hot and undeniable, and she couldn’t help but arch into it, craving more of him.

“Do you know what you do to me?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. His breath was warm, intoxicating, and it sent a shiver racing down her spine. “Every time I look at you, I think about how fucking good it would feel to be inside you.”

His words were dirty, raw, and they sent a thrill of excitement coursing through her. She moaned softly, unable to hold it back, and he responded by tightening his grip on her hips, his fingers digging into her skin.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I need—”

“You need what?” he prompted, tone teasing but his movements were anything but playful. He nudged her thighs apart with his knee, positioning himself between them. “Tell me, baby. What do you need?”

“You,” she breathed, cheeks burning with embarrassment and arousal. “I need you.”

His chuckle was dark, almost feral, sending goosebumps cascading over her skin. “Good girl,” he said, leaning down to nip at the nape of her neck. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

Before she could respond, he slid his hand between her legs, cupping her core through the thin fabric of her dress. She gasped, body tensing instinctively, but his touch was firm, unyielding. He rubbed against her in slow, deliberate circles, pressing just hard enough to send sparks of pleasure shooting through her.

“Spread your legs wider,” he ordered, voice low and commanding. “I want to feel how wet you are.”

She obeyed without thinking, letting her thighs fall open as his fingers continued their relentless assault. The heat between her legs was overwhelming, pooling deep inside her as his thumb brushed her clit. She moaned again, louder this time, head dropping back against his shoulder.

“You like that?” he asked, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “You like feeling my hand on you?”

“Yes,” she whimpered, voice barely above a whisper. “Please, Lando—”

“Patience,” he said, tone sharp but touch gentle as he traced a line up her inner thigh. “We’ve got all night.”

He let out a soft groan of approval as his fingers dipped under her dress until they met the resistance of her underwear. “So wet already,” he murmured, tone laced with admiration. “You really are desperate for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she admitted, voice breaking as he pressed his fingers against the fabric, applying just enough pressure to send waves of pleasure coursing through her.

He pulled back slightly, hands retreating to her hips as he leaned in closer. “Turn around,” he ordered, voice calm but commanding. “Face me.”

She did as he asked, turning with hesitant steps. His eyes locked onto hers, intense and unyielding, as if he were seeing straight through to her soul. His hands gripped her waist again, pulling her closer until there was barely any space between them.

“Look at me,” he said, voice low and hypnotic. “Don’t look away.”

She met his gaze, unable to tear her eyes away, as his hands traveled up her torso, his thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts. A shiver ran through her at the contact, her heart racing as his fingers continued their journey, tracing the outline of her bra before sliding the straps of her dress off her shoulders and slipping his hands beneath the fabric of her bra.

Her breath hitched as his fingers circled her nipples, teasing them lightly before applying just enough pressure to make her gasp. “Lando,” she whimpered, hands reaching to grip his arms for support.

He smirked, clearly enjoying her reaction. “Do you like that?” he asked, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “Or would you rather I go slower?”

“No,” she managed, voice trembling. “Please, don’t stop.”

“Good girl,” he murmured, leaning in to nip at her earlobe. “I knew you’d be greedy.”

His hands drifted higher, thumbs slipping under the straps of her bra and easing them down her arms. With practiced deftness he unhooked the clasp, stripping the lace away to bare her breasts to the cool air—and to his hungry gaze. A soft gasp escaped her throat as the garment joined the growing pile on the floor.

Without pausing, he found the hidden zipper at the small of her back. The sound of metal teeth parting was faint, almost teasing, as he drew it downward in one slow, deliberate motion. The dress loosened, silk sliding over her hips before gravity claimed the fabric. It puddled at her feet in a silent surrender, leaving her exposed beneath the dim light while his eyes roamed every inch of newly revealed skin.

She bit her lip, trying to suppress a moan as his fingers reached the edge of her panties and pressed against the fabric as if testing the waters.

“Take them off,” he said, voice calm but insistent. “I want to see you completely bare.”

She hesitated, unsure, but his stare was unrelenting. Slowly, she slid her panties down her legs, stepping out of them and leaving them pooled at her feet. He let out a low whistle, eyes raking over her nakedness with obvious appreciation.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, voice filled with genuine admiration. “Absolutely beautiful.”

His hands returned to her hips, guiding her closer as he stepped forward. She felt the hard length of his erection pressing against her stomach, and gasped at the sudden intimacy. He let out a soft groan, hands tightening on her waist as he ground himself against her.

“God, you feel so good,” he muttered, voice thick with desire. “So warm, so wet—”

She whimpered, hands grasping his shoulders as he continued to move against her. The friction was maddening, building the tension inside her until it felt like she might explode. “Lando,” she breathed, voice barely audible over her pounding heart. “Please—”

He pulled back slightly, hands sliding to her thighs. “Bend over,” he commanded, voice firm and unyielding. “I want to see you spread for me.”

She hesitated, heart racing as the words sank in, but there was no mistaking the intensity in his gaze, the raw hunger that said he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Slowly, she bent over again, placing her hands on the countertop and spreading her legs wide.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice filled with satisfaction as he stepped behind her. “Perfect.”

She felt his presence close, his warmth enveloping her as he moved in. Behind her, she heard the unmistakable sound of him unzipping his jeans, the quiet rustle of fabric stirring her anticipation. He remained clothed otherwise, only freeing his cock from the confines of his pants, the intimacy somehow heightened by the contrast. His hands returned to grip her hips firmly, steadying her as he positioned himself at her entrance. She held her breath, anticipation humming through her veins as she waited for his next move.

“Are you ready?” he asked, voice low and intimate. “Because I’m not going to hold back.”

“Yes,” she whispered, voice trembling with need. “Please, Lando—”

He didn’t waste any time. With one swift motion, he plunged into her, filling her completely. She cried out at the sudden intrusion, body clenching around him as he began to move.

Lando’s thrusts were slow and deliberate at first, each one drawing a soft moan from her lips. He took his time, savoring every inch of her, every curve and contour of her body. His hands slid up her sides, tracing the line of her ribs before wrapping around her torso, pulling her back against him. She felt his breath hot on her neck, lips brushing her skin as he whispered sweet, filthy things in her ear.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, voice thick with desire. “So tight, so perfect—”

His words sent shivers down her spine, and she couldn’t help but press herself back against him, urging him on. His grip on her hips tightened, and then, without warning, he picked up the pace. His thrusts became more urgent, deeper, each one hitting her in just the right spot. She moaned loudly, head falling forward as she struggled to keep up with his rhythm.

“Oh God, Lando…” she gasped, voice breaking. “Harder… please—”

He didn’t need telling twice. With a growl, he grabbed her waist and pulled her back onto him, driving into her with even more force. She felt every inch of him, every ridge and vein as he pounded into her. Her body was on fire, every nerve ending alight with pleasure as he continued to thrust deeper and harder.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled, voice rough and primal. “Take it… take all of me—”

She whimpered, fingers gripping the edge of the counter as she surrendered to the overwhelming sensation. His thrusts were relentless now, each one sending ripples of pleasure through her entire body. She felt her orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter inside with every movement.

Lando’s hands slipped to her thighs, lifting them slightly as he adjusted his angle. The change sent a jolt of electricity through her, and she cried out as he hit that perfect spot deep inside.

“Fuck, yes!” she screamed, voice echoing off the walls. “Don’t stop, Lando… don’t you dare stop—”

He didn’t. If anything, he only pushed harder, his movements almost desperate now. She felt his cock twitching inside her, evidence of his own impending release, yet still he kept going, driving into her with everything he had.

“I’m close,” he panted, voice ragged. “So close—”

She felt it too, tension in her body reaching breaking point. Her legs trembled, muscles quivering as pleasure threatened to consume her. She wanted to hold on, to prolong the sensation, but it was no use. The wave was coming, unstoppable.

“Lando!” she screamed as her orgasm finally hit. Wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over her, body convulsing around him as she came apart. She clung to the counter, legs nearly giving out as pleasure overwhelmed every fiber of her being.

Lando didn’t slow. If anything, he sped up, matching her rhythm as he chased his own release. His thrusts became erratic, breathing harsh and uneven as he fought to hold on just a little longer.

“I can’t… I can’t wait…” he groaned, voice strained. “So good, baby… so fucking good—”

And then, with one final, powerful thrust, he found his release. His body went rigid, hands gripping her hips as he spilled inside. She felt the warm rush fill her, the sensation sending another shiver of pleasure through her already sensitive body.

For a moment, neither of them moved. They just stood there, panting and trembling as their bodies slowly came down from the high. Lando’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. She could feel his heart pounding against her back, the rhythm matching her own as they tried to catch their breath.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “You have no idea how good that felt—”

She smiled softly, turning her head to kiss his temple. “I think I might have some ideas.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. His hands began exploring her body again, gently caressing her skin as he slowly withdrew from inside her. She bit her lip, feeling a slight pang of emptiness as he pulled out, but it was quickly replaced by a new wave of arousal.

Lando seemed to sense it too, because his hands immediately went to work. He turned her around, pressing her back against the counter as his lips crashed down on hers. The kiss was hungry, desperate, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. His tongue slid into her mouth, exploring every inch as his hands roamed over her body, teasing and taunting as he built her back up.

“You’re insatiable,” she murmured against his lips, voice laced with amusement.

He smirked, pulling back slightly to look down at her. “And you love it.”

Lando’s arms tightened around her as he hoisted her up effortlessly, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. She let out a soft gasp, core still sensitive from the intensity of moments before, but his touch—his presence—was already reigniting the fire within her. His hands steadied her, one gripping her thigh while the other pressed firmly against her back, pulling her closer.

The kitchen counter was just behind her, and for a moment, she wondered if he might set her down there again, but instead, he carried her toward the hallway, his stride confident and purposeful.

“Where are we going?” she asked playfully, voice teasing as she nuzzled into the crook of his neck. Her breath tickled his skin, and she felt the faintest shiver run through him, though his expression remained assured as ever.

“You’ll see,” he said, tone low and smooth, like molten caramel. There was something dangerous in his voice, something that made her pulse quicken. His lips brushed her ear, sending electricity down her spine. “Just trust me.”

Trust me. It sounded simple enough, but coming from him, it was an invitation to surrender completely. And she wanted to. God, she wanted to.

He walked with her nestled against him, his body warm and solid beneath her hands. She could feel every ridge of muscle, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, steady and strong. His cologne surrounded her, a heady mix of cedarwood and spice that made her head spin. Every step brought them closer to the bedroom, and with each passing second, the anticipation grew thicker in the air.

When he finally reached the door, Lando kicked it open with a single powerful motion, carrying her inside. The bedroom was dimly lit, the soft glow of the night sky filtering through the curtains. He set her down gently on the edge of the bed, his hands lingering on her hips before sliding up her sides. She looked up at him, heart pounding in her chest, and saw the same hunger in his eyes that she felt on her own.

“Undress me,” he commanded, voice firm but not harsh. There was no room for hesitation, no chance to second-guess herself. She nodded, swallowing hard as she reached for the buttons of his shirt. Her fingers fumbled slightly, betraying the nervous excitement coursing through her, but he didn’t rush her. Instead, he watched with an amused glint in his eyes, clearly enjoying the sight of her eager yet slightly uncertain.

One by one, she popped the buttons open, revealing the expanse of his chest beneath. His skin gleamed under the soft light, and when her fingers grazed over his stomach, she felt the ripple of muscle. He wasn’t just handsome—he was powerful, and the realization sent a thrill racing through her veins.

Once the shirt was off, she moved her hands up and down his abdomen, looking up at him with a coy smile.

“What’s next?” she asked, voice dripping with mischief.

“Don’t play games with me,” he warned lightly, though there was no real threat in his tone. If anything, his words only fueled her boldness.

She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his collarbone, feeling his body tense beneath her. Then, with deliberate slowness, she kissed her way down his chest, stopping to nip at his skin just above his navel. He sucked in a sharp breath, hands tightening on her shoulders as if to keep himself grounded. But she wasn’t done yet.

With a flick of her wrist, she tugged his jeans down over his hips, the zipper already undone from before. His boxers slid off easily with them, pooling at his ankles. His cock sprang completely free—already hard again, still slick with her from the last time he’d been buried deep inside her. The sight made her breath hitch.

He was big. Thick, flushed, glistening not just with pre-cum but with the wet evidence of what they’d just done. Her thighs instinctively pressed together as her core clenched around nothing, aching for him again. She stared for a moment, unable to look away, her mouth slightly parted as heat rushed through her.

Lando groaned, grip tightening as he stepped out of his pants. “Take me,” he growled, voice deep and commanding. “Show me how much you want me.”

Her breath caught, but there was no hesitation now. She shifted back on the bed, spreading her legs slightly as she positioned herself. Lando climbed onto the mattress, movements fluid and confident, and knelt between her thighs. His gaze locked onto hers, desire burning in his eyes—a reflection of her own.

“Are you ready?” he asked, voice rough and raw.

She nodded, biting her lip as she reached for him. Her hand wrapped around his length, squeezing gently as she guided him toward her entrance. He groaned again, hips twitching as she stroked him, and she felt a surge of satisfaction—she was in control now, and the power thrilled her.

But just as she began to lower herself onto him, Lando pulled back, eyes narrowing as he studied her. “Wait,” he said quietly, voice tinged with something darker and more possessive. “I want to taste you first.”

Before she could respond, he shifted, settling himself between her legs. His hands gripped her thighs, spreading them wider as his head dipped. Then his tongue was on her, sliding along her folds with expert precision. She cried out, arching her back as his mouth worked its magic, licking and sucking with a fervor that left her breathless.

“Lando…” she moaned, tangling her fingers in his hair as he buried his face between her legs. His tongue delved deeper, flicking against her clit with relentless pressure, orchestrating every movement, every sensation. She was nothing but a willing participant in his game.

“Fuck, Y/N… you taste so good,” he murmured, voice muffled but commanding. His hands slid up her thighs, pushing her legs higher as he continued to devour her, making no effort to hide his pleasure. “So sweet…”

Her head lolled back against the pillows, body trembling as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. Lando’s tongue was relentless, exploring every inch of her, the tension building inside, threatening to overwhelm her.

“Lando, I’m… I’m gonna—” she gasped, voice breaking as her orgasm surged closer.

He didn’t stop; he doubled down, thrusting his tongue inside her with renewed vigor. His fingers found her clit, rubbing in circles as his mouth worked in tandem, the combination too much. Her vision blurred, stars bursting behind her eyelids as she came, hips bucking against him as waves of ecstasy washed over her.

As her breathing slowly returned to normal, Lando lifted his head, eyes filled with desire and smoldering. He crawled up her body, kissing her deeply as his hands roamed her skin, rekindling the fire that had barely cooled.

“Now,” he said, voice thick with arousal, “fuck me.”

She reached for him, her hand wrapping around his cock with a firm grip. Her eyes locked onto his as she guided him to her entrance, her body trembling with anticipation. Lando’s breath hitched, his gaze darkening as he watched her, his hands gripping her hips tightly.

“Take me,” he growled, voice thick with need. “Show me how much you want it.”

She didn’t hesitate. With a slow, deliberate motion, she lowered herself onto him, gasping as he filled her completely. Her head fell back against the pillows, a moan escaping her lips as she felt every inch of him stretching her, claiming her. Lando groaned above her, his hands tightening on her hips as he watched her take him, his eyes blazing with desire.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice rough. “You feel so fucking good.”

She began to move. Her hips rolled up to meet his, slow at first—deliberate, controlled. The thick slide of him inside her made her gasp, her back arching off the bed as pleasure coiled hot and tight in her core. Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging crescents into his skin with each motion, as if anchoring herself to the only thing keeping her from unraveling completely.

She set the rhythm, hips tilting, grinding, riding each thrust with a desperate, breathless need. The drag of his cock inside her was perfect, deep, filling her so completely it was dizzying. Wet sounds filled the room, their bodies moving in perfect sync, skin against skin, heat against heat.

Lando’s breath came in ragged gasps above her, jaw clenched as he held himself back, letting her take everything she needed. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned, voice hoarse, forehead pressed to hers. 

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice low and husky. “Take what you need.”

She moaned, the sound breaking free from her throat as her hips moved beneath him in frantic, rolling motions. She was on her back, thighs trembling as they cradled his body, and every grind of her hips sent a jolt of pleasure through her spine. She chased it—desperate, aching—her pace becoming more urgent, more erratic, even as exhaustion started to creep into her limbs.

Her body trembled with the effort, slick with sweat and need, and she could feel the burn building in her muscles, her thighs beginning to shake. But she didn’t stop. Not yet. The pleasure was too close—taunting her, tightening with every movement.

Lando hovered above her, breath ragged, his hands sliding up her sides, fingertips brushing over the curves of her body like he was memorizing her. His touch was reverent, grounding, but his eyes—his eyes burned into her with so much need it made her breath hitch. His jaw was clenched, body strung tight as he watched her fight for her release.

Her hips faltered for a moment, stuttering in their rhythm, and her hands gripped his arms harder, fingers digging into muscle.

“Lando…” she gasped, voice cracking with desperation. “I need you… I need you to fuck me.”

His entire body shuddered at her words, restraint snapping in an instant. He dipped down, mouth brushing her ear as he whispered, “You have no idea what you just started.”

And then he took over. Lando didn’t wait. With a growl, he surged forward, his hands gripping her hips as he pulled her toward him. In one swift motion, he lifted her legs, draping them over his shoulders, and drove into her with a force that made her cry out. Her back arched off the bed, her hands scrambling for grip on the sheets as he claimed her completely.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice rough and strained. “You feel so fucking good.”

He didn’t hold back. His hips snapped against hers, each thrust driving her deeper into the mattress. The angle was perfect, his cock hitting that spot inside her that made her see stars. She gasped, her nails digging into his arms as he fucked her with a relentless rhythm, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

“Lando!” she cried, her voice breaking as the pleasure built inside her. “Oh God, don’t stop!”

He didn’t. If anything, he only went harder, his hands tightening on her hips as he pinned her down, taking what he wanted. She could feel the power in every movement, the way he controlled her body, pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

“You’re mine,” he growled, voice low and possessive. “All mine.”

She nodded frantically, unable to form words as the intensity of it all consumed her. Her legs trembled where they rested on his shoulders, her body completely at his mercy. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss as he continued to fuck her, his tongue sliding against hers in a parallel of what his cock was doing to her.

“Come for me,” he demanded, breaking the kiss to look down at her. His eyes were filled with a hunger that made her shiver. “I want to feel you come around me.”

She didn’t need telling twice. With a cry, she shattered, her body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. Lando groaned, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chased his own release, his grip on her hips almost bruising.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” he started, but she cut him off.

“Inside me,” she begged, voice trembling with need. “Please, Lando, come inside me. I want to feel you fill me up. I need it—I need you.” Her hands clawed at his back, pulling him closer as if she could somehow make him deeper, make him stay forever. “Don’t hold back. Give me everything. I want to feel you pulse inside me, feel you claim me completely.”

Lando groaned, his thrusts becoming more erratic, his control slipping as her words drove him wild. “Fuck, you’re so greedy,” he muttered, voice rough and strained. “You want it that bad?”

“Yes,” she gasped, her hips lifting to meet his every thrust. “I need it. I need to feel you come inside me, Lando. Please, I want to be yours. I want to feel you mark me, own me. Please.”

Her words were like a match to gasoline, igniting something primal in him. His hands tightened on her hips, fingers digging into her skin as he drove into her with a force that left her breathless. “You’re mine,” he growled, voice low and possessive. “All mine.”

“Yes,” she cried, her body trembling as the pleasure built to a crescendo. “Yours. Always yours. Just come inside me, Lando. I need it. I need you.”

With a final, powerful thrust, he did. His body went rigid above her, a guttural groan escaping his lips as he spilled inside her. She felt the warmth fill her, the sensation sending another shiver of pleasure through her already sensitive body.

For a moment, neither of them moved. They just lay there, panting and trembling as their bodies slowly came down from the high. Lando’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. She could feel his heart pounding against her chest, the rhythm matching her own as they tried to catch their breath.

Lando pulled back, his lips glistening as he looked up at her with a wicked grin. “You’re so fucking naughty,” he teased, his voice low and husky. “I didn’t know you had it in you.” His fingers traced lazy circles on her inner thigh, sending shivers through her already sensitive body. “But I like it. I like it a lot.”

She blushed, her cheeks flushing crimson as she tried to catch her breath. “You bring it out of me,” she murmured, her voice trembling with a mix of embarrassment and arousal.

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich, before leaning down to kiss her gently. His lips were soft, almost tender, a stark contrast to the intensity of moments before. “Good,” he whispered against her mouth. “Because I plan to keep bringing it out of you.”

As the heat between them began to cool, Lando shifted, pulling her into his arms. He laid back against the pillows, cradling her against his chest. His fingers trailed lightly over her skin, soothing and gentle now, as if he were trying to erase any lingering tension. She sighed, melting into him, her body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern as he brushed a strand of hair from her face.

She nodded, nuzzling closer to him. “More than okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “That was… incredible.”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re incredible,” he murmured. “But don’t think I’m done with you yet.”

She laughed softly, the sound warm and content. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

For a while, they just lay there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside forgotten. Lando’s touch was tender now, his hands moving in slow, comforting strokes as he held her close. She felt safe, cherished, and utterly spent.

“Get some rest,” he said quietly, his voice a soothing rumble in his chest. “I’ve got you.”

And with that, she let herself drift, knowing that in his arms, she was exactly where she belonged.

[papayainsectorone]

Look at You.

alternative title: objects in mirror may be hornier than they appear

summary: teasing turns into something intense, it’s the beginning of something more: exploration and a growing list of fantasies you’re both eager to check off

content: 18+!! smut, nsfw, mirror sex, voyeuristic elements, power dynamics (soft), mutual teasing, consent & trust, some bondage, public play references, kink discovery, domestic intimacy, lando being a menace, horny but wholesome energy

word count: 5.3k

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

walls are way too thin - series - a´s masterlist

might be confusing if read as standalone

It’s quiet,the kind of quiet that only settles a few days after chaos, when the dust has settled but the air still remembers the storm. The hotel room is dimly lit, the curtains drawn against a pale, lazy afternoon. The TV flickers in the corner, playing something neither of you are watching, some cooking show or maybe a nature doc, sound turned low, narration drifting in and out like a lullaby.

You’re stretched across the wide hotel couch, head tipped back over the armrest, spine curled in something between contentment and exhaustion. Your legs are draped across Lando’s lap, bare skin pressed against the soft cotton of his joggers. A half-eaten bowl of crisps rests on your stomach, crumbs dotting your shirt like little souvenirs from earlier laughter.

Lando’s hand moves slowly, absentmindedly, tracing lazy patterns across your shins. He doesn’t look at you—his gaze is trained on the ceiling like he expects it to blink back at him. There’s a stillness in his posture that feels rare, like he’s finally let himself land after being airborne too long.

And then—he shifts.

It’s subtle, but you feel it. The way his thighs tighten beneath you, the sudden pause in his fingers like a thought just took up too much space in his chest. You don’t move. Don’t even open your eyes.

“What?” you murmur, voice hoarse with rest.

There’s a beat. Then, light and unmistakably mischievous:

“You know the thing you told me…”

You sigh, already bracing. “Lando, I say like... a million things to you every day. Narrow it down.”

You can hear the smirk as he speaks, soft and self-satisfied. “The thing about mirrors.”

Your eyes fly open.

He doesn’t look down right away—just grins like he’s been waiting for your reaction. Like he’s been saving this for exactly when your defenses are lowest. Your legs twitch in his lap, but he grabs your ankle before you can pull away.

“Don’t,” you warn, voice already warm with embarrassed laughter.

“Oh, I will,” he says, finally glancing down at you. His curls fall toward your face, casting shadows across your cheeks. “You said—and I quote—‘I’ve always wondered what I’d look like fucked in front of a mirror.’”

You groan, dragging one hand over your face. “I was drunk.”

He hums like he’s considering it. His thumb circles the inside of your ankle now—barely there, but maddening. “You were honest,” he says, sing-song and smug.

Your hand stays over your eyes, but you peek at him through your fingers. His grin has grown just a little too pleased with himself, like he knows exactly what kind of spiral he’s starting.

“I hate you,” you mutter, half-hearted.

“No you don’t.” His free hand moves to your thigh, thumb brushing lightly beneath the hem of your shorts, casual—but not. There’s intention behind the touch now. Something slower. More curious. “You trust me with your darkest, filthiest secrets.”

You snort. “That wasn’t a secret. It was a hypothetical.” Your voice is muffled against your palm, but your breath hitches all the same.

“Mmm,” he hums, not even trying to mask how much he’s enjoying this. “You said you’d never done it. That you wanted to watch.” He drags out the last word, slow and sticky with intent. “Wanted to see your own face when you came.”

You drop your hand from your face with an exaggerated sigh and give him a flat look. “You are literally insufferable.”

Lando just leans back, completely unbothered, his grin widening into something downright sinful. “But now I can’t stop thinking about it. You. Mirror. Me behind you…” He shifts slightly beneath you, his hands tightening on your thighs as he lets the images stack. “On your knees. On top. Bent over the edge of the bed, maybe. Fuck—bent against the mirror.”

He shrugs with an easy, almost innocent smile. “I’m not picky.”

You sigh again, a little less dramatic this time—more resigned. “You’re such a menace.”

“And you,” he says, eyes gleaming, voice dipping low, “love it.”

He lets that word sit for a second, warm and weighty.

“Maybe…” he adds, almost too casual, “you still want it?”

There’s a beat.

Then his gaze slides across the room—to the tall, sleek mirror propped elegantly near the corner, angled just enough that you can see the bed behind it. It’s glossy and unassuming, entirely unaware that it’s about to become the center of a very inappropriate conversation.

You follow his line of sight automatically, lifting your head from the couch. The mirror gleams back, pure and quiet.

He catches your hesitation. Sees the way your eyes linger just a second too long.

“Oh fuck,” he whispers, voice delighted, “you do.”

“Lando,” you say, a warning, though your voice is already softer. Already shifting.

“Don’t Lando me.” He slides his hand lower, palm trailing along your ribs, your waist, slow and exploratory. “You’re the one who planted the idea. I’m just—” his thumb dips just beneath the waistband of your joggers “—cultivating it.”

You bark a laugh, caught off guard. “You sound like a pervy gardener.”

“Pervy, definitely,” he says, grinning. “But also curious.”

He tilts his head like he’s thinking deeply, but his fingers don’t stop moving. They hook just slightly into the elastic at your hip, not tugging—just there.

“Aren’t you?” he asks.

You don’t answer right away. Mostly because your mouth’s gone dry again. Because yeah, okay—maybe it wasn’t just a passing comment. Maybe you have thought about it since then. More than once. Maybe you’ve imagined watching the way your body moves, the way his hands look on your skin, the way your own expression changes when he’s deep inside you. Maybe that idea has stuck to you like syrup ever since it slipped out of your mouth.

He shifts beneath you, knees nudging until you’re forced to sit upright in his lap. Your breath stutters at the sudden shift in posture, in energy. He’s closer now. Focused. Serious in a way that feels heavy and intimate.

“You want to see how good you look,” he murmurs, voice nearly a whisper, “or do you want to see how good I make you look?”

Your throat is tight, pulse thudding behind your ears. When you speak, it’s smaller than you meant it to be.

“Both.”

His grin turns sharp, almost reverent. “Come on, then.”

He offers his hand—palm up, fingers open, like he’s inviting you to dance.

You arch a brow, resisting the tug in your chest. “What is this, prom night?”

“Don’t make me carry you,” he warns, already bracing.

“You wouldn’t—”

You don’t even get the word out.

He lunges, sudden and unreasonably fast for someone so full of crisps and cockiness. His hands slide under your thighs, then your waist, and before you can blink, you’re off the couch and slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

“Lando!” you yelp, legs kicking uselessly in the air as your view flips upside down. “Put me down, you absolute dickhead—!”

He just laughs, a rich, full sound that bounces off the hotel walls. One of his hands pats your ass, entirely too pleased with himself. “Told you not to test me.”

You slap weakly at his back, breathless from laughing. “I swear to god—”

He spins in a tight, dizzying circle just to make it worse, your hair whipping around your face, before finally, finally setting you down with surprising care.

Your feet hit the carpet. You’re standing in front of the mirror now.

It towers in front of you, clean and polished and waiting. You catch your reflection—a little wild-eyed, flushed from laughter, shirt rumpled and falling off one shoulder.

Lando steps up behind you, chest brushing your back, hands still on your waist. His face is close to your ear now, voice low and soft and too sincere.

“You wanna see what I see?”

Your laughter lingered in your throat as you caught your own reflection—wild hair, flushed cheeks, the hem of your shirt now askew from the ride. Behind you, Lando’s hands slid over your hips, steadying you. His eyes met yours in the mirror, playful but darkened by something deeper.

“Better,” he murmured, close to your ear.

“Now look,” he murmurs, catching your gaze in the glass. “Don’t look at me. Look at you.”

His hands move under your shirt, slow and deliberate, calloused fingertips grazing the curve of your waist like he’s rediscovering you. The brush of skin-on-skin sends goosebumps racing down your arms, and for a moment, all you can do is breathe. Shallow, shaky, anticipatory.

Then his hand rises—firm but gentle—tilting your chin with two fingers until your gaze lifts. He angles your head toward the mirror. Forces your eyes to meet your own reflection.

His mouth finds that sensitive spot just behind your ear, lips warm, tongue flicking out briefly, and your lashes flutter, instinct pulling you inward. But he taps your jaw, gentle but insistent.

“Nope,” he murmurs, voice low and curling with amusement, a grin pressed against your skin. “Keep watching.”

You swallow hard.

He peels your shirt off slowly, raising your arms over your head, the fabric brushing your flushed skin as it slides away. He lets it fall to the floor without ceremony. His own shirt follows seconds later, revealing the warmth of his chest against your back. You can feel his skin, hot and solid and there.

You glance at the mirror again—see yourself bare from the waist up, your body molded into his, and his arms winding around you. His hands travel the span of your torso, tracing the curve of your ribs, skimming under the band of your bra. The way your body arches into his touch is automatic. Craving.

And then his fingers slip below the waistband of your joggers, dragging slow over your hipbones, thumbs sliding inward toward the center of you.

“Still just a fantasy?” he asks, mouth brushing your shoulder, voice husky now, the heat rising between you undeniable.

You don’t answer.

You can’t.

Your pulse is pounding in your ears, blood rushing to all the wrong places, and his fingers are already dipping low—confident, familiar, but still unbearably teasing.

He chuckles, and the sound is low and dark and satisfied, vibrating down the line of your spine like thunder.

“That’s what I thought.”

Your knees wobble. You reach forward, planting one hand against the edge of the mirror to stay upright, palm flat against the glass as he presses himself flush against your back. The heat of him envelops you, chest to spine, hips snug. You can feel him hard against you, feel every line of tension in his body. But it’s his focus that undoes you—the way his gaze stays locked on yours in the reflection.

It’s the most exposed you’ve ever felt—not because of how little you’re wearing, but because of how seen you are.

He’s watching your face as he touches you—watching the way your mouth parts with each exhale, the way your eyes go half-lidded when his fingers dip just a little lower. You try to stay still. Try not to squirm or reach for more.

But your hips roll back, seeking pressure, seeking him.

He smirks, maddening. And then he pulls back—just enough to make you whimper.

“Patience,” he whispers, lips grazing your ear, hot and breathy. “You said you wanted to see, didn’t you?”

“Fuck,” you breathe, the word barely audible, your knuckles going white where you grip the edge of the dresser. “Then stop teasing.”

“Oh,” he says, amused and dark, his teeth grazing your neck, “now you want it quick?”

His fingers slip forward again, slow, purposeful, slick with anticipation.

“What happened to the fantasy?” he teases, circling your clit with such maddening gentleness you could scream. “Didn’t you want to watch yourself fall apart?”

You moan softly, forehead resting against the glass, your own eyes blinking back at you—flushed, parted lips, pupils wide with want. He doesn’t let you look away.

His hand at your jaw moves again, angling your face so you have to see. Have to witness yourself unraveling at the hands of someone who knows exactly how to pull you apart.

“Keep watching,” he says again, and this time there’s no grin—just heat. Reverence. Need.

You do.

And it’s devastating.

He pushes your joggers and underwear down in one smooth, unhurried motion—like he’s unwrapping something he’s been dying to get his hands on. The fabric pools around your ankles, and you step out without looking, body trembling with anticipation. The cool air kisses your calves, but it doesn’t register. Not when Lando’s already behind you again, all warm skin and want and steady hands.

You meet his eyes in the mirror.

He’s devouring you.

Shirtless, hair messy, lips parted just slightly, chest rising with slow, deliberate breaths. His gaze is heavy—dragging over every inch of you, lingering at the curve of your ass, the dip of your spine, the tension in your thighs. And then he finds your reflection, locking eyes with you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted.

“You’re so hot,” he whispers, reverent. Like he’s saying it more to himself than to you.

Your breath catches. “Please,” you manage, quiet, aching.

His hand moves then—slides slowly down your stomach, fingers splayed wide. You feel the way his palm presses heat into your skin, trailing lower, lower. You can’t look away. Not from him. Not from you. Your reflection shows everything—the way your mouth falls open, the way your legs shift restlessly, the way your chest rises with every staggered breath.

Then his fingers reach your center.

You jolt—just slightly—as he slides between your folds, already slick and ready for him. His touch is sure, practiced, unbearably slow at first. Just the pads of his fingers, circling, exploring, spreading you open like a secret. He watches it all. Watches you watching him. The way your hips twitch forward against his hand. The flush spreading down your chest. The desperation leaking out of every breath.

He moves with maddening control circling your clit with just the right pressure, dipping down to gather more slick, then back up again. A rhythm that’s measured, teasing, intimate. It’s not just about getting you off. It’s about watching what it does to you.

“Look at yourself,” he murmurs, voice rough against your ear. “Look how you fall apart for me.”

You can’t stop.

You don’t want to.

Every roll of his fingers makes your knees shake, your hand clutch the mirror for dear life. You gasp when he slips one finger inside, then another, curling them just right, his other hand bracing your hip, grounding you, anchoring you.

And in the mirror, you watch it all: the flushed wreckage of your face, the ripple of your stomach, the dark intensity in his eyes as he works you open, coaxing you closer with every slow thrust of his hand.

You’ve never looked so utterly undone.

And he’s never looked more obsessed.

“Fuck, you feel—” he chokes on the rest, breath catching in his throat as your body tightens around his fingers, heat pulsing through you like a live wire.

Your eyes flutter shut without meaning to, overwhelmed—but his hand tangles gently in your hair, tugging just enough to bring your gaze back to the mirror. Back to him. Back to you.

“Look,” he murmurs, voice low and fraying. “Don’t miss this.”

And so you do. You force your eyes open, breath trembling, and meet your reflection.

It nearly knocks the air from your lungs.

Your lips are parted in something between a gasp and a moan, cheeks flushed deep, collarbone rising and falling with every hitched breath. Your skin is glowing with heat, the sheen of sweat already starting to gather where his chest brushes your back. You can see the exact moment his fingers curl just right—your body jerks, stomach twitching, another sound slipping free before you can swallow it.

It’s just his fingers. Just the slow, relentless rhythm of them moving inside you, pressing into that spot that makes your vision go white. But it feels like everything. It feels like he’s inside every part of you at once. Filling you. Reading you. Ruining you.

And still—he’s watching. Not even glancing at the mirror anymore. His gaze is fixed on you, the real you, the shaking, gasping version he’s holding up with one arm while the other works you to the edge with steady, intimate precision. Like he’s memorizing you in real time. Like he’s never seen anything more perfect.

His jaw is tight, flexing with restraint, his breath warm and ragged against your shoulder. “You feel so fucking good,” he groans again, voice breaking into something raw. “So wet for me.”

You try to respond, but your throat closes around the sound. Your whole body is tensing, spiraling fast.

And in the mirror, you watch the moment your mouth falls open. The exact second your thighs shake. The tremor in your fingers as you brace yourself, barely upright, chasing the inevitable.

It’s not just his fingers—it’s his voice, his breath, the mirror, the way you’re both watching you fall apart like it’s the most sacred thing in the world.

“Let go,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear. “I’ve got you.”

Your hand slips against the mirror, palm slick—every nerve drawn taut around the rhythm of his fingers.

He knows you’re close. You feel it in the way his movements grow more focused, more deliberate. No teasing now. No retreat. Just the steady pressure of his fingers stroking deep, the heel of his palm grinding against the swollen ache of your clit in perfect rhythm.

Your thighs tremble. Your breath catches.

“You gonna come for me?” he breathes into your neck, voice wrecked and reverent, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. His eyes flick to the mirror. “Look how fucking gorgeous you are like this. Falling apart for me.”

You do.

Your reflection is a blur of parted lips and wide, glossy eyes—cheeks flushed, chest heaving, jaw slack. You’ve never seen yourself like this. Not just the way you look, but the way he watches you. Like he worships it. Like nothing else matters. His mouth is at your shoulder, open and hot, his hand at your front dragging you closer to the edge with every pass.

“Come on, baby,” he whispers, and it’s the tenderness in his voice that tips you over. Not the pressure. Not the friction. Him.

Your head falls back against his shoulder, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

He’s fucking you deep, hard, but controlled, letting the pace build slow enough to make you desperate, fast enough to make your legs shake.

“Lan—” you gasp, but it falls apart when he moves his fingers just right.

“I know,” he groans, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You’re close. I can feel it.”

You nod frantically, one hand flying back to grip his hip, anchoring yourself.

“Eyes. On. Me.”

You obey, barely. And when you come, it’s blinding. Messy. His name torn from your lips as your body trembles and he doesn’t stop.

You stay like that, breathless, collapsed against jim, both of you shining with sweat, cheeks flushed, bodies humming.

The mirror shows it all: the wrecked hair, the red marks, the wild grins that creep in after the comedown.

He catches your eye in the glass again.

You’re still breathless, your palms pressed to the cool glass, forehead resting there for a moment as your lungs fight to steady. The air between you crackles—humid with sweat and heat, your bodies humming, flushed, open.

Behind you, Lando doesn’t move. But you feel it—that lingering pull just beneath the surface. His hands still at your waist, thumbs moving in slow, reverent strokes like he’s memorizing the afterglow.

And when you glance up, find his gaze in the mirror again, it’s still there. Hunger.

Low, molten, impossible to ignore.

You both look wrecked. Hair wild, skin marked, eyes glazed and grinning in a way that only happens when you’ve finally crossed a line you’ve been dancing around for too long.

You catch your breath. Blink once. Then smile lazy, knowing.

“Fuck,” you murmur, finally turning in his arms. “Like we’re stopping there.”

He laughs, surprised, still catching up but you’re already tugging him backward by the wrist, toward the bed, toward more.

He lets you, pliant and amused, until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the mattress. You give him a gentle push and he goes easily, landing with a soft grunt, elbows braced behind him, curls sticking to his damp forehead.

“You’re serious?” he asks, grinning like he already knows the answer.

You don’t respond. You just drop to your knees between his legs, fingers finding the waistband of his joggers and tugging them down in one confident pull.

His breath stutters, eyes flicking to the space between you. But just as he looks down, your hand wraps around his thigh—firm. The other slides up, curling into the hair at the nape of your neck as you tilt your face up.

“No, no,” you say, smirking as his cock twitches. “You’re watching now.”

You jerk your chin toward the mirror.

His jaw slackens a bit—something in him tipping from smug to stunned as he realizes what you’re doing.

You lean in, breath warm over his skin but not touching, watching his reflection watch you.

“Don’t take your eyes off it,” you whisper.

You shift closer, knees spreading wide on the soft rug between his legs, hands gliding up the backs of his thighs—slow, deliberate. The muscles there twitch beneath your touch, and he exhales sharply, head tipping back for just a second before he remembers.

The mirror.

You watch his gaze drop to meet yours in the reflection, jaw tight, eyes dark with something deeper than lust. Anticipation. Awe.

Your fingers curl around the base of him, gentle at first. Testing. He’s already hard—hot and heavy in your palm and he twitches at the first light stroke of your thumb.

“Eyes up,” you murmur, just loud enough for the mirror to catch it.

He obeys.

And then you lean in.

Your lips brush the tip—barely there. Just a whisper of warmth, enough to make him suck in a breath through his teeth. You press a kiss to it like you would his mouth: slow, reverent, nothing rushed. His hips jerk slightly, but your hand steadies him, firm at his thigh.

You let your tongue follow, teasing around the head in lazy, wet circles—coaxing a groan from deep in his chest. It’s not needy yet. It’s slow. Intentional. A build.

His reflection is a portrait of tension: head tilted back slightly, eyes fighting to stay locked on himself, jaw clenched with restraint.

You slide down a little further, taking him just past your lips before pulling back again, spit-slick and grinning as his hips try to chase the heat.

“Patience,” you echo back to him, voice velvet-wrapped and wicked.

He groans—muttering your name like it’s a warning, like he’s hanging on by threads. One hand curls into the bedding, the other flexes at his side, but he still won’t break his stare in the mirror.

Your mouth closes over him again, slower this time, lips stretching around the weight of him. You sink down inch by inch, letting him feel every part of it, every stroke of tongue, every subtle suck until your eyes water slightly and his legs tense beneath your hands.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers, voice rough and wrecked.

And still, you don’t rush.

You keep the rhythm smooth, teasing, rising and falling in slow, deliberate waves. Enough to make his toes curl. Enough to keep him right at the edge without falling.

“You’re killing me,” he breathes, eyes locked on yours like he doesn’t want to miss a single second.

And you smile around him, because that’s the point.

You ease off him with one last wet kiss, lips swollen and glistening, a thin string of saliva catching the light before it breaks. His thighs are tight under your palms, chest rising in jagged, shallow breaths, and in the mirror—God—the restraint written across his face is almost more than you can take.

His hands twitch at his sides like he’s fighting not to grab you.

“You’re too good at this,” he mutters, voice hoarse and reverent, like he’s confessing something sacred. “It’s fucking evil.”

You hum, tongue flicking lazily over your bottom lip. “Is it?”

And then you do it again. Slower. Just your tongue this time, licking a stripe up the underside of him, your eyes locked with his through the mirror like a challenge.

His whole body jolts.

“Jesus—” His voice breaks off into a groan, low and ragged, one hand gripping the edge of the bed like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “You’re playing with fire.”

You take him into your mouth again—deeper now, just for a moment, just enough to make his legs shift, to drag another guttural sound out of his throat—then pull back with a pop. Your hand replaces your mouth, stroking him slowly, firmly, letting your thumb sweep across the head with maddening precision.

He bucks into it instinctively.

Then you stop.

Completely.

He growls, actually growls and sits up straighter, grabbing your arms and hauling you into his lap in one smooth, desperate motion. Your knees hit the mattress on either side of his hips, breath caught somewhere in your chest.

“Okay,” he pants, eyes blazing. “We´re not playing games here.”

You blink, dazed. “What?”

He kisses you hard. Open-mouthed, breathless, filthy. His hands are already moving—gripping your thighs, your hips, pulling you flush against him. You feel the heat of him trapped between you, thick and throbbing, and the way he grinds up just once is all promise.

“I let you play your game,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice a dangerous rumble. “But now we´ll stop the games.”

He flips both of you over. Your head hangs off the bed, hair brushing the floor, and the world spins upside-down for a heartbeat before he’s there, his body aligned with yours. You´re watching the mirror again, your reflection distorted by the angle, but you can still feel every inch of him moving above you.

He pushes in, not slow, not hesitant but hard and sudden, like all restraint has shattered. Your breath catches in your throat, eyes watering from the sharp, beautiful stretch. He meets you in the mirror’s glass too, raw and raging, both of you locked in that watching moment.

For a second it's movie-perfect: your muscles clench, his curls obscure his features, sweat tracing down your skin, your breath mingling in the reflection of glass—every pulse, every flicker of mirrored light, everything raw and wild and real.

His hands grip your hips like they're never going to let go, steadying himself. His free hand moves up to curl around your throat—not choking, but connecting just enough pressure to tie you to the moment. You choke out a groan, voice echoing into the glass like a promise you didn't mean to make.

It’s violent and tender both—his tongue brushing over your collar bone, mouth stretched tight as he grunts and moves. You're balancing between pleasure and panic, eyes on your reflection as you feel him fully seated inside you, deep in a way that steals the air from your lungs.

The mirror explodes with movement: your hips rolling up, his thrusts driving forward, eyes still locked, wanting to see every reaction, every sound leaving your mouth. The world narrows to glass and flesh, sound drowned by the echo of your breathing and the creak of bed slats.

“Fuck,” he hisses into your ear, teeth grazing your lobe. “Look at you.”

You shiver, trembling, caught between the burn and the beauty of watching yourself want him.

He pushes inside you harder, faster. Mirror or not, there's no holding back. Hands move between you, fingers finding that spot behind your hipbone, knuckles brushing skin so perfectly, pleasure and want bleeding together.

You drop your head back, eyes flicking back to the mirror again. It’s too much and enough at once.

“Lando,” you moan. And in your reflection, he hears your name like a vow.

He huffs a laugh—raucous, desperate. “Say it again.”

Your voice shakes as you repeat it. He leans in, thrusts a final time, and everything shatters—clenches, breaks, crashes into the silence after.

The mirror registers your wild exhale, his head bowed low, both of you spent and shaking. In that reflection, you see the aftermath: sweat mottled curls, bruising hips, two silhouettes breathing hard, tangled and real.

He pulls you back up onto the bed fully, lips trailing kisses down your chest until he settles next to you. Everything’s loud now: your breathing, his heartbeat.

You stay there for a long moment, chests rising and falling in sync, the mirror still catching every aftershock in soft, glowy angles. Your skin is slick with sweat, your hair’s a wreck, and Lando’s got that dazed, cocky smile that always shows up right after he’s absolutely wrecked you.

Eventually, he exhales a laugh. “Well. That escalated.”

You snort into his shoulder, voice hoarse. “You literally flipped me like a pancake.”

He grins, lazy and smug. “Yeah, but like... a sexy pancake.”

You groan, covering your face. “You ruin everything.”

He props himself up on one elbow, hair wild, eyes still hazy. “Ruin? That was art.”

You squint at him through your fingers. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he says, brushing your hair off your face with exaggerated tenderness, “you keep giving me material.”

You pause, arching a brow. “Material?”

“For the next mirror session,” he says with a wink. “You think I’m forgetting that look on your face?”

You swat him with the nearest pillow, but you're laughing now—giddy and ruined and stupidly happy.

“Okay, Casanova.”

After the mirror, it didn’t stop. If anything, it unlocked something.

You started making lists—mental ones, whispered ones, ones jotted down in the Notes app under fake names.

Places. Positions. Kinks. Scenarios.

Sometimes it was mind-blowing. Sometimes it was hilarious.

Like the time you tried shower sex and both of you nearly slipped and died.

Lando caught you by the elbow mid-slide, shampoo burning your eyes, both of you wheezing with laughter.

“Sexy,” you gasped, bent over awkwardly with conditioner still in your hair.

Or the time he tried blindfolding you but tied the scarf too tight and you got a headache halfway through.

And then there were the wins—lazy morning sex with your wrists tied above your head and his mouth trailing kisses down your stomach.

A hotel balcony in Barcelona, warm night air against your skin while his fingers curled inside you and he murmured, “Keep your voice down.”

Or the time he dared you in a restaurant, completely drunk on red wine and adrenaline and you made him comeunder the table flushed and giggling while he tried to pretend he hadn’t just ruined his pants.

It became your thing.

Not just the sex.

The exploring.

Together. With complete trust and absolutely zero shame.

You laughed when it was awkward. You raved when it was good. You tried again when it flopped.

tag list:

@lifesass @norrisjpg @random-movie @widow-cevans @mxdi0 @graceln4 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @mara1999

[monstersholygrail]

Sometimes as a Puppy Hybrid you get distracted when in public. There’s just so much to look at and explore that you can’t help it when you see something and instantly wanna go check it out. Often without saying anything to your Wolf Hybrid bf.

He’s often joked about putting a leash and collar on you. Just to make sure you don’t wander and get lost. Totally no other reason.

But when these sorta things happen you do eventually realize that you had strayed from your bf’s side and got lost. And he knows by now that your nose is good enough to sniff him out and find him in a matter of minutes. So he usually doesn’t panic too much and when he does you smell him that much stronger and return to comfort him more quickly.

Though as you look for him now through the crowded mall you start to get a bit worried yourself. It’s taking much longer than it usually does to find him. A whimper leaves your throat as you start to worry if he left you. But no, he would never do that to you. He refuses to leave the bed without you let alone a whole mall.

Lifting your nose in the air you search for his scent, your brows furrowing as more whimpers escape. You close your eyes and let your nose guide you, picking up his scent soon as you focus your senses.

And when you finally open your eyes you’re in front of the last store you ever expected to be in front of.

A baby store.

From there on it’s easy to find him, your Wold Hybrid bf with his bulking arms crossed, and his signature scowl on his face. The saleswoman in front of him smiles brightly despite looking a bit nervous. Your first thought is to immediately go save her. Your bf didn’t always do well in social situations.

Rushing over you break their conversation with a light laugh. Immediately both of them turn their attention to you and your bf’s features soften into a warm smile. You curl your body against his, both as a silent claim and as a barrier encase the woman wants to escape his intense stare.

“Heyy, sorry about him! I-I’ve got it from here.”

You give her your best dazzling smile but it falters when she brushes it off telling you that your bfs been a delight. There’s no time to ask what she means as another customer asks for her assistance.

When you turn to your bf he’s looking down at you with amusement. Like he can already read what must be going on in that head of yours.

“What have you been doing, mister?” You ask accusingly.

Wolf Hybrid bf chuckles that raspy laugh that makes you tingle deep inside. He gathers you in his arms and whirls you both around to face what he was hiding behind his frame. You gasp as you see a whole baby crib before you.

A deep rumble moves through your bf’s chest and vibrates into your back. His hands smooth over your frame and the rounded curve of your belly. Already imagining it all swollen and big with his litter.

“Planning for the future,” he responds, nearly growling in your ear. “The very near future.”

Feeling a prick zap through your ear you yelp as he nips at you, tempting you far more than either of you realize. Pulling your cute plump self further into his chest he molds himself to you, nuzzling and rubbing his scent all over you. It leaves you breathless and writhing against him with a building aching need.

“M-maybe we can get started now?” You ask cheekily, laughing as he growls in response.

“I like the way you think, mamas.”

And then he’s dragging you out of the store. But not before calling the saleswoman back to purchase the crib and have it send back to your home pronto.

[daxisyzz]

hi! i’m thinking about some angst with a soft fluff ending where the reader and bucky is in their early stages of their relationship. bucky was s h@rass3d in hydra, he was struggling to make physical contact and interactions with the reader but somehow learned what safe touch is 🫶🏻

here's your fic <3

A kind of brave

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky flinches when you touch him—but you're not in a hurry. Love, in your world, is patient.

Word count: 1.1k+

The writing in italics is a flashback

Warnings and tags: Past trauma and harassment (non-graphic), Flashbacks to Hydra-related abuse, PTSD symptoms (flinching, hypervigilance, difficulty with physical touch), Emotional vulnerability, Hurt/Comfort, Gentle Love, Healing Together, Safe Touch Exploration, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Reader Helps Bucky Heal.

You weren’t expecting anything when it started.

He’d shown up to the Tower quieter than most. Standoffish, unreadable. You'd been assigned as his point of contact—“Ease him in,” they said. “Help him find normal.”

But normal wasn’t easy to come by for someone like Bucky Barnes.

Still, he let you sit with him during shared meals. You’d catch him listening as you told stories about the city or teased Sam across the room. His replies were clipped but thoughtful. He'd nod when you made jokes. Once, you caught him smiling.

Then came the moment that changed things—subtly, but completely.

You were reaching for a mug in the kitchen. He stood beside you. As your fingers brushed his arm—just a touch, featherlight—he flinched.

Not dramatically. Not enough to cause a scene. But enough for your heart to ache.

His shoulders tensed. His breath hitched. He stepped back like the heat of your skin had burned him.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, pulling your hand back instantly.

He didn’t speak. Just stared at the floor, ashamed of something that wasn’t his fault.

You didn’t bring it up that day. Just gave him space and offered him coffee like nothing happened.

But that moment stayed with you.

So you started paying closer attention

You noticed it in the way he avoided the couch if someone was already sitting. How he always stood at the far edge of the elevator. How his hands stayed buried in his sleeves, even when the sun was warm.

When he smiled, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

When he laughed, it was careful—like joy was something borrowed.

You adapted without needing to say it aloud. Stood beside him instead of in front. Sat far enough away that he wouldn’t feel cornered. Asked with your eyes before you ever reached out.

He noticed. You knew he did. Because slowly, inch by inch, he started to linger longer. Sit a little closer. Speak a little more.

Trust takes time.

Especially when you’ve been taught the wrong definition of touch.

It always started with the sound.

A low, mechanical click as the restraints slid into place, followed by the sterile whir of lights flickering to life overhead — harsh, clinical, too white. Too clean. A cruel contrast to the filth he was forced to live in.

The chair was metal, ice-cold against his skin no matter how long he was in it. His breath fogged in the air like a ghost trying to escape. But ghosts were free. He wasn’t.

He stopped fighting it years ago — if years even existed down here. Time was meaningless in a place that never changed. No windows. No sky. No sense of day or night. Just missions, control, silence. Then pain.

A man in a lab coat leaned over him, faceless and featureless in Bucky’s mind now. There had been too many. They all smelled the same — antiseptic and cruelty. A hand gripped his chin, tilting his face roughly upward like he was an object being inspected.

“You're not him anymore,” the voice said, clinical, bored. “You don't flinch. You obey.”

But he did flinch — inside, where no one could see. Where it wouldn't earn him another reset.

Another hand came next — this one pressed over his shoulder, firm and too slow to be casual. They wanted him to feel it. They always wanted him to feel it, in the worst ways. Not just pain, but control. Ownership. Submission.

It wasn’t the physical agony that broke him the most. It was how they taught him to dread touch. How something so human became a punishment. They rewired him — so that warmth became threat, closeness became fear, and skin-on-skin was something to survive rather than savor.

There were nights after a mission when they didn’t even have to touch him. They’d just come close. Breathe behind him. Wait for him to flinch.

He always did.

It was a week after a rough mission. Bucky had barely said a word.

You found him on your couch one night, long after the city had gone to sleep. Hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands. Eyes vacant.

You didn’t speak right away. Just offered him tea. Sat beside him—far enough to let him breathe.

Eventually, he said it.

“Do you know what it’s like,” he whispered, “to want to be touched but not know how?”

Your heart cracked. You didn’t rush to fix it.

Instead, you said, “Yeah. I think… I do.”

He turned toward you. “It wasn’t just the fighting. HYDRA—they used touch. Twisted it. Made it mean control. Made me afraid of something I used to love.”

You swallowed. “I’m sorry they did that to you.”

His voice dropped lower. “Sometimes I still feel like a weapon. Even now. When you smile at me. When you sit close. Part of me wants to pull you in. And the other part... is scared I’ll ruin it.”

“You won’t,” you promised. “Not with me."

He asked if he could hold your hand.

His voice shook when he said it.

“Only if you’re sure,” you told him.

“I’m not sure of anything,” he confessed. “But I want to try.”

So you laid your hand between you on the couch. Open. Waiting.

He took it, slow and careful. His fingers hovered before they rested on yours, like he was expecting the world to crack open beneath him.

But it didn’t.

And for the first time, he didn’t flinch.

You squeezed gently. “You’re doing amazing.”

He smiled—small, but real.

He started coming over more.

Sometimes with books. Sometimes with nothing but tired eyes and quiet company.

One night, you found him in the kitchen. He was making tea—two cups. He handed you yours without a word, then hesitated.

“Can I stay tonight?” he asked.

You blinked. “Of course. You want the couch?”

He shook his head. “I want to try… sleeping next to you. If that’s okay.”

You nodded. “It’s more than okay.”

That night, he curled up beside you—nervous but determined. You didn’t reach for him.

But he reached for you.

His fingers brushed yours under the blanket.

Light, hesitant.

You looked over. “This alright?”

He nodded, eyes a little glassy. “Yeah. It’s… nice.”

You didn’t need more than that.

And when you woke the next morning, his arm was loosely around your waist. His breathing soft against the back of your neck. No nightmares. No panic.

Just warmth.

Just safety.

Just him.

He still had bad days. Days when the shadows whispered louder than your voice.

But they passed.

And on the good days, you’d catch him reaching for you without thinking—nudging your foot under the table, brushing your hair behind your ear, linking pinkies as you walked side by side.

He was learning.

And he was loving you, in the way only he could—slow, steady, gentle.

Not perfect.

But real.

And more than enough.

[lyvhie]

ᯓ★ making out with haechan

lying on the couch, his head tilted forward to kiss you gently, without any rush. a soft kiss, then another, and another, each one drawing out a light giggle from you that made him smile against your lips. he tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, eyes barely leaving yours before leaning in again.

this time, the kiss lingered longer. his warm, soft lips pressed firmly to yours, his tongue teased your lips playfully, wet, hot, and a little provocative, waiting for you to part them just enough so he could slip inside. and when you did, he let out a quiet sound of approval, sliding his tongue into your mouth with a slow, sensual ease, meeting yours eagerly.

his hand reached up to your cheek, fingers brushing over your skin in an absent, tender motion, never once breaking the deepening kiss. slowly, his touch began to trail down, exploring the curve of your jaw, the line of your neck, until it slipped beneath your shirt and came to rest at your waist. hus fingers caressed the skin there gently, drawing slow, lazy circles, while his mouth stayed locked with yours, now sucking on your tongue with a hunger that sent heat spiraling through your core.

he shifted smoothly beneath you, guiding you to straddle him on the couch. both hands slid down to your ass, gripping firmly, pulling you closer, pressing you flush against him. his breath hitched slightly as your bodies met with delicious friction, and he didn’t even try to hide how much he wanted you closer. he liked to touch you, he just couldn’t keep his hands off you. one hand stayed right there, gripping your ass, giving it firm squeezes every now and then, the other hand moved up, threading into your hair, tugging gently as his kisses turned rougher, deeper, more demanding.

you pulled away to catch your breath, and he loved the sight of you panting, your lips glistening with spit and slightly swollen, the lipstick smudged messily around your mouth, and he was more than sure it was all over him too. but he could still see traces of your lipstick on your lips, which only meant one thing: he wasn’t stopping until there wasn’t a single hint of color left.

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

pairing joel miller x female reader (18+) summary it wasn’t uncommon for you to seek each other’s presence after the sun was tucked away—for company, for comfort. but there’s something more consuming about tonight [post-outbreak, fluff, soft smut, 3.3k] a/n they're in love.

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

There always had been something about the night. Something singular about its ability to take the most tightly wound days and coax them undone. Like the silken ribbon of a worn bow that had grown weary of holding its shape.

For quite some time now, your nights have belonged to each other. After years of going to bed alone, even Joel realized how good it felt to end the day next to someone who reminded him just how sweet life could be. 

Everyone's deserving of good company—you’d spoken those words to him in the face of his independence. Thankfully, with time, they’d worked their way into his spirit. Like vines, like air itself. He no longer feels wrong for craving care as tender as yours, even though his hands have made ghosts out of many men. 

Earlier tonight, it was you who came to him. 

Three muffled knocks had roused him from the beginning of a light sleep. Given he didn’t have to entertain Ellie tonight, he figured he’d turn in a little earlier than usual. He’d answered the door with fluffy hair and squinted eyes. There was an undeniable softness about his rumpled pajamas and the sight of his bare feet against the hardwood. Few words were needed between you as he helped you out of your coat and led you upstairs to his bedroom. 

It’s quiet where you lay now, tucked beneath sheets that smell faintly of earthen pine. You’ve draped one arm over Joel’s waist while your nose remains tucked between his shoulder blades like it belongs there. 

During the day, while out in the commune, you remained cordial and unassuming around each other. You weren’t exactly hiding from the attention of others but were protecting the bond forming between you. 

In due time, you’d allow the familiarity and intimacy of the night to bleed over into the day, but for now, this nighttime ritual is sacred in its newness. It had been a couple of months since your patrol partner didn’t show, and Joel stepped up to take his place. 

As it turns out, spending six hours with the right person in the cold can change your life. 

Joel holds his breath on an inhale when he feels your fingers begin to toy with the hem of his shirt. They slip beneath it a moment later, almost shy as they trail along his waistline and brush through the thin hair beneath his navel. Joel’s hips tilt just so. 

He swallows around a low sound as your hand ventures up his chest with featherlight curiosity. Exploring, cataloging. Past his ribs and to his chest to graze the pads of your fingers over his nipples, making something stir low in his gut. 

Your hand then drifts back down to splay over the small pudge of his stomach as if to center him again. 

“You’re so warm,” you murmur. 

If he were braver, he’d say it was by virtue of your touch alone. Your hands had wandered over each other's bodies, but never quite like this. This time, your touch doesn’t seek to soothe or ground but to evoke. 

Joel rests his hand over yours with a hum. It covers yours whole. 

“Your hands are so big.” Your voice dips into a purr. “And strong. Capable.”

Joel chuckles a low, flustered sound. He’s not sure what to do with these compliments or if that’s what they’re meant to be. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you then say. “Fix my mailbox.”

Of everything you could’ve mentioned, he wasn’t expecting that. It was an easy task he’d knocked out earlier this afternoon. It took him no more than fifteen minutes. 

“Nothing to it,” he assures in a low drawl. 

Except, there was something to it. The fix meant Joel had been listening when you mentioned it broke. This wasn’t the first time he’d done something for you without asking for permission. Joel Miller is a man of action. If he sees a problem or a need, he doesn't hesitate. That strong sense of initiative had yet to steer him wrong. 

It’s lovely to be seen and heard by someone like him, especially in a commune where it wasn’t hard to slip through the cracks at times.  

A half-restrained shiver rolls down Joel’s spine when you press a kiss to the nape of his neck. The hair curled there tickles the tip of your nose. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

“Welcome—” His voice catches when you pepper more kisses to his nape. His hand stills yours when he feels your attempt to trail your touch downward from his stomach. 

“Sweetheart,” Joel breathes, a little wary. 

“Yes?” you lilt. 

The sheets rustle as Joel turns over to face you. He can only make out a few of your features in the glow of the moonlight slipping into the room. The rest, his mind fills in. You cup his stubbled cheek with a gentle hand. 

“Makin’ me hot.” His voice is soft and honest, a little frayed around the edges. A pleasant buzz has settled beneath his skin. 

Maybe you wanted him to burn. 

You scoot that much closer to press your lips to his. When the initial surprise dissipates, they move, slow and easy, against your own. Almost tired if you didn’t know any better. But even in the shroud of the night, he’s wide awake. For this. For you. 

A low sound rises in his throat when you take his lower lip between your teeth and gently tug until you’ve fully pulled away. 

Joel hadn’t realized his hand had drifted to settle on your waist, but suddenly, it’s not enough. He needs to feel you entirely. A need rooted so deep he aches with it. There’s no more denying the swell in his pants, where the brunt of his desire has made itself known. 

Restraint looks good on Joel, but there always has been an air of allure around the notion of him surrendering. Of what it looked like for him to partake and be partaken of. It’d been some years since he’d allowed himself to open up in this way, and anyone he shared himself with in the past was long gone. You wanted to demystify it all and come to know that side of him for yourself. 

This time, when your hand begins to drift lower, he doesn’t stop you. Not when your fingers slip beneath both his waistbands. Or as you wrap them around the base of his warm, rigid length. A pleasured shudder courses through him as you pull upwards in a reverent tug. At the top, your thumb encircles the velveteen head to spread the small, wet bead of eagerness.  

Joel starts to move upright but trembles back into place when your loose grasp descends, mapping back down each snaking vein before gently massaging the rounded fullness that hangs beneath. 

“Love the feel of you already,” you murmur. Joel’s face warms as his arousal kicks up under your ministrations. 

In an unexpected display of agility, he repositions to hover above you, pushes down his pants and boxers, and braces himself as he kicks them away. His movements are so seamless that your touch isn’t disrupted for long. 

You spit into your hand as best you can and reach out for him in the dark, knowing exactly where to find him as he bobs towards his stomach. 

Joel’s more interested in gripping your pants, and you place your feet flat on the mattress to lift your hips for him to shuck them off. The cool air of the room registers against the slickness between your legs as you clench. Joel lowers a finger to trace along your entrance, spreading the moisture upwards as he circles your budded nerves. 

He continues paying careful attention to the spot, even as your hand distractedly falls from him to curl into the sheets. Your exhale is shaky when he stops. 

“Just a second,” Joel rasps. 

He braces himself further up your body, one large palm splayed near your head. As the mattress shifts, you realize he’s reaching toward the nightstand. You move your hand to play between your legs to ease the throbbing ache lazily. 

A faint click sounds, and a flame sparks to life, balanced on the crooked wick of a candle. The light casts a dim, golden radius in the room. 

“Can’t miss this,” he explains as he returns to his original position. 

“Need to see you.” In a testament to his words, his arousal kicks up on its own accord yet again. 

You selfishly take him in. His intense gaze. Broad shoulders. Thick thighs. The straining, desirous region of him that your hands had come to know before your eyes ever did. A thatch of unruly dark curls rests at the base of him. 

Joel pulls his shirt over his head to reveal his last covered portion. His arms are toned and firm. A thin dusting of hair spans over his impressive chest. New and old scars pepper the expanse of his torso. The faint indents of a v-line remain even with the pudge of his stomach from age and finally eating good meals again. 

Now it’s your turn. Joel helps you out of your shirt and tosses it aside with renewed urgency. As you finally lay bare, his dark eyes admire your chest as if this first chance is the last chance he’ll get. He extends a careful hand to cup one of your breasts, gaze flicking to your face to watch the way your brows furrow in approval. 

“Christ,” he grouses in an air of disbelief. 

You suck in a quick breath when he leans down to kiss along the side of your neck. Goosebumps arise in the wake of his lips as he continues downward like it’s a path he’s traveled before. Over your collarbones, between the valley of your breasts, straying to gently peck a pebbled nipple before returning to the centerline of your torso. 

In the process, he shifts himself further down the mattress, your legs propped like two mountains along either side of him. 

His kisses turn into toothless nips when he reaches the lower portion of your stomach. That sensation, paired with the scratch of his beard, makes your abdomen twitch and flex. It isn’t until he makes it beneath your belly button and strays toward your hip bones that your chest finally shakes with a laugh as you squirm. 

Joel stills you with a steady hand and peeks up at you with a self-satisfied smile playing on his lips. He’s cataloging every shift and sweet sound. 

As his shoulders force your thighs to splay a little wider, you bite your lip both out of anticipation and to keep your lingering smile at bay. In seconds, he’s made a live wire out of you. 

Every other breath you take catches. You find yourself swallowing more than you had all night. But suddenly, there’s no urgency about him at all. You’ve slipped into an unspoken purgatory where your release looms on hold. 

He’s drawing things out, taking his time, ignoring the throb of his own need as he tries to pick you apart. 

Joel bypasses where you’re spread open and pulsing and delivers a kiss to the inside of your thigh, mere inches from where you crave him. You shift, hoping he’ll reroute, but he pretends not to notice. 

You try again, attempting to twist and present your core as an alternative to the fluff of your thighs. 

An exasperated huff escapes you. “Just…”

You let your sentence trail off as you attempt to give him your best pleading look. It almost works. They’re the eyes he’d steal the moon for, but he wants to relish this moment a little longer. Wants to hold out on you while you’re both safe to be these needy versions of yourselves. 

“Just what, sweetheart?” he coaxes. 

Your mouth opens a couple of times. “Do something. Touch me,” you murmur, cheeks warm. 

“I am touchin’ you.” He smooths a calloused palm along your leg to prove it. 

“Like you were before,” you specify, voice smaller now. 

Your stomach flips when he starts to move back towards your hips, and flustered, premature giggles bubble up your throat because he’s got you so on edge, and you just know he’s about to do those maddening little kisses again. 

“Not that,” you whine. “C’mon Joel, I need you.” The earnestness of those words sends a jolt toward the apex of his thighs. 

You’ve got him now, so you press further. “Please? Wanna feel you.” You make your voice softer. “Been wanting to feel you all night.”

Joel caves and runs a heavy finger through your folds, then gently spreads you open to press a kiss to that small, swollen part of you. His lips are so delicate you’d think he was kissing a rose bud. A helpless mewl escapes as he replaces his lips with the firm press of his middle finger and begins drawing tight circles. 

The touch stirs faint, premature flutters that make you tilt your hips into his hand. “I gotcha,” he assures. 

He did have you, not just in this way, but in every sense of the word. He’d proven that from the day he met you, ready to be the supply to your demand when it came to all manners of your needs. Even the ones you didn’t realize you had. The thought alone makes pleasure knot in your stomach all the more. You clench around nothing but the idea of taking him. 

“Joel,” you breathe. 

His eyes lift from your core to your gaze. Your eyes sparkle with candlelit desperation. Still taking his time, he runs his finger back down and just barely breaches your entrance with a curious probe. He’s wet with your slick and knows he’d slip right in. 

“Need you,” you murmur again. It’s different this time. 

Joel withdraws his touch and crawls back up your body, muscles shadowing as they shift. You open your legs wider so he can slot himself between you, bracing a forearm near your head. He’s close enough that your chests brush. That your breaths mingle.  

He takes himself in his hand and guides the tip to the warmth of your center. The gentle touch soon turns into a glide that bumps your clit with every upward pass. You place your hands on his shoulders because your fingers are shaking, and you don’t know what else to do. 

Like a locksmith with a key, he notches at your entrance with delicate intentionality. Both of you shudder, and he briefly touches his forehead to yours. The world stills as he slowly begins to push inside of you. You welcome each new inch with the same steady, heated snugness. Not once does your body flinch or hesitate. You welcome him in even through the dullest ache until he’s burrowed.   

Your joint groans just barely register on the outskirts of your consciousness as the blinding haze of pleasure becomes one with reality. 

Joel grants you a quiet moment of acclimation before he pulls out a little and eases himself back in. A hum vibrates through your chest. This time, he pulls back a little further, then finds his way back inside the encompassing warmth of you. 

“You’re the warm one,” he counters your earlier statement. “Taking me so well,” he praises. 

He withdraws a little more each time until his thrusts become fuller, and he finds an easy rhythm. You encourage his movements with the dig of your heels at the back of his thighs. 

He tucks his head down to place open-mouthed kisses along your neck. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders and graze down his back. 

“You feel so good,” you admit in a frantic sigh. “So so good.” 

Joel nearly comes from hearing that alone. 

There is no reprieve from the pleasure, no moment that allows you two to fully gather your bearings or muster up a semblance of composure. Every sound that slips past your lips is helpless, a little gone. They join the tiny squeaks of the mattress and the sticky, rhythmic contact of skin meeting dewy skin. 

“Faster,” you breathe. Joel listens in a heartbeat, continuing to meet that dense, tender place within you that has your toes curling. “Oh god—” you choke out, a mix between a moan and a whimper. 

Before you can find your breath again, Joel cups your breasts, switching from one to the other and running his thumb along your nipples. The sound that escapes you almost sounds pained, but your face scrunches in the prettiest, rawest way. Joel’s hips drive forward in an involuntary thrust of force.

One of his hands slips between your bodies to rub over that still-pulsing part of you. A dreamy sound falls past your lips as you writhe and arch. The tightness builds. The sea swells. You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to keep it all at bay and prolong the moment. 

“Open your eyes, angel,” Joel encourages in a rasp. 

You don’t listen and silently pray that he gives up. 

“Lemme see those pretty eyes,” he tries again. 

You whimper as his finger rubs faster circles, his thrusts remaining intense. 

Joel’s voice takes on a waver, cracking around the edges with something fragile and desperate. “C’mon, baby, please?” 

You realize then that he needs it. 

When your eyes flutter open, a few rogue tears run down the apples of your cheeks towards your ears. Joel catches them. It’s too much. The newness of it all, the warm weight of his body moving above yours, making you his. There’s a glisten on his forehead, in the divot of his sternum. The way his muscles flex with his thrusts is living art. You’ve never met a more gorgeous man or had the pleasure of knowing and becoming one with someone who made you feel this whole.

“There she is,” Joel hums. 

In an instant, your body jolts against the mattress as you come undone beneath his frame. Your walls flutter around him in strong pulses of pleasure that radiate outward and leave you floating. If it were light instead, you’d be a shining star illuminating the room. 

Joel’s seen fewer sights that have struck him at his core. 

It takes every ounce of decency and strength within him to override the recklessness of pleasure, and pull out of you in a swift drag. Away from your swollen, pulsing warmth. Away from one of the few places he could confidently say he belonged in this fallen world.  

Through dazed eyes, you watch as Joel wraps a hand around himself and begins stroking. He’s slick with you, and the veins in his forearms pop. 

He spills onto your stomach in seconds with an earnest, shuddered groan. Each pulse of his release grows duller, resulting in shorter spurts until there’s nothing more than a pearly dribble running down the sides of him. 

You reach out with a weak hand to take over and coax him through the last few waves. Joel twitches in your grasp but lets you continue. Another shudder courses through him as he grows sensitive and begins to soften. 

“That’s all of me, baby,” he says, voice low and soft just for you.

You hum in a daze as you withdraw your touch. The last thing you remember is the kiss Joel presses to your forehead, the dip of the mattress as he gets out of bed, the gentleness of his hands, and the warm towel as he cleanses you.

There’s something special about the following morning. Something soft, aglow, and singular as pale sun rays slip into Joel’s room. They coat the cozy space like a seal. It’s as if the events of last night had carried over and been made manifest into something warm, and lovely, and beautiful. 

-

Thank you so much for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all!

JOEL MASTERLIST 

ALL MASTERLISTS

[anantaru]

⚝ DAY 7 — MONSTERFUCKING/DRAGONCOCK

kinktober 2024. — masterlist | ao3

— including. — dan heng, boothill, sunday

— warnings. — fem! reader, monsterfcking, size kink/size difference, needy boyz

⚝ — DAN HENG + dragon

dan heng was looking at you utterly enthralled—majestic in a way that almost feels untouchable or unable for you to grasp on. and ugh, he does have quite a bit of energy to burn, making himself get to work when he twists his fingers into your plump flesh, kneading your ass.

a much nicer detail was that his horns gleamed under the shadowed light in the bedroom, his tail flicking in a slow, deliberate rhythm as you rest your hands within his tousled hair, holding yourself close as dan heng pumps himself slowly at first, oh yes, quite sure of himself and trying to stretch your twitching, little cunt well enough in order for him to fit entirely.

the sheer beauty of the scales gathered on his chiseled body shimmer in a soft cascade of iridescence as they sought out to reflect in your tear-stricken eyes.

almost but not quite, only when he begins to pick up on pace, shifting his hips to find that spot which you've been aching for— making you feel like he embedded galaxies and trapped them beneath your skin, panting, moaning, growling at the things your milking cunt did to him.

and when his golden eyes meet yours full of lust, dan heng groans at the desperate squeezes and the tight contraction of your walls clamping for dear life— a quiet, steady kind of warmth seeping into your bones as his hands explore your body and pull you further into him.

he holds you, finding solace that despite his impossibly big size, you curl your back into him ever so slightly, like you trusted him wholly— your cunt melting within his shaft as his touch— when you allowed it, grew more desperate, his clawing hand brushing over your shoulder, fingertips ghosting over your wrist in passing as if he fears his strength might be too much.

⚝ — BOOTHILL + cyborg

despite the cold nature of his exterior, boothill's heart—if it could be called that— was as warm as any human's, if not more.

with a gentleness that contrasted his imposing presence, he leaned closer into your warm body, his hand, though metallic, tender as it cupped your cheek before he drove into you.

it's never boring with boothill, because you never know how he's about to handle you each night.

more gentle? or a little harder this time? do not be fooled, it always starts slowly, he doesn't want to actually induce any pain on your precious body, not when he was barely a human himself anymore, his frame long since altered to appear much different.

you bite your lip, urging yourself to fight back a desperate whimper as boothill strokes himself inside of you deeply, your slick long since smeared along the length of his hard, impossibly big cock— your skin shivering at the contrast of cold metal, warm touches, filthy kisses as you failed to keep quiet, your jaw dropping open from another blow rattling through your drained frame.

"feels so- so- good," you wince, squirming as much as you could, attempting to pull him in deeper by clasping your legs around his waist, "f-faster, please—."

your legs felt like jelly— and you knew damn well you won't last, but right now it's fucking insane. you give yourself to boothill as you're being spread open wide, while also being fucked stupid and satisfied, the blood ringing in your ears walking in unison with the fast blows of his hips connecting with your pulsing flesh.

⚝ — SUNDAY + monster

to your very pretty gaze, sunday looked like something out of an ancient legend, a being sculpted from the very essence of a myth which his beauty you'd tell children about before they'd head to sleep.

for outsiders the man might appear quite dangerous, although to you there was nothing terrifying about him.

not when you loved him so dearly.

beneath the guise of elegance and power, beneath the warm voice and charming smile, you were aware there was something else— something vast, unknowable, a presence that stretches beyond flesh, which sunday would show you a glimpse of whenever his scent and kisses lingered in ways your mind couldn't fully grasp on.

should you fear it? or him?

the emotions that he set free when he played with your chest to make you feel good, lapping at your erected nipples addictively, lapping and sucking until they pulse and ache— all for him to make your pussy throb and your thighs clench together in desperate hope for sunday to touch you there as well.

it's just so good when he did it, right?— despite him being so impossibly big and almost uncomfortable. yet the fullness, fuck, the heat, and sunday didn't really have the time to go all the way in yet, but you're definitely getting all of him soon.

the sneaky changes from teasing and slicking up into your pussy each next push was so fucking subtle that you couldn't pin point how he was able to be so good at this— you immediately succumbed to the pressure, how it kept getting better and better when there was a sudden moment when sunday slips in entirely, without warning, pressing his unbearably large shaft against your velvet walls as he gets past your ring of resistance, fucking you with ease.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[cbeargyu]

altar boy sins

summary: the pastor’s son fucks you in the back room of the church, promising god’s forgiveness while ruining your last shred of purity.

pairing: mark lee x fem!reader

genre: smut, religious corruption, dark romance.

warnings: explicit sexual content, anal virginity, church setting, religious guilt, oral (m receiving), squirting, degradation, sacreligious language, coercion under trust, creampie, overstimulation, power imbalance, aftercare (light), public risk, no vaginal penetration.

part. ii - part. iii

MDNI 🔞

you had always been the image of virtue. ever since you were little, your life had revolved around the church—every sunday service, every youth retreat, every choir practice and prayer circle. your mother made sure you were dressed modestly, always with your bible tucked in your bag and your heart turned toward god. everyone in town knew your name, whispered it in admiration—such a good girl, they said. so devoted. so pure.

and mark lee... well, he was supposed to be the same. the pastor's son, golden and clean, always sitting in the front pew with his father’s bible open on his lap, eyes closed in pretend prayer. he smiled with soft dimples and spoke in warm, respectful tones that made your mother adore him instantly. she liked to say god had placed him in your path for a reason. and maybe that was true. maybe god had placed him there—to test you.

you hadn’t meant for anything to happen. it started so small, just conversations after service, long looks shared across the chapel, the brush of fingers when you passed him a hymnal. he was gentle at first, careful not to cross a line, but each moment alone with him felt like gravity pulling you closer. and when he kissed you the first time—behind the fellowship hall after bible study—you felt like the world stopped. his lips were warm and soft and sinful.

when you first started sneaking around with mark, things were softer. more innocent. you’d meet behind the church after evening mass, hiding between the tall hedges where no one could see you. he’d press gentle kisses to your lips, hold your hand tightly, whisper sweet nothings against your ear as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

he never rushed you—not at first. he’d just touch you over your clothes, his hands resting respectfully on your waist, sliding up under your blouse only when you let him. and each time you let him go a little further, his praise would melt you. you’re so good for me, baby. so sweet. so perfect.

the first time he touched you under your skirt, you thought your heart would stop. his fingers were warm, slow, exploring the damp heat between your thighs through your panties while he kissed your neck. you were shaking the whole time, clutching his shoulders like a lifeline as he whispered filth in your ear in that low, reverent voice of his.

god made this body just for me, didn’t he? you were meant to be mine.

the day you got on your knees for him was the day something shifted between you.

it was in the church parking lot, late at night, both of you hidden behind the youth ministry van. you’d been making out for too long, your thighs pressed together from the ache building inside you. his cock was hard against his jeans, and when he asked do you wanna try something new, baby?, you nodded without thinking.

he guided your hands to his zipper, helped you pull him out—long, thick, flushed at the tip. your breath caught when you saw it, your mouth already watering.

“just lick it for me,” he said softly, brushing your hair behind your ears. “just a little. just the tip.”

but it wasn’t just a little. not when you saw how much he wanted it, how his jaw clenched and his hands trembled when your lips wrapped around the head of his cock. you took him deeper, his praises growing filthier with every inch you swallowed. the taste of him was salt and skin, musky and intimate, and you moaned around him without meaning to.

he came down your throat that night, holding your head with both hands, whispering you’re so fucking perfect while you swallowed every drop. and afterward, he kissed you so gently you almost cried.

but still—you never let him go all the way.

you’d told him you were saving yourself for your husband. that you’d only give yourself completely after standing before god, in white, with a ring on your finger.

mark didn’t push. not exactly. but his hands got more confident, his touches more persuasive. and every time he left you trembling, wet, begging quietly into his mouth—he’d whisper:

“god will forgive you. he made you to want me”

now you were here, months later, hidden away in the church’s back room. it was where the choir robes were stored, a little room behind the altar with old wooden shelves and a dusty piano no one used anymore. you weren’t supposed to be here, not alone with a boy, not with him. but your hands were already shaking as he kissed down your neck, one of his palms pressed to the small of your back, keeping you pinned to the edge of the table.

“you’re so beautiful,” he whispered, lips brushing against your ear, “so perfect, baby. you know how crazy you make me?”

you whimpered, fingers curling in the sleeves of his shirt. “mark... we shouldn’t. not here... not like this.”

his hands slid lower, gripping your hips. “why not? no one’s gonna find us. besides... god will forgive us. he always forgives. he sees love in our hearts. don’t you love me?”

you bit your lip, your whole body trembling with guilt and want. “i do... but i want to wait until we’re married. i want to give myself to my husband. i want god to bless it.”

his eyes darkened, not with anger but with something deeper—desire. temptation. “then marry me. i swear i will. you’re the only girl i want. but i want you now... please. just let me have a little more.”

“mark, i can’t...” your voice cracked, shame pooling in your chest. “it’s a sin.”

“he’ll cleanse us,” he whispered, kissing along your jaw, “he knows your heart. you’re doing this out of love. and he knows you’re still pure... if we don’t—if i don’t take you like that.”

you blinked at him, confused. “like what?”

he leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours. “i’ll still leave your virginity intact,” he murmured, hand slipping down between your thighs, pressing over your clothes, “you’ll still be untouched. we won’t do it the usual way. i’ll just take you here—” he kissed your cheek, “from behind.”

your breath caught.

“it won’t count,” he whispered, voice sweet like a prayer, “you’ll still be a virgin. still god’s perfect girl.”

you hesitated. the weight of every sermon you’d ever heard sat heavy on your shoulders. but his hands were on your body, and his mouth was on your throat, and your skin was burning. and deep down, there was something dark inside you that wanted it. something that pulsed every time he touched you, something that made your knees weak and your mind hazy.

“promise me,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “promise me you’ll marry me.”

he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. “i promise. i’ll take you to the altar myself.”

and that was all it took.

your heart was pounding in your chest as he turned you around gently, his hands never leaving your body. the room was dim, lit only by the soft amber light that spilled through the stained glass near the door. you could hear your own breathing, shallow and fast, as mark guided you to lean over the wooden table. the old surface creaked under your weight, the air cool against your thighs as he slowly lifted the hem of your white sunday dress.

“look at you,” he murmured, voice husky now, more raw, more real. “so innocent. so ready to sin for me.”

his fingers trailed up the back of your thighs, calloused and warm, until he reached the soft curve of your ass. your panties were white, lace-trimmed—modest, sweet, something your mother had bought for you. but they were soaked through, and mark saw it right away.

“jesus,” he breathed, a smirk forming on his lips. “you’re dripping already, baby.”

you whimpered as he tugged them down, the delicate fabric catching around your knees before sliding all the way to your ankles. your cheeks burned with shame and arousal, both twisting deep in your belly as you felt the cool air kiss your now-bare skin.

“bend down for me,” he whispered, pressing between your shoulders until you were fully bent over the table, your elbows resting on the worn wood, your ass presented to him like an offering.

you felt him drop to his knees behind you, felt his hands spread you open, exposing every trembling inch. he kissed along the inside of your thighs, soft and slow, his tongue flicking dangerously close to where you ached. you gasped when you felt him spit between your cheeks, fingers guiding the wetness to your tight entrance.

“it’ll hurt a little,” he murmured, voice lower now, more dangerous. “but you can take it. you’re a good girl, right? you want to make me feel good?”

you nodded, your eyes closing, your hands gripping the edge of the table so hard your knuckles went white. “yes… i want to be good.”

“then stay just like that for me.”

he stood again, one hand gripping your waist as you heard the rustle of his belt, the soft clink of the buckle as he undid his pants. then his cock was pressing against you, thick and hot, the head teasing at your tightest spot.

you tensed.

“nghh—ahhh, too much—!”

“shh,” he said softly, kissing your shoulder. “relax for me, baby. let me in.”

he pushed slowly at first, and your breath caught in your throat as the stretch began—hot and burning, unfamiliar and intense. tears pricked the corners of your eyes, and you whimpered, body trembling as he pushed further, inch by inch.

“m-mark—! it hurts—”

“shh, quiet, baby. you don’t want anyone hearing how much of a filthy little thing you are, do you?” once he was buried inside, he paused, letting you adjust, his fingers caressing your hips, your waist, whispering soft praises against your ear.

you could barely breathe as you felt every inch of him inside you, thick and pulsing, stretching you open in a way that made your entire body tense. your hands gripped the edge of the table so tightly that your wrists ached, your forehead pressed against the wood as your mouth hung open, panting through the pressure, through the sting. his hands were firm on your hips, thumbs digging into your skin as he stayed buried inside you, letting you feel the full weight of what you’d just done.

“fuck,” he whispered, voice reverent, almost in awe. “you’re squeezing me so tight. you feel like fucking heaven.”

you whimpered, a mix of pain and pleasure blooming in your belly like a wildfire. his hips rolled just slightly, testing how much you could take, and the slow friction made your knees shake. it wasn’t like anything you’d imagined. it wasn’t sweet or soft—it was raw and thick and full. your body fought to accommodate him, fluttering around the intrusion as he began to move in earnest.

“this is what you wanted. i’m just giving you what that virgin pussy of yours was too scared to handle.”

“mmph—! nghh—ahh—!”

“what was that? you like being stuffed full of my cock? like being my dirty little church whore?”

each thrust came a little deeper, a little harder, his pace increasing as the tightness began to melt into something warmer, wetter. you bit down on your lip, trying to stay quiet, but the sounds spilling from you betrayed how good it started to feel. shame pooled hot in your stomach, because it wasn’t supposed to feel like this. you weren’t supposed to like it.

“look at you,” he groaned, slamming into you harder now, one hand sliding up your back to grab a fistful of your hair. “moaning like a little slut while i fuck your virgin ass. does it feel good, baby? you gonna come for me like this?”

your mouth opened in a raw scream, half agony, half ecstasy, unable to hold back the flood of sound escaping you.

“oh my god, oh my god, it’s stretching me too much—!”

“jesus, you’re so fucking loud—shut up, baby, shut up.” he shoved your face down against the table, hand over your mouth again, his hips snapping harder.

“if anyone hears you, they’ll know how desperate you are to get fucked like this.”

you cried out as he pulled your head back, forcing your spine into a deep arch, making you feel every brutal thrust more sharply. the pain burned, yes, but under it was something more intense—your body trembling as a deep heat began to coil between your legs. your thighs were slick, your clit aching from how empty it felt, untouched but throbbing.

his balls slapped against you with each thrust, obscene sounds echoing in the small, sacred space of the church storage room. the smell of sweat and sex filled the air, mixing with the faint trace of incense that lingered on the choir robes stacked beside you. it was filthy. wrong. holy.

he let go of your hair and reached between your thighs, fingers finding your clit without hesitation. you sobbed as he rubbed fast, circles tight and relentless, and your hips started to jerk back against him on instinct, chasing something you didn’t fully understand.

“you’re gonna come,” he grunted, almost laughing, breath hot against your ear. “you’re gonna come like this, with my cock in your ass, right here in god’s house. fuck, baby... you’re perfect.”

“m-mark—i… i feel like i’m gonna pee—”

your vision blurred as your body locked up, tension snapping all at once in a flash of heat and shame and unbearable pleasure. your orgasm ripped through you like lightning, a violent gush exploding between your legs, spraying down your thighs and onto the floor with a loud, wet sound that shocked even you.

“jesus fucking christ—” he gasped, faltering for the first time as your body clenched around him like a vice, milking him deeper.

mark’s hips stuttered the moment he felt the rush of wetness pour out of you, his breath catching in his throat like he couldn’t believe what just happened. your body was shaking beneath him, trembling and spasming uncontrollably as your release coated your thighs, dripping messily down onto the floor. he pulled back just slightly to look, to see the way you squirted for him, your slick glistening under the dim church light.

“fuck, baby…” he groaned, sounding half-wrecked, half-awestruck. “you just—fuck—i made you do that?”

he grabbed your hips tighter, almost possessively, and slammed back into you, still deep in the grip of his own rising climax. your body was so sensitive now, every thrust making you jolt forward, your muscles twitching from the overstimulation. but he didn’t stop—not yet. he was chasing something now, something hot and desperate.

“you came so fucking hard,” he growled against your neck, his thrusts getting sloppier, deeper. “your little virgin body just squirted all over my cock… and you were so scared of sinning.”

you moaned weakly, your voice raw and broken, drool slipping from your lips as your cheek pressed flat against the table. your body felt like it was floating, skin hot and damp with sweat, your hole still stretched tight around him, sucking him in greedily every time he pulled back.

“mine,” he whispered like a prayer, fucking into you with final, brutal thrusts. “you’re mine. god can’t have you anymore. you belong to me.”

and then he came.

with a deep, guttural moan, mark buried himself inside you one last time and spilled everything into your ass—hot and thick, ropes of cum filling you until you could feel it dripping back out around his cock. his hips jerked as he emptied himself, one hand sliding up to hold your waist while the other rubbed your lower back in shaky, soothing circles.

he stayed inside you for a moment, breathing hard, chest rising and falling against your back, sweat clinging to both your skins. the room was quiet except for the sound of your combined breaths and the faint ticking of an old wall clock above the door.

you blinked slowly, still dazed, still trembling. and for a brief second, you felt completely hollow and completely full at the same time—ruined, marked, and claimed.

he pulled out slowly, and you whimpered at the emptiness, at the sticky warmth leaking down the back of your thighs. your body sagged against the table, weak and used, your legs barely holding you up. you could feel his release slipping from your hole, thick and hot, a constant reminder of what you’d let him do—what you’d begged him to do.

“stay still,” he murmured softly, voice gentler now, almost sweet. he reached for a folded choir robe from the shelf beside him, one of the ones no one ever used, and knelt behind you again. with quiet, careful hands, he cleaned the mess dripping down your thighs, the backs of your knees, and finally between your cheeks. he wiped away the cum from your entrance, his touch slow and reverent, like he was cleaning something sacred.

you flinched slightly, still too sensitive, and he pressed a kiss to your lower back. “i’ve got you,” he whispered. “you were perfect for me.”

when he was done, he helped you step back into your panties, tugging them up gently over your sore, sticky skin. he straightened your dress, smoothing out the wrinkles like he was tucking you back into your illusion of purity. then he kissed your cheek, your temple, your lips—slow and soft and careful, like he hadn’t just broken something inside you.

you both stood in silence for a moment, breathing slowly, the air still thick with the scent of sin and sweat.

and then he reached for his bible.

he tucked it under one arm and held out his other hand to you. you took it, fingers lacing with his, still trembling slightly. and together, you walked out of that little storage room, out into the bright white hallway of the church.

the front doors were open. sunlight poured in. a breeze moved through the sanctuary like nothing had happened.

as you stepped into the entryway, mark dipped his fingers into the small bowl of holy water near the door. he touched his forehead, chest, and shoulders, murmuring the sign of the cross with practiced grace. you followed suit, mimicking the motion, your fingers wet and cool against your burning skin.

no one would ever know.

you were still god’s children, still his favorites.

only now, he wasn’t the only one watching you.

[dollgxtz]

Can you write a short somno fic for Sylus but he’s already been doing it for awhile? And he feels so damn guilty about it but genuinely can’t stop because it’s like an addiction to him now? :)

In Somno

Word Count: 3.6k

Tags: sylus x fem!reader, somno, nonconsensual somnophilia, noncon, unprotected sex, creampies, fingering, facials

Summary: Sylus just can't help himself when it comes to your sleeping body <33

Over and over he'd tell himself how wrong this was. How terrible he was for using you like this. All he could think about when he picked you up now was how long it would be before he got to cum on your pretty face again. How could he even think such thoughts? All that guilt would quickly subside as soon as you started yawning though.

Yes, even a simple yawn from you was enough to get him rock hard now.

AN: Sorry anon, I know you said "short" but I got really excited and got carried away. So lets just say this is my version of a short fic LOL. Also thank you thank you thank youuuu for requesting this, I've been itching to write another somno fic hehehe. Btw the title means “In slumber” in Latin!!! :33

He hadn't intended for things to escalate to this point.

Normally, Sylus was a master of self-control, able to reign in his desires with ease. But on that particular day, something had been stirred within him, something that he couldn't quite explain. It had started when he saw you lying in his bed, fast asleep and naked, after a long and exhausting mission. You'd taken a shower and had passed right out. Your fatigue had been palpable, and he had gone to cover you with a blanket, his hand accidentally brushing against the side of your breast.

Sylus froze, his breath catching in his throat. He hadn't meant for this to happen, hadn't meant to touch you like...that. His hand lingered for a moment, a mere whisper of contact, before he moved it away as if it burned. He stared at you, sleeping peacefully, unaware of the turmoil his innocent touch had ignited within him. He had always prided himself on his ability to control himself. Yet here he was, his heart pounding, his body betraying him.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. It was just a touch, he told himself. A harmless, accidental touch. But his body refused to listen, his mind refusing to let go of the softness of your skin, the warmth that had radiated from you. He gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to touch you again, to trace the curve of your breast, to feel more of your warmth.

He knew he should leave, let you rest, should respect your sleep. But he found himself rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to tear his eyes away from you. He had seen you naked before, had seen you sleep countless times. But this was different. This time, he felt something stirring within his groin as he watched your naked chest rise with each breath. Your beautiful, peaceful face was messing with his senses. He tried to dismiss it, to attribute it to the fatigue of the long day, the heat of the room, anything but the truth.

The truth was, you two hadn't had much time for each other lately, and even less for anything intimate. The lack of physical connection had left him pent up, achingly so. He couldn't remember the last time you'd both had a moment to yourselves, a moment to explore each other's desires and needs.

As he sat there, looking at you, he couldn't help but feel a surge of longing. He shut his eyes briefly, trying to calm himself down, but it was no use. Better to quell the urge to touch you now, and then forget about this, he figured. He reached back over, his hand gently touching the soft roundness of your breast, giving it a light squeeze. The touch sent a spark of electricity through his body, and he felt his cock harden in his pants.

Shit. He had definitely just made it worse.

You stirred, letting out a soft whine, and he felt his heart skip a beat. The sound of your voice was like music to his ears, a sweet melody that only added to his arousal. He quickly withdrew his hand, however, as you began to shift and turn your body away from him in your sleep.

Your butt was now completely visible to him. His heart dropped into his stomach. You had always been the only one to undo his calm, to make him feel this way. He ran his fingers through his hair, now having an internal battle within himself. It felt wrong...undeniably wrong...and yet…

One thing had led to another, and he found himself carefully pushing his fingers inside your wet folds. The sensation was almost too much to bear, and he was breathless as your cunt sucked in his fingers bit by bit. The feeling of your inner walls clamping down on his fingers sent his mind into a frenzy, and he couldn't help but think about how much he wanted to be inside you.

How wet you'd be.

How tight you'd be.

His cock was rock hard and throbbing in his boxers, pressing against the back of your leg. He pressed himself against your butt lightly, trying to relieve some of the ache that had been building up inside him.

It wasn't enough.

You began to squirm, your body shifting slightly in your sleep, and he froze. He didn't remove his fingers, but ceased his motions...as if pausing could erase what he’d just done. He watched you closely, heart pounding, waiting to see if your eyes would open. If they did, he told himself, he’d just say you two had dozed off like that. Just a sleepy accident.

The lie formed easily in his mind, but the weight of it hit hard. He had never lied to you before...and now, standing on the edge of it, he felt something bitter twist in his gut. Shame crept up his spine, hot and sharp, settling in his face until his skin burned. But he didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. He smothered the guilt with silence, burying it under the oldest excuse in the book: what you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you.

As you pressed your backside against him, unknowingly in your sleep, he felt a surge of desire wash over him, replacing all guilt and shame with a primal, aching need. The pain in his groin became almost unbearable, and he couldn't bring himself to care about anything else except satisfying his craving for you.

Within the next few minutes he had rid himself of his underwear, lifted your leg and slowly began to sink his aching, throbbing cock inside you, only a little bit at first. The sensation was almost too much to bear, and he felt himself plunging into you over and over, his hips moving in a slow, rhythmic motion. His hand gripped the roundness of your ass, holding you in place as he thrust into you, his fingers digging slightly into your skin.

"Ah...fuck. Kitten, Im sorry..."

He bit his lip, trying to suppress a groan as he sunk himself deeper, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. The room filled with the sound of your bodies meeting, the creaking of the bed, and his ragged breaths. He could feel every inch of you, tight and warm around him. He wanted to savor this moment, to imprint it on his memory forever. He reached around, finding your clit with his fingers, rubbing in time with his thrusts. You moaned softly, still deeply asleep, arching your back to meet him.

"Mghn...S-sylus..."

He froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He was worried that you had woken up, that you would discover him inside you, and that everything would be ruined. He lay there, holding his breath, as he frantically thought of excuses, of ways to explain what was happening.

But as the seconds passed in silence, and you didn’t move, he began to ease—just slightly. He glanced over, searching your face for any sign that you were awake, that you knew. But your eyes stayed shut, your expression calm, untouched. Still lost in sleep.

You looked so docile, so innocent and soft with your mouth agape, small snores escaping your lips. He hates that he feels a rush of arousal looking at you in such a vulnerable state, peacefully sleeping in his bed.

He wondered if you were thinking you were having a dream, if your subconscious was responding to his presence inside you. The thought sent a thrill through him, and his cock twitched in your inner walls. Maybe you wanted him too? Even in your dreams?

As he began to thrust again, this time with a bit more force, he could feel the pressure building up inside him. The ache in his groin was becoming almost unbearable, and he knew he was on the verge of cumming. He groaned, the sound choked out of him as he struggled to maintain control.

But as he looked down at you, still asleep and unaware of what was happening, he knew he had to pull out. As much as he didn't want to, he couldn't risk finishing inside you. Surely you'd put two and two together when you woke up and he'd be caught.

With a strangled groan, he forced himself to pull out, his cock throbbing with the effort. He gripped the sides of your hip, holding himself up as he shot a hefty, sticky load of his cum all over your inner thighs. The sensation was intense, and he felt a wave of relief wash over him as he finally released the pent-up tension.

As he looked down at the mess he had made, he felt a pang of guilt and anxiety. What would you think if you woke up and found out what had happened? Would you be angry, would you be scared? He didn't know, and the uncertainty was eating away at him.

So he simply cleaned you up as best as he could, and when you awoke the next morning you were none the wiser. You did question the ache between your legs, but fortunately for him you simply chalked it up to pushing yourself too hard during the mission. Besides, your entire body hurt already. What was one more area?

He swore that would be the last time.

Except it wasn't.

You didn’t always spend the night, but when you did, it was usually because you were too tired to head home after a long day. Sylus would swing by and bring you back to Onychinus’s base without complaint. You’d shower, get comfortable, and eat whatever dinner he’d ordered the chef to make you—just like always.

Then the two of you would settle in. Maybe you’d watch a movie, maybe listen to one of his new records. It was an easy routine. Comfortable. Soothing.

Eventually, you’d get too tired to keep your eyes open, and drift off beside him on the couch.

Then he’d carry you to the bedroom—slow, careful, as if you might break in his arms. On the surface, it was about comfort. He wanted you to sleep well. To feel safe.

But underneath that was something more selfish. He wanted to test the limits. To see how close he could get, how much movement he could do before you would stir, how long his hands could linger on your skin.

Most nights, you didn’t even move. You stayed limp and warm in his arms, face tucked against his neck, breath slow and even. It should have calmed him.

Instead, it made things worse.

Guilt curled in his chest like smoke. You trusted him. Implicitly. You let yourself go completely in his care. And he hated how that trust made something coil low in his groin, thick with heat and desire to strip you down and plunge himself in your wet walls.

And that's exactly what he did. Night after night, he'd start carefully moving your underwear to the side, swiftly inserting the head of his hardened cock inside you, and fucking you until a creamy white ring of your juices formed around the base of his shaft. Touching your breasts, butt, and pussy in ways you'd never let him before. And just as he felt himself about to release, he'd quickly pull out, covering your soft skin in his cum. Sometimes it was your thighs, sometimes your back. He'd even gotten bold enough to do your face at one point.

To compensate for the guilt that gnawed at him every time he let himself fall into his dark cravings, Sylus had started buying you more gifts.

At first, it was subtle—a snack you liked, a book you’d mentioned in passing. But it escalated quickly. If you so much as glanced at something in a store window while the two of you were out, or paused a moment too long while scrolling on your phone, it would show up in your hands within days. Sometimes hours.

You noticed, of course. It was hard not to.

“Another one?” you’d ask, brow arched in amused suspicion as you unwrapped a new plushie, or a piece of jewelry that matched your favorite dress, or a gadget you’d casually mentioned needing just once.

When you asked him why he was suddenly giving you so much, he’d just shrug—casual, like it meant nothing.

“You've always been spoiled, why question it now?” he’d chuckle.

As if that explained everything.

And maybe it did. At least, enough to keep you from pressing further.

Because to him, each gift was a way to say I’m sorry I touched you too long, I’m sorry I wanted more than I should, I’m sorry I’m not being honest. I love you so much.

It was his way of trying to be good for you.

Even as the craving got harder to ignore.

Over and over he'd tell himself how wrong this was. How terrible he was for using you like this. All he could think about when he picked you up now was how long it would be before he got to cum on your pretty face again. How could he even think such thoughts? All that guilt would quickly subside as soon as you started yawning though.

Yes, even a simple yawn from you was enough to get him rock hard now.

He found himself unable to stop. Would you really blame him if you found out? You must clearly want it too...the way your body greedily sucked in his cock, squeezing around it like a warm, wet vice. It was as if your body was begging him not to pull out, to keep going, to keep giving you more. Every time he thrust into you, your muscles would contract, holding him in place, and then release, allowing him to slide back out, only to repeat the process again. It was a sensual, intoxicating rhythm, one that threatened to consume him whole.

And the soft little whines you made when he was stretching you out or when he pumped into you a little harder than he meant to drove him absolutely crazy...

He'd promptly cease his movements, gently shushing your little noises while he waited for you to calm.

"Im sorry, baby. I didn't mean it, stay asleep for me," he would coo, his voice a soft, gentle whisper, as he gazed down at your sleeping face. He would pause for a moment, his chest heaving with desire, as he struggled to control his own needs. But then, with a quiet sigh, he would resume his movements, his hips slowly rocking back and forth, his cock sliding in and out of you with a smooth, gentle rhythm.

As he moved, he would continue to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, his words a soothing balm to your sleeping form. "Just need to see you covered in my cum one more time..." His voice was a gentle hum, a vibration that seemed to resonate deep within your body, as he continued to pump into you.

He did this for several weeks, reassuring you whenever you began to grow concerned at the continued ache between your legs. Of course, you'd trust him. Relax after. He'd feel terrible but he'd tell himself it was for your own good. You just felt too good. Too soft, so warm.

Tonight was no different. You both were watching a new movie in his home theater this time, when you promptly yawned. Immediately he felt his breath get shallow, and his pants get tighter.

“Tired, kitten?” Sylus asked, his voice lower than usual—rough around the edges, like he was holding something back. He reached for the remote and shut off the screen, the soft click echoing in the quiet space between you.

You nodded through a sleepy stretch, arms lifting lazily above your head before collapsing into your lap.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, eyes already heavy. “We never finish these movies. I just…I don’t know. I’m always so tired now.”

There was a faint furrow in your brow as you said it—genuine regret, like falling asleep beside him was some kind of failure.

He leaned in without hesitation and kissed your forehead, slow and deliberate. His lips lingered there a moment longer than they needed to, soaking in the warmth of your skin.

“You don’t have to apologize for being sleepy,” he said softly, slipping one arm under your legs and the other around your back. “You’re welcome to come back and finish it any time.”

You didn’t respond.

He was rock hard now.

As he rose to his feet with you cradled in his arms, your body melted into him completely. Your head dropped to rest against his collarbone, lips parted in the beginnings of sleep. He felt the small puff of your breath against his neck—warm, steady.

Halfway down the hallway, he glanced down at you.

Out cold.

He smiled. There was something in your face when you slept—unguarded and soft. Your lashes fluttered faintly, cheek pressed against the curve of his chest like you belonged there.

“They must be working you to the bone,” he muttered to no one, voice barely audible.

Unfortunate for you.

But for him…

You felt incredibly wet and tighter tonight. He'd boldly set you on your back this time, not wanting to miss a single facial expression or noise. Even if it meant being more gentle than usual. He watched greedily as your breasts bounced up and down with his movements. He leaned down, hands on either side of your head, trying with strained effort to quiet his groans.

"How am I ever going to stop doing this to you? You feel so good," he hissed through his teeth, his voice a low, tortured whisper, as he struggled to keep his gentle rhythm. His cock was buried deep inside you, and with each thrust, he felt himself getting closer and closer to the edge. The sensation of his tip grazing your cervix was almost unbearable, threatening to overwhelm him.

He gritted his teeth, his jaw clenched in a fierce effort to hold back, but it was no use. The feeling of being inside you, of being surrounded by your warm, wet flesh, was too intense, too addictive. He couldn't get enough of it, couldn't get enough of you. And as he looked down at your sleeping face, he knew that he was doomed, trapped in a cycle of desire and pleasure that he couldn't escape.

His hips moved faster, his thrusts becoming more urgent, as he chased the sensation, as he sought to prolong the pleasure. And with each stroke, he felt himself getting closer, closer to the point of no return, closer to the moment when he would finally succumb to his desires and let go. "Hah...gonna cum...," he growled, his voice a low, animalistic snarl as he felt his orgasm building.

"Mmmm..."

As you began to squirm under him, your eyes peering open just a bit, but still not enough to be considered awake, he felt a surge of panic mixed with excitement. Were you waking up? He should stop, he knew he should, but he couldn't. He was too close, too caught up in the moment, too desperate to cum inside you.

He leaned in closer, his large body encasing yours, his warm breath whispering against your ear. "Shh...I'm almost there baby...don't wake up..." He pleaded, his voice a low, husky whisper, as he tried to calm you down, to keep you from waking up and discovering what was happening.

But you whine, sleepily grabbing onto his arms, your hands wrapping around his biceps like a vice. You clearly aren't aware enough to even realize what's happening, and he takes advantage of that, using it to his benefit. He continues to thrust into you, his hips moving faster, his cock pounding into your wet flesh with a relentless rhythm.

As he looks down at your face, he can see the faintest glimmer of awareness in your eyes, but it's not enough to stop him. He's too far gone, and he knows that he's going to cum inside you, no matter what. The thought sends a shiver down his spine, and he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Fuck..."

As he pushes as far as he can go, his hips stuttered, jerking forward with a mind of their own, as his cock pulsed, throbbing with the intense force of his release. As he came, he felt his cock unleash a torrent of cum, wave after wave of it flooding into your body, filling you to the brim.  A wave of relief crashed over him, drowning out the relentless hunger that had been gnawing at him all night.

As he looked down at you, Sylus noticed you were starting to squirm again, your body shifting slightly under the covers. You were clearly on the verge of waking up. Your brows twitched, your breathing changed, and your fingers gave a small, unconscious twitch.

Thinking quickly, he moved to wrap himself around you, encasing your body in his arms in a way that was both protective and possessive. His chest pressed against your back, one arm curling securely around your waist, hand resting just beneath your ribs.

You let out a soft breath, eyes fluttering open for a brief moment—glazed, unfocused—before slowly slipping shut again. He felt your body melt against his, the subtle tension in your shoulders and spine easing as sleep reclaimed you. Your breathing evened out. You relaxed fully in his grasp.

Relieved, Sylus allowed himself a quiet breath of his own, feeling the tension in his body begin to dissipate as he gazed down at you. He looked down to see the remnants of his cum slipping down the trails of your thighs, a warm, sticky liquid that glistened in the dim light. 

He would definitely have some explaining to do when you woke up...guess it was time to buy that cart full of items you'd been begging for...

[lynxgriffin]

Eldritchrune - The World Revolving

1 | 2

Story Setup Eldritchrune Masterpost

While exploring the ruins of Card Castle, Kris stumbles across a bound god of chaos hiding just under the surface...a foe way more formidable than any they've faced yet!

PHEW I swear, it feels like I've been working on this particular scene forever! Been distracted by many things...other comics, continued wrist troubles, winter break, etc... but finally, it's done and here! This one is probably the most gnarly one yet in terms of body horror, so heed the warning tags!

The latter half will be out tomorrow!

Alt text for these pages is under the read more:

Page 1

Panel 1 - A wide shot as Kris, Ralsei, and Susie make their way through the card kingdom castle…a wrecked ruin, with half-broken towers and ripped banners fluttering in the open air. Lancer sits happily on top of Susie’s head. “Are we there yet?” asks Susie. Lancer replies with a simple “No.”

Panel 2 - Closer on Kris as they look downwards. Something has caught their attention. In the background, Susie and Lancer repeat the exchange: “Are we there yet?” / “No.”

Panel 3 - Kris notices what looks like a trail of parchment torn into different shapes, leading down into a lower level of the ruins. 

Panel 4 - Kris begins to follow the scrap paper trail across large stones, straying off of the pain path through the castle ruins.

Panel 5 - Ralsei notices that Kris has wandered away from them. Susie and Lancer also look on in the background. “Kris? Where are you going?” asks Ralsei.

Panel 6 - Kris points at the scrap trail leading down into the rocks, still focused on it. “The old shopkeep, Seam…they mentioned something about a path cut from pages…”

Page 2

Panel 1 - Side view of Ralsei as he watches Kris descend down, and cautiously holds up a hand in warning. “It’s not wise to wander too far off-course, Kris!” he says. 

Panel 2 - Kris doesn’t seem to pay attention to the warning. In a wide shot, we see them following the trail down a series of large stone steps that seem to be shaped into a spiral. At the bottom of the spiral is another stone with unknown markings on it. “They said there could be something useful to us at the end of it…” Kris says.

Panel 3 - Wider shot of Kris now at the bottom of the spiral. Ralsei, Susie and Lancer watch warily from above, back on the main path.

Panel 4 - Kris approaches the stone at the center of the spiral. It seems to be covered in moss, but something else catches their attention first–

Panel 5 - Closer on the stone, it shows that it has markings on it: a cross, divided up into the four card suits. Kris leans in closer to observe and brush the dirt from the stone. “There’s something here…” they say.

Panel 6 - From high above, Ralsei sees Kris focusing on the stone in the spiral. “Kris? Hang on just a second…” he says, holding out a hand in warning.

Panel 7 - Closeup on Kris’s hand as they brush against the marked stone. Their thumb touches a trigger hidden on the side of the stone, which gives a sharp ‘CLICK’.

Page 3

Panel 1 - Kris lets out a surprised yell as very suddenly, they plummet down beneath the stone–

Panel 2 - Their yell continues as they vanish into what is revealed to be a sudden trap door, opened right below where they were standing. 

Panel 3 - The remaining Fun Gang look on with shock and surprise, and call out as Kris vanishes. Susie gives a shocked “Woah!” and Ralsei cries out “KRIS!”

Panel 4 - A vertical panel as Kris plummets down into open darkness, their limbs flailing. Light from above shines on them as they fall.

Panel 5 - With a grunt of pain, Kris lands on what appears to be a sandy hill–

Panel 6 - And continues to tumble down the hill, sand trailing behind them–

Panel 7 - Very wide shot as Kris’s fall continues, showing that they are sliding down an enormous sand hill, like the inside of an enormous hourglass. Only a single shaft of light shines from where they fell. Otherwise the area is empty darkness.

Page 4

Panel 1 - Kris’s finally slides to a stop somewhere in the sand. They grit their teeth, and try to get back onto their feet. 

Panel 2 - Kris suddenly springs back up, eyes wide in shock, as a strange, bellowing laughter booms around them: “UUH HEE HEE HEE…”

Panel 3 - Kris looks ahead of them…at the very bottom of the sand pit, like an antlion at the bottom of a pit trap, sits what appears to be a bulb, or a closed circus tent. 

Panel 4 - Wider shot as Kris gets to their feet, very wary. “Who’s there?”

Panel 5/6/7 - Multiple panels as the enormous circus tent moves, and begins to unfurl itself…showing massive hands made of bone and stretched tent material, like sinewy skin. Each bony finger is tipped with an enormous scythe. The creature lifts itself up enough to show the a jester’s head, hanging upside down from the bottom of the tent. The jester’s face sports slit eyes, multiple hoop earrings on its pointed ears, and a smile of jagged teeth. 

Panel 8 - Wide shot as Kris stands tiny before the enormous form of Jevil - a creature of bones and tent skin and scythes, balanced precariously upside-down over what appears to be a bottomless pit. Jevil looks at Kris and declares, “WELCOME, WELCOME, LITTLE LOST HUMAN! YOUR FREEDOM IS WITHIN REACH!”

Page 5

Panel 1 - Kris looks up in fear and confusion at the giant creature, and tries to step back. “What are you?!” they ask.

Panel 2 - Focus on Jevil’s upside down face as he grins back at Kris, and says, “A GOD, LOST HUMAN! A GOD OF CHAOS, CHAOS!”

Panel 3 - Kris stands small against the chaos god as he continues to grin down them. “COME CLOSER, AND WE SHALL ENGAGE IN SUCH MERRIMENT!”

Panel 4 - Kris eyes the enormous scythes at the end of the fingers, and continues to step back, extremely cautious. “A god, is it? I think I’d prefer the rest of my party be here for any ‘merriment’,” they reply.

Panel 5 - Jevil twists his head to the side with curiosity and glee, and replies. “I INSIST! I SEE YOUR SOUL DESIRES CHAOS! WHAT EXCITEMENT, WE ARE KINDRED SPIRITS!”

Panel 6 - Focus on Jevil’s scythe fingers as they begin to move through the sand, creaking with the effort. He is beginning to spin.

Panel 7 - Shot from above on Jevil as he spins faster and faster, the tent body and splayed scythe fingers blurring into a hypnotic spiral. The wind howls around him with the spinning.

Panel 8 - Kris jolts forward as the winds pick up around them. The spinning is creating a gyre, drawing them in closer.

Page 6

Panel 1 - Kris tries to slow their slide as Jevil continues to spin and spin, drawing them in closer. The winds and movement are hard to resist. “LET US PLAY, PLAY!” Jevil cries in delight. “TRUE FREEDOM AWAITS YOU!”

Panel 2 - Kris looks up at the revolving god, unable to stop their slide through the sand. The winds whip their hair and cowl around them. However…

Panel 3 - “If I can get past those blades and make the jump…” Kris thinks to themself, as the scene shows Jevil’s smiling face through the whirlwinds.

Panel 4 - Closeup on Kris. They grimace to themself as the wind continues to buffet them and pull them in, and finish the thought: “...One good swing should sever the head and end this!”

Panel 5 - Kris pulls out their sword as they continue to slide closer to the edge of the gyre. Jevil looks on as they say aloud, “I don’t know that I trust a bound god’s concept of freedom.”

Panel 6 - Jevil tilts his head down at them, still smiling as always, and replies, “BOO HOO  HOOEE HEE! AND DOES YOUR SOUL KNOW IT?”

Page 7

Panel 1/2/3 - Multiple panels as Kris slides down the sand, holding their sword at the ready. They ready their sword in another panel, back to the camera, facing down a laughing Jevil. The final panel includes a closeup of their hand gripping the sword, although their hand is shaking. Across all panels, Jevil continues to taunt them: “IN THE BELLY OF A ROAMING BEAST, IN THE OWNERSHIP OF A DEMON PRINCE, IN THE RIGID RULES OF YOUR LIGHT WORLD? IS IT THERE?”

Panel 4 -  The scythe fingers swing by in a blur as Kris slides into the gyre, and pulls their arm back, ready to strike with their sword–

Panel 5 - A black and white abstract panel - something sharp slices through the darkness, and strikes home.

Panel 6 - Closeup on Kris’s face as they look shocked into silence–

Panel 7 - And the camera pulls out to reveal that their sword arm is gone, sliced off completely at the shoulder. They can only look down at the stump where their arm once was in horror.

Panel 8 - Kris screams as they’re thrown helplessly into the center of the whirling gyre, blood streaming behind them from their severed arm. Jevil faces them with glee and declares, “NO, NO! YOUR FREEDOM IS HERE!”

Page 8

Panel 1 - The panels are jagged now, coming apart along with the world itself. Kris is trapped in the searing whirlwind, orbiting around Jevil’s spinning head. The world is a blurred tornado. Jevil cries, “A SIMPLE CHAOS IS ALL YOU NEED! UNRAVEL MIND, BODY AND SOUL!”

Panel 2 - Kris is subjected to the god’s command. They scream into the void as their body is unraveled in the gyre, starting at the stump and spreading out to the rest of them in strips of cloth, flesh and bone. 

Panel 3 - A massive panel as Kris is completely torn apart at the seams. Their glowing soul is revealed as their body is peeled away in stips from them, leaving only a few bones and muscles trying to stay together. 

As Kris is pulled apart, Jevil’s voice rings out: “SEE, SEE HOW ALL THE RULES AND ORDERS HAVE TRAPPED YOU? HURT YOU AND KILLED YOU?” In the strips of Kris’s body pulled apart are scenes that seem to confirm Jevil’s worldview: Empire guards chasing down Kris as a young child. Toriel kindly shooing Kris away from a pie they were interested in. Asgore keeping Kris from plants he knows are dangerous. Kris on the altar as they are sacrificed to the demon. Kris giving up their soul to Ralei. Kris being devoured by Susie. Kris trapped at a door by Mr. Society and Mr. Elegance, keeping them from advancing with rules. Kris being revived, again and again, by Ralsei’s control over their soul. “BUT HE HAS SHOWN ME, IT ALL MEANS NOTHING, NOTHING!”

Page 9

Panel 1 - The panels continue to be jagged and harsh as the rest of Kris’s body is completely obliterated in the whirlwind, leaving only their soul spiraling in the gyre. Jevil’s voice continues: “NO RULES, NO HURT, NO PRISONS FOR YOU! SHARE YOUR JOY WITH ME!”

Panel 2 - Kris’s soul begins to break under the strain of Jevil’s version of joy: a swirling mess of eyes, teeth, claws, screaming faces, beasts and sinew and armor. They all close in on their lost soul in a mess of chaos and madness.

Panel 3 - As the winds turn to pure darkness, Kris’s soul begins to dissolve in the gyre as well, broken in the relentless chaos. Jevil’s voice rings out once more: “SHARE YOUR SOUL WITH ME, A TRUE CHAOS, CHAOS!”

Panel 4 - As Kris’s soul is nearly dissolved and lost in complete blackness, another voice cries out: “KRIS!” From the darkness, Ralsei’s glowing eyes and fiery claws reach out to grab Kris’s soul before it’s lost. 

[littlelamy]

random times when rafe wanted to please you

⭐️The First Time: It was a warm summer night, and the stars twinkled brightly over the Outer Banks. You and Rafe were at a bonfire, the sound of laughter and music echoing around you. As the night wore on and the crowd thinned, you found yourselves nestled together on a blanket, the heat of the fire illuminating his sharp features.

“Hey,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Can I show you something?”

Intrigued, you followed him a little ways away from the fire. Rafe pulled you into a secluded spot, his breath warm against your ear. “I want to taste you.”

Before you could process the words, he sank to his knees, his hands gripping your thighs. The excitement and anticipation shot through you as he leaned in, his mouth brushing against you. The sensation sent shivers down your spine, igniting something primal inside you. He teased you with his tongue, exploring with an eagerness that made you gasp. It was the first of many times, and you both knew it wouldn’t be the last.

⭐️After His Confession: It was a quiet night after a long day, the kind where you and Rafe were just lounging on the couch, a blanket thrown over your legs. The flickering light from the TV cast a warm glow around the room. Rafe turned to you, his gaze heavy with something unspoken.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked, a seriousness in his tone.

“Of course,” you replied, curious.

“I think about your clit a lot. Like…a lot,” he admitted, his cheeks slightly flushed.

You could feel heat creeping up your own neck as he continued, “It drives me crazy how much I want to taste you.”

Without waiting for a response, he slipped down to the floor in front of you. His fingers grazed your thighs, and with a soft gasp, you let him pull you closer. He pressed his mouth against you, the need evident in every movement. The way he worshipped your clit made you forget everything else, lost in the pleasure he gave.

⭐️After a Fight: You and Rafe had a heated argument earlier that day. The tension between you was thick, lingering like an unwelcome fog. But as night fell, something shifted. Rafe, his frustration still evident, pulled you into his arms, his lips crashing against yours.

“Damn it, I’m sorry,” he breathed between kisses, his hands moving down your body.

“Let me show you how sorry I am,” he whispered, lowering himself to his knees once more.

With an urgency that took your breath away, Rafe dove into your core, his mouth working you like it was the only thing that mattered. Each flick of his tongue melted away the earlier tension, replacing it with an overwhelming need. He lost himself in you, sucking on your pussy as if he were trying to make up for every harsh word exchanged earlier.

⭐️After an Impromptu Swim: You had gone for a late-night swim, the ocean waves crashing around you. Rafe had followed you, a playful gleam in his eyes. As you splashed around, the thrill of the night led to a sudden, passionate kiss.

“Let’s take this back to my place,” he suggested, a smirk on his lips.

Once you were in his room, Rafe wasted no time. He pushed you onto the bed, his eyes dark with desire. “I can’t wait any longer,” he murmured, kneeling between your legs.

The way he savored you that night was unlike any other, his mouth sucking on your bud as if he were starved. You writhed beneath him, lost in the sensations as he brought you to the brink of ecstasy time and time again.

⭐️ The Morning: After a night filled with passion, you woke up wrapped in Rafe’s arms, sunlight streaming through the window. He stirred beside you, a sleepy smile spreading across his face. “Good morning,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“Good morning,” you replied, feeling the warmth of his body against yours.

As the morning sun bathed the room in golden light, Rafe’s hand slipped down your body. “I was thinking…” he trailed off, a teasing smirk forming on his lips.

“Thinking about what?” you asked, your heart racing.

“About making you feel good,” he said, his voice low and sultry.

With that, he moved down your body, his mouth finding your clit. The gentle morning light made everything feel dreamlike as he worked you with a slow, deliberate intensity, drawing out every moment of pleasure. You couldn’t help but surrender to him, the world outside forgotten.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafecameroninterlude @sstargirln

[moonlightwritingf1]

Tender Moments | LN4

𐙚 summary ━━━━━━━ Lando loves playing with Y/N's boobs—even when they're sore.

𐙚 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

𐙚 word count ━━━━━━━ 1.1k

𐙚 warnings ━━━━━━━ breast play?

Based on this request.

The soft glow of the television flickered across the living room, casting a warm, golden hue over the two figures curled up on the couch. Y/N leaned back against Lando’s chest, her head resting just below his collarbone as they watched the film. His arms were wrapped loosely around her waist, his fingers occasionally brushing against the fabric of her top in a way that made her skin tingle. The air between them was thick with something unspoken—comfort, tension, desire. It was hard to tell which one dominated more.

Lando shifted slightly, his breath grazing the nape of her neck as he murmured, “You good?”

“Mhm,” she hummed softly, her eyes still fixed on the screen. She wasn’t entirely focused on the movie, though. Her mind kept wandering to the warmth of his body pressed against hers, the way his heartbeat seemed to sync with hers. He felt like home, even when she tried so hard to keep him at arm’s length.

His hand slid up her side slowly, almost hesitantly, until it rested just below her chest. He paused there, his fingertips tracing lazy circles over the fabric of her top. “Can I?” he asked, his voice low and tinged with a nervousness she rarely heard from him.

Y/n glanced down at his hand, her breath hitching slightly. She knew what he was asking. They’d been here before—this quiet, intimate moment where they both hovered on the brink of something more. But tonight felt different. Maybe it was the way his voice had softened, or the way his touch lingered like he was afraid she’d pull away.

She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah, just… be gentle. They’re sore.”

Lando didn’t need to ask why. He simply nodded, his fingers moving to the hem of her top. Slowly, he pulled it up over her head, his movements deliberate and careful. The cool air hit her skin, making her shiver slightly, but his hands were quick to replace the warmth. His palms hovered over her breasts for a moment, as if he was savoring the anticipation, before finally making contact.

God, his hands. They were calloused from years of gripping steering wheels, yet they moved over her with such tenderness it made her chest ache. He cupped them gently, his thumbs brushing over her nipples in featherlight strokes. She let out a small sigh, her head falling back against his shoulder as she closed her eyes.

“Okay?” he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear.

“More than okay,” she breathed, her voice trembling slightly.

Lando smiled against her skin, his hands continuing their exploration. He massaged her breasts with a rhythm that was almost hypnotic, his fingers kneading the tender flesh with just the right amount of pressure. Every now and then, he’d lean down to press a kiss to her shoulder or the curve of her neck, his lips warm and insistent.

He shifted slightly, his breath fanning over her skin as he spoke. “Can I…” He trailed off, his lips hovering just above her breast.

Y/n didn’t need him to finish. She knew what he was asking. She tilted her head back to look at him, her eyes meeting his in the dim light. There was a vulnerability there that surprised her—a quiet plea for permission. She nodded, her heart pounding in her chest.

Lando didn’t waste any time. He lowered his head, his lips brushing against the swell of her breast in a kiss so soft it was barely there. Then his tongue followed, tracing slow, languid circles around her nipple. She gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair as she arched into his touch.

Without breaking contact, he shifted her effortlessly, his hands firm as he moved her from between his legs to her ass resting beside him, her legs draped over his thighs. The new position let him pull her even closer, one hand gripping her hip as his mouth continued its slow, torturous worship of her skin.

“Lan-do,” she breathed, his name slipping past her lips in a shaky exhale.

He hummed against her skin, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through her. He continued to lavish attention on her breast, his tongue and lips working in tandem to drive her to the edge of madness. But he never once sucked or bit down—he was too careful, too considerate of her sensitivity. Instead, he worshipped her with a gentleness that left her breathless.

As the movie played quietly in the background, Lando alternated between her breasts, his hands and mouth never leaving her skin for long. It wasn’t just about physical pleasure—there was something else in the way he touched her, something that felt achingly familiar and new all at once. Like he was trying to show her how much she meant to him without saying a word.

At one point, Y/n turned her head to look at him, her heart swelling at the sight of his half-lidded eyes and the faint flush creeping up his neck. He looked peaceful, like this was exactly where he was meant to be. And maybe it was.

“Why do you always look so happy when you’re doing this?” she asked, her voice barely audible over the sound of the TV.

Lando paused, lifting his head to meet her gaze. A slow smile spread across his face, his eyes shining with something she couldn’t quite place. “Because it’s you,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

And maybe it did.

Y/n’s chest tightened, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. She wanted to say something—to tell him how much his words meant to her, how much he meant to her—but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she leaned forward, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that was equal parts tender and desperate.

Lando responded instantly, his hands sliding up her back to pull her closer. Their kisses deepened, the world around them fading into nothing as they lost themselves in each other. When they finally broke apart, foreheads resting together and breaths mingling, Lando whispered, “You’re everything, y/n. I hope you know that.”

Her heart skipped a beat, her eyes searching his for any hint of insincerity. But there was none—only raw, unfiltered honesty. She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, he leaned in again, capturing her lips in another searing kiss. This time, there was no hesitation, no restraint. Just the two of them, lost in a moment that felt like it would last forever.

Then, just as quickly as it started, Lando pulled back, his grin returning to its usual teasing self. “Now, where were we?” he asked, his hands drifting back to her breasts with a playful smirk.

[galaxy-stardust]

Simon Ghost Riley x you

His scars

The room is dim, the only light coming from the soft glow of the lamp on the nightstand. The world outside feels far away, muffled by the late hour. You’re lying beside Simon, your body warm against his, tangled beneath the covers. It’s one of those rare nights when neither of you are in a rush—no missions, no early alarms, just the quiet hum of each other’s presence.

Your head rests against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His arm is draped lazily around your waist, holding you close, but there’s a relaxed ease in his grip. He’s not wearing a shirt, and your fingers trace absentmindedly along his skin, following the contours of his body. Your fingertips find the rough ridges of a scar, then another.

You hesitate for a second, feeling the jagged texture beneath your touch. Some of them are old, faded into pale lines against his skin, while others are more recent, harsher reminders of the life he leads. Your fingers ghost over one across his ribs, then move higher, tracing the rough edge of another along his shoulder.

Simon doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t flinch or pull away. He just lies there, silent, letting you explore him in a way few ever have. His breathing stays steady, but there’s something heavier in the air now, an unspoken understanding.

“This one…” you murmur, your fingertips brushing over a long scar that runs along his bicep. “Where did it come from?”

There’s a pause. A long one. You don’t push- Simon doesn’t always talk about these things, and you’ve learned to let him choose when and how much he wants to share.

After a moment, he exhales slowly. “Knife wound,” he says, his voice quiet, low. “Close combat. He got me first, but I got him worse.”

You nod slightly, not asking for more, just letting the weight of his words settle. Your fingers trail lower, following another scar along his side, thinner but deeper-looking.

“This one?” you ask softly.

Simon shifts slightly beneath you, adjusting his arm behind his head. “Shrapnel,” he answers simply. “IED went off too close. Lucky it wasn’t worse.”

Your heart clenches slightly, imagining the pain, the danger, the constant risk he’s lived with. But you don’t let the sadness show. You just keep tracing, memorizing every piece of him, every mark that tells a story.

Then, your fingers find one at his lower abdomen, near his hip. It’s smaller, but deep. You pause, glancing up at him. “And this one?”

Simon huffs a quiet laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “That one’s stupid,” he admits. “Got careless on a mission. Took a bullet, but it went clean through.” He shifts, looking down at you. “Nothing serious.”

You look up at him then, meeting his gaze. His eyes are unreadable, but there’s something softer beneath the surface, something unspoken. You know he’s seen and endured more than he’ll ever say. And yet, here he is, letting you see parts of him that no one else does.

Your fingers brush over one last scar - a faint, thin one just above his heart. It’s old, faded, but something about it feels different. You don’t ask. You just rest your palm against it, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your hand.

Simon watches you for a moment, then reaches up, placing his much larger hand over yours. His fingers curl around yours, holding your hand against his chest.

“Don’t need you worrying about them,” he murmurs.

“I don’t,” you whisper back. “I just want to know you.”

There’s silence again, but this time, it’s comfortable. His grip on your hand tightens slightly before he pulls you closer, his lips pressing against the top of your head.

“You already do,” he says quietly.

And that’s enough.