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written-in-flowers · 3 days ago

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Eve and Her Apple: Rafe x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Rafe x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut, light angst

Word Count: 8k

Summary: A few weeks have passed since the golf course, and your feelings for Rafe have become complicated. Very complicated.

Tags: friends with benefits to lovers (?), forbidden romance, secret relatinship, slight mutual pining, brat!reader, dom!rafe, blackmail, hair pulling, dick slapping, face fucking, cum swallowing, masturbation w/ somene watching, dom/sub dynamic, cnc-ish play (very light), drug use (cocaine), sex under the influence, biblical references, car sex, outdoor sex, rough blowjob, orgasm delay, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, multiple locations, oral sex (f. and m. receiving/giving), clit play, nipple play, LOADS of dirty talk/fantasy talk, overstimulation.

Part 1 : Secrets and Desires

****

Did Eve eat the apple because God forbade it? Was it knowledge she craved or a deeper desire for something she couldn’t have? Adam, understanding of his position in the Garden of Eden and aware of the way of things, would not even consider touching the apple. It wouldn’t cross his mind. Did Eve feel differently? Did she see the hanging apple and yearn for its taste? You wondered about this while sitting in the back of John B’s van.

“Do we really have to see this lame movie?” JJ said from his seat beside you.

“Yeah,” Kie answered firmly. “It’s my birthday and we have to do whatever I want today. I want to see The Man on Mars, and that’s what we’re doing.”

“It’s just a boring old movie.”

You couldn’t help sympathizing with Eve these days. Once upon a time, you might’ve identified with Adam. You’d be going by Outer Banks rules and maintaining the status quo. But, ever since you started meeting up with Rafe, you no longer felt that way. The hanging fruit forever dangled itself right above you, and you gave into the temptation every time.

“...It’s a cult classic,” she argued. “You’ll get it once you’ve seen it. YN loved it when she saw it at my house, right YN?”

“Yeah, yeah, it was great,” you responded distractedly, using your phone to keep out of the conversation.

On the screen, you’d left your last conversation open. JJ’s position kept your screen out of view, so you felt safe looking at it.

‘Let’s meet up tonight. I need you.’

Rafe often sent you stuff like this. At times, he’d tell you his obscene fantasies and other times he’d say sweet things as lovers do. You knew he likely did not want a real relationship with you. His friends would rag or question him for dating a Pogue. Your friends would gasp and scold you for considering the idea. They were God telling Eve to stay away from the apple tree. During the silent moments, you wondered if it was a good idea, but then you remembered what Rafe held over your head.

“...I personally don’t mind it,” Pope said across from you. “I’ve seen bits of it, and it seems okay.”

“It’s in Figure Eight territory.”

He’d saved screenshots of things you posted on your OnlyFans and Twitter profiles. Yeah, you’d deleted them as instructed, but he carried enough evidence to prove it's you. Sometimes, you wanted to call his bluff. You wanted to tell him to go ahead and post what he had; you didn’t care. But then, that serpent called humiliation slunk its way into your gut and wrapped itself around it. You’d think of your friends’ faces and their shock. Boys around town would start harassing you for sex while girls looked down at you. It’d be used against you in every argument, and make you the subject of gossip to last forever. You didn’t want to think about your parents’ reactions. They both worked hard so you could focus on school. Your acceptance into the local college made them happy, since you’d be the first in your family to attend. They wanted you to do well. Also, they’d likely tell you that wasn’t how they raised you. People around town saw you as a ‘good girl’. You didn’t want that to change because of your secret hobby.

“So what?” Sarah said from the front seat. “We have as much right to be there as them.”

“Says the former Kook herself,” JJ said snidely with a playful smirk, earning chuckles from everyone.

Rafe made you feel different. Not just in the ‘mind-blowing-sex’ sort of way, but something deeper and more meaningful. There was more to him than drugs, booze, sex and his country club. He carried demons inside him that not even your watery eyes and fake sobs could heal. You saw it whenever he grew particularly upset. Something dark took him over, and it was hard for him to fight it off. You grew closer together in those moments. You’d bring him close to you, stroking his soft hair and cradling him to your chest. He said you brought him peace. The bad voices in his head quieted whenever he was with you. Hate and anger often washed away, and he’d be left with nothing but love.

“You guys, it’s Kie’s birthday,” John B said, “And if she wants to see a lame movie, then we’ll see it.”

Those moments made you believe his feelings went past lust. You’d be sliding into that thought, and then he’d do a one-eighty and suddenly he’s only interested in sex. As much as you enjoyed the things he did to you, emptiness and shame often lingered afterwards. If he harbored any real feelings for you, it’d be less terrible. You did like the softer things he did. He’d been the one who bought your new necklace. On a string of gold hung a rose carved out of rose quartz the size of a dime, petals bordered in glittering gold. It was the most expensive thing you owned. You told your friends your parents got it as an acceptance gift to avoid awkward questions. You smiled whenever you touched it, recalling his gentle tone and loving eyes.

‘I just, you know, thought my girl should wear nice stuff sometimes.’

A few nights ago on his family's boat, the two of you grabbed a few beers, chips, snd hung out underneath the stars. Eith nobody home, you enjoyed each other's company in peace. While suggestive comments and innuendos were made, neither of you went past kissing for most of it. He pulled the necklace out of his pocket halfway through the night, while you smoked a joint and enjoyed the ocean waves. He pretended it was no big deal, being nonchalant and indifferent, but you saw right through him.

‘I thought we agreed no romantic gestures, Cameron,’ you'd said playfully, letting him put the necklace on you.

‘We did. This isn't romantic. I want you to wear it so you remember that you're mine.’

‘Hm, that sounds borderline romantic to me.’

You remembered his hesitation. ‘Consider it a platonic gift.’

“We’re here,” John B parked on the outskirts of a community building. “Let’s get going.”

As a fundraiser for the high school, a booster club hosted an outdoor showing of an old sci-fi movie Kie happened to like. You personally didn’t care either way, since you always had a good time with your friends. But, that guilt of lying to them started gnawing at you as you all made your way to the large crowd. JJ, Pope and John B took out lawn chairs and a cooler, planning to find a place to set up; Kie and Sarah went to get tickets while you went off to buy snacks. Standing in line, you wondered how Eve felt after eating the apple. Did the guilt fester inside her during a long silence or did she admit her crime right away? Knowing the story, she’d been punished. You knew your friends. Yeah, they might get upset by it, but you couldn't imagine them casting you out or never speaking to you again. They wouldn’t hate you. Or would they?

You turned to the crowd where you saw JJ unfolding a chair. If your actions hurt anyone, it’d be the blond surfer with a charming smile and good sense of humor. That’s your Adam. That is who you are crafted to be with, and it made sense in your little Pogue world. People honestly expected it despite your age difference: JJ was sixteen while you'd just turned nineteen. JJ is safety. JJ is familiarity and certainty. He is the Adam to your Eve. Rafe is the serpent, whispering promises and sweet words as it pushes you to the apple. Eve chose the serpent and his apple. Should you make the same choice or risk God’s wrath?

“Hey, beautiful.”

You knew his presence before he said a word. Several weeks had passed since the golf course, and you’d become intimately familiar with Rafe’s body. You kept facing forward, and made another step to the snack table.

“Hey,” you replied over your shoulder.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he said, “Now I have something better to pay attention to than this dumb movie.”

“If you think it’s dumb, why are you here?”

“Topper.”

“Topper?”

“He heard Sarah was going to be here, and the dumbass thinks he can still win her back,” he huffed. You imagined him shaking his head and fixing his cap. Ever since he learned you liked his backwards cap look, he wore it more often. Though, of course, you preferred him naked the most. “I told him he’s wasting his time but dude is whipped.”

“Sarah’s with John B now. There’s no way he’s breaking that up.”

You spotted the young couple by the sitting spot. She stood on tiptoes to kiss him before smiling happily. You remembered the outcry when John B admitted to dating Sarah. Kie disapproved full heartedly, while JJ and Pope wavered in theirs. You saw the break in Outer Banks rules, and the crossing of enemy lines should be frowned upon. Yet, when you saw the pair together, wrapped in their undeniable love for each other, you found peace with it. Having once been a Kook, Sarah left everything behind to be with him. It was the forbidden romance of movies and TV. You didn’t share that with Rafe, and likely never really would.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he said close to your ear. “I love it when you wear your hair up.”

“It’s hot out. I didn’t want it to get all frizzy and stuff.”

Nothing to do with the subconscious habit of putting it up how he liked. A shiver went down your spine when a finger traced the back of your necklace.

“You're wearing it today,” he pointed out.

“I wear it everyday.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah.”

You got to the front of the line and bought an array of drinks and snacks for everyone. Everything in you yearned to turn into his arms. All the stress from lying and deceiving your friends weighed too heavy to carry. The scent of his expensive cologne and soothing voice became the medicine to your pain. You resisted like Eve resisted the serpent. Even as the phantom sensation of his arms came, you moved to leave before you betrayed yourself.

“I miss you,” he whispered, grabbing your wrist to hold you next to him. “Shit’s been crazy and…I need you.”

He wanted to be with you. It was these moments that hurt the most. “I miss you too,” you said, giving off the usual disdain your friends expected.

His thumb rubbed the back of your wrist, and he let you yank your arm away. You walked off, putting up a disgusted front as you went back to the group. Everyone took a snack and Pepsi from you before you sat down beside JJ.

“Rafe is bothering you again?” he asked, popping his can open.

“Yeah, but it’s no big deal.”

“What did he say to you?”

That he missed you. That in the chaos of his life, only you gave him a semblance of peace.“Nothing out of the ordinary,” you answered, “Just the usual gross bullshit.”

JJ’s jaw clenched, “Somebody should teach him how to talk to a girl.”

You giggled, “And that’s gonna be you, JJ?”

“It could be. He’s always bugging you and making you uncomfortable,” he drank from his can, “And…I don’t like it.”

This pushed a blade deep into your heart. JJ was much younger than you. Sixteen and still in high school, surely he knows he has no chance with a college girl. Plus, you’re friends. It’d ruin your friendship if you guys hooked up. You saw what that’d done to Pope and Kie when they did. Yes, they worked through it and back to their friendship, but she admitted to slight awkwardness. You didn't want that with JJ, who made you smile so easily. You listed all these reasons as you opened a packet of chips. JJ will eventually move onto somebody else. His interest bounced around from girl to girl regularly. He’ll get over you.

At least, that’s what you hoped happened.

The movie soon started, the black and white film playing on a large projection sheet. Your friends engrossed in the movie, none of them noticed your phone lightly buzzing in your jacket pocket. You knew better than to open the message with them so closeby, but you still took it out.

‘I’ve been thinking about what we did last time all day.’

You’d done it in his truck last time. The both of you met up in the dead of night by The Boneyard, a deserted area of the island where it was easy to not be spotted. His black truck parked on the outskirts, he’d laid out a blanket in the bed and ravished you right there. Yes, he handled you with his usual roughness, but not as badly as that first time. You sensed the loving caresses behind his tight grips; you heard the words of love laced into his dirty talk. Your cheeks flushed remembering it yourself. You thought about his heavy body on top of yours, hands on his shoulders and legs around his waist. You mostly thought about why you’d met up: he’d needed your soft sighs and kisses to calm the storm raging inside him. Apparently, he’d spent money he shouldn’t have and now he needed to come up with it before his dad found out. Rafe often did things he shouldn’t, then regretted it afterwards. You liked to think holding you soothed him somehow.

‘Did you ever get the money back?’ You texted back, not wanting to test emotional waters at the moment.

‘Yeah, sold some coke at a party and used it for those dumb generators,’ he responded in record time. ‘I have some on me if you’re interested.’

‘What’s it gonna cost me? A blowjob?’

‘I was going to say nothing, but I won’t say no to that mouth. Nobody throats me like you do.’

‘Meet me by my truck in like 20 mins? Topper’s starting to annoy me.’

Even Eve showed hesitation. It’s wrong of you to take yourself away from her special day, knowing she wanted to share it with you. You casted a glance over at Kie. Your best friend. Your closest confidant that you were currently lying to. She’d been looking forward to you guys hanging out on her birthday, since it was hard for you to get away from work and school. You’d decided to make one lie true and work with your mother cleaning houses. It didn’t pay like OnlyFans, but you found tranquility in the constant work.

‘Later? It’s Kie’s birthday and I don’t want to just bail on her.’

‘Not even for a quick one? We’ve had quickies before.’

‘Sorry, hun. You’re just going to suffer in your horniness a bit more.’

‘I’m destroying you when I catch you.’

‘Looking forward to it,’ you replied, smirking slyly to yourself.

You left JJ’s side for Kie’s, planting your seat there. “This movie isn’t that bad,” you whispered, taking some popcorn from her.

You put Rafe from your mind, and concentrated on the movie. You wanted to put your effort into making Kie’s birthday the best. You even silenced your phone to avoid temptation. Having seen it with Kie, the both of you whispered about certain parts and laughed at the movie’s very terrible special effects. It felt like before you and Rafe. It reminded you of times that were unburdened by secrets and lies. You let yourself soak in the moment instead of paying any mind to the man in the back of the crowd.

When the movie ended, you all planned to end the night at John B’s house with beer, pizza and a cake you’d baked yourself. Climbing back into The Twinkie, you took your phone out of habit. Several messages from Rafe proved he’d truly been bored throughout the film.

‘Topper won’t SHUT UP about my sister. Dude’s her bitch, I swear. He’s like Sarah this and Sarah that. I told him he’s better off without her, but when does anyone listen to me?’

‘You actually like this movie?? I never thought you would. It’s so dumb.’

‘I guess it ain’t that bad if you like it.’

‘Can’t wait to get you alone. I love anything you wear, but you look best when you’re naked and cumming on my dick.’

‘You’re going to be crying by the time I’m done with you, slut.’

These and several more had you concealing a cackle. You put it away without answering, knowing he’ll see you had read it and chose not to answer him. Rafe didn’t like being ignored by you. You knew the feeling. He often returned the favor, going hours without answering even your naughtiest of texts. Perhaps you both liked the game. Perhaps the serpent enjoyed taunting Eve and much as she enjoyed taunting him. You only answered when you reached The Chateau.

‘Looks like Topper isn’t the only one who’s whipped.’

“Here,” Kie came over to you at the picnic table with a beer. She handed it to you and sat down on the table. “So, who’s the guy?”

“Huh?”

“The reason you’ve been glued to your phone all night,” she said with a knowing smirk.

You wanted to tell her, consequences be damned. But, the whole situation sounded so ridiculous and embarrassing. Where would you even start? You hardly processed it yourself, so how can you explain it to her?

“Nobody important,” you answered, putting your phone down and opening the beer. You took a sip of the foamy drink, and said, “Just a ‘for-fun’ guy. Good in bed, but boring otherwise.”

“Is it that tourist from the kegger?”

The tourist from the kegger. A sleazy guy with boring conversation whose name you hardly remembered made for a poor Rafe substitution. You nodded, “Yeah, that guy. It’s whatever, honestly.”

“He’s still in town?”

“He extended his stay apparently.” You hated how good you’d become at lying. “I don’t even think I’ll meet him.” You needed to change the subject, “What about you? What happened with that conservation guy?”

You listened to her talk about her meaningless connection to a guy she’d met at the party. The tourist was meant to take Rafe out of your mind. He’d been a lanky, skinny dark-haired beauty who played guitar and sang for his indie band. You barely paid attention to anything he said; getting into his pants was your main focus. Anything to wash Rafe out of your head. Sadly, that hadn’t worked. The tourist didn’t have Rafe’s aggression or tenderness. His bony, clammy hands didn’t match up to Rafe’s thicker, warmer fingers. His voice was higher compared to Rafe’s low groans. The dirty talk didn’t do anything except make you giggle from cringing. At the end of it, it was Rafe who finished you.

‘You’re lucky I don’t post those screenshots right now, bitch. Get on your knees. I’m gonna remind you who you belong to so you never forget.’

He’d left you sore and tender on his bed quivering and teary eyed. It was his gentle kisses and praises that kept you from slipping. He’d apparently kept aloe vera by his bed, and ice packs in his refrigerator. You didn’t think he had a soft side until then. He’d let you stay over, cuddled in his arms, and snuck you out the next morning before anyone woke up.

‘Wowwwww I text you and you ignore me??’

His text made you giggle. You left it unanswered, being brought to an impromptu dance floor JJ created and twirled around. The both of you danced to the pop music Sarah played, drinking and munching on the pizza on the table. You let yourself drown in the small party. If you kept checking your phone, they’d catch onto you. You only paused to take a photo of the beer can on the table, then texted him.

‘Sorry, been a bit busy.’

He responded with a photo of a small white bag on his lap. ‘I got something better waiting.’

The offer might be nice, but it was his hand that enticed you. Veins more noticeable than usual, the scale of his hand to the bag created ideas in your head. The beer left you feeling loose and warm, craving Rafe’s hands.

‘Where?’

‘Boneyard.’

‘I'll think about it 😝’

‘You're definitely getting it now.’

And you really couldn't wait.

****

His truck parked underneath an old tree, tingles bursted when you imagined him behind the tinted windows. Already, you could feel his hard body flushed against yours, his mouth in places that elicited sparks from your loins. Rafe brought out an excitement in you that most men these days could not. When they kept a mild interest, Rafe’s ability to ensnare you should be studied. You might’ve thought he’d taken lessons from Lucifer himself with how easy he did it. Like a snake with its prey, he coiled around you and never let you go. You didn’t want to either.

A cool salty breeze met you when you stepped out of your car. Taking in lungfuls, your nerves suddenly dissipated when the driver’s door opened. You drank him in as if you’d never see him again. Wearing a plain tshirt and shorts, he made the most casual of outfits damn near lethal. Perhaps that was the alcohol buzzing in your system. Maybe it was your ever growing desire for him. It might even be that annoying voice in the back of your head that created images of something more.

When he reached you, his arms instantly went around your waist and pulled you to his chest. You buried your face in the soft cotton, inhaling his scent. A familiar woodsy scent came off him all the time, and you couldn’t stop yourself from drowning in it. Your mind associated him with the scent, causing you to think of him if you caught a wisp of it. He did not wait to show his eagerness for you, immediately pressing you to the truck bed and holding you there. Whether he confessed it or not, Rafe’s longing for you came in each deep kiss.

“You kept me waiting on you,” he murmured between kisses. “I’m sitting at home, desperate for you, and you kept me waiting.”

“It’s fun making you squirm a little,” you giggled before he sealed it with another kiss. “Humbles you, you know?”

“I’m far from humbled, sweetheart.”

He quickly opened the truck bed, and nearly threw you on to a dark blue wool blanket. You hit the bed hard, bringing a shock of pain that went up your back. Rafe ignored your cry, and climbed on top of you right away. He became the entire world to you, blocking out the sky and waves around you. He pushed your thighs apart with his hips, and rested himself between them as he kissed up your neck. Your fingers slid right into his slicked back hair, tangling in the roots and scratching his scalp. Fire rose up from under your skin, reaching your cheeks as it stirred your arousal. How could one person ignite your desires so easily? You would’ve thought he’d taken his time studying it when he looked at your old content. He set fire to you with only a few kisses and touches. But even Eve felt the same rush as she bit into the apple of knowledge. You sunk your teeth into a forbidden fruit, and wanted more of it.

He brought you in for another kiss, a hand wandering up to your chest as he did so. Rafe lifted your flimsy halter top over your breasts, your bra turning into another annoying layer. You closed your eyes to savor the feeling of his lips crossing over the tops of them, making notes of the shape and warmth of his lips. They caressed the round curves, giving the supple flesh small bites while he gradually raised the bra over. You let out a small pleasurable gasp when he finally cupped them both, kissing over the pebbled nipples and softly sucking them.

“Fuck, I love your tits,” he muttered against one, working his way to the center and flicking the very center. “They’re so soft,” he tugged one with his teeth, dealing out shots of pain and pleasure, “And they look so pretty with clamps on them.” He said this with his cocky smirk as he gave the other side the same treatment. “Maybe I’ll do it next time, hm? Would my slut like that?”

“Yes, sir,” you sighed, pushing your chest into his mouth for more of him.

“Noted.”

This promise earned him a roll of your hips. His hard bulge poked your inner thigh through layers of cotton and denim, tempting you. You held onto his shoulders, fingers digging into them as you started sliding against it. The simple motion brought on heavy panting and soft whimpers.

“I was told there’d be coke?” You asked playfully, pushing your chest out to his eager mouth.

“Right here.”

He rifled in his pocket for the small balled up bag. Cocained wasn’t typically your drug of choice, but anything from Rafe was good with you. You watched him dump a small amount on your left breast, making a small line before putting his nostril to it. The brief inhale tickled you and you let out a soft giggle. Though, this was then covered by a moan when he licked the remaining residue which ended in another suck on your nipple. He snorted a second line on the other side, making sure to skip his tongue over the hard peak before handing you the bag. Switching positions, you lifted his shirt to reveal his toned abdomen and chest, mouth agape at the firm body underneath you. The movement caused his pants to sink down an inch past his waistline, revealing the tantalizing space above his groin. You teasingly unbuttoned the pair, his bulge sticking out from the opened zipper.

“You want to see it that bad, huh?” he taunted, hands going under his head in a relaxed position.

“Always.”

You sprinkled a bit on the indent of his v-line, the white powder just barely visible in the half light. You held a side of your nose down, then quickly inhaled the drug before the urge to breathe came. The harsh burn broke through your nostril, causing you to cough from the harshness going down. You knew it’d only take a few minutes to kick in for just one line, but this didn’t stop you from doing a second on the other side. Licking up what you left behind, you started groping the hard muscle poking your chin. Still semi-hard, it moved against the curve of your palm when you grabbed it. Rafe gave a contented sigh and even shifted when you rubbed the shaft starting to fully harden at your touch. The heat radiating through the boxers joined the spongy muscle pressing to your face, and you couldn’t help kissing up to the throbbing head. You continued stroking and kissing him through his underwear, a tang of saltiness seeping through after a while. The drug in your system started doing its euphoric magic, and seeing the bag with a little bit left, you knew you'd be taking more soon.

The teasing brought Rafe to his boiling point, and your excitement soared. A hand sunk into your hair, roughly grabbing your head and yanking it away as he pulled his cock out for you. No lustful words. No warning. Not even a hasty, breathy command. Rafe pushed his tip to your lips and you instantly opened up. Your clit throbbed the moment the heavy, thick cock filled your mouth. You remained still to let him guide himself further in, moaning when the head reached the back of your throat. His thrusts started quickly right away, his moans filling the air when you greedily sucked on it. Each throbbing vein, every hard inch that passed your lips became slick with drool. You pictured the moment when he'd finally fill you with it, pumping hard and fast like that delicious first time. You thought about that more than anything else. The taste of him started leaking from the head in small beads, smearing on your tongue each time he pushed inward. You swallowed them, letting him feel the motion when he hit the back. Rafe moaned particularly loud at this, holding you to his pelvis to thrust in and out of your throat. Even when your jaw and cheeks began aching, you continued sucking him.

He grunted when he pulled out, leaving strings of saliva and precum between you. It dribbled from your lips to your chin, falling to the cock right under you. He slapped his length on your face, wet spots dotting your cheek with every tap. You tried catching it somehow, tongue out with hopes of getting it again, but he kept it well out of reach. He chuckled at your weak attempts before sinking himself back into your mouth. You held onto his thighs as he pushed deep into your throat once more, holding you there despite your gagging and choking.

“Let’s see how long you can hold it there,” he sneered, pulling you off to let you breathe before pushing you back onto him. You muffled his name, and he chuckled. “What was that? I can’t quite hear you.” You pretended to be pushing away from him, knowing he liked a little resistance sometimes. You protested once more, shaking your head before he forced you back to the base. “Huh? You want me to cu-cum d-down your throat?” he asked, panting softly as you tried withdrawing again. “Well, if that’s what you want.”

He let you back up, smiling at your harsh coughing and gasping. You knew your knees and throat would ache in the morning, but it’d be worth it. “Ra-Rafe,” you croaked, licking your swollen lips, “Please…”

“Give you my cum?” He finished, holding you by the chin now. “We can’t end the night without filling your holes with cum, can we?”

“It h-hurts,” you made an attempt to escape his grasp.

“But you wanted this,” he said, “It’s what sluts like you deserve.”

He forced you back on him, guiding you regardless of your aching neck and body. “You’re going to regret making me wait for it like that,” he said, his muscles starting to tense and his grip on you tightening. “I…I fucking…fucking own you, bitch,” he went faster and you sucked harder, “You come to me when I tell you to. You don’t get to decide if we fuck or not, got it?” he forced you all the way down, “Got-Got it?”

You could only nod and let him keep going. Your body shivered with anticipation at what would happen next. It’s what you’d wanted since you saw him earlier. It was a craving that only Rafe could satisfy; a need only he supplied. Not a single thought broke through your mind as the droplets became thick ropes going down into your throat. More and more came out in every stroke, Rafe’s moans elongated and strained. You looked up at him, tears stuck on your lashes and spilling from your lower lash line, and swallowed. He finished with a final shudder, then took a minute more before finally releasing you. Your scalp aching, your jaw and cheeks worn out, you cleared your throat after swallowing the last of his cum. You’d begun taking off your shorts when he stopped you.

“Nu-uh,” he shook his head, carefully rolling you onto your back, “You made me wait. Now you’re waiting too.”

You should have known he’d do this to you. He helped you out of the bed, and while you hoped for at least a kiss, you received nothing. Your body felt like it was on fire. The pressure remained, and even the light brush of your underwear made you tremble when you slid into the passenger’s seat. You knew he’d drive you back here in the morning for your car like before. You tried not wiggling too much nor thinking about what you wished he was doing as the truck started up.

Rafe passed you a water bottle and a tissue, and you cleaned yourself up on your own. His taste still remained after you washed it down, and this only furthered your arousal. Yet, your thighs still clenched together when the slightest vibrations came from the seat.

“Rafe,” you whined his name, desire causing you to lean back in the seat and show off your body to him, “I’m sorry I teased you. I really shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” he said sternly, focused on the road. “You’re mine, and you know that. I let that movie shit slide because Topper’s too observant for his own good, but the texts? You know better.”

“I only wanted to do it a little,” you pouted. You felt up his arm, wishing he’d take off his shirt again so you could feel every inch of him. You leaned into his ear, placing a delicate kiss on the outer edge, “Just enough so you’d wreck me when you got me alone.”

Rafe bit his tongue in hopes of resisting the lips brushing a weak spot. You rested your hand on his lap and gave his inner thigh a light squeeze. Weeks of sleeping together taught you both each other’s sensitive points. You learned the special zones of his body; you studied them until you knew exactly what to do to turn him on. He did the same, knowing what spots turned you into putty in his hands.

“It’s been a while since you’ve pounded my tight holes,” you continued, hand sliding up and down his muscled thigh.

“Been busy,” he said firmly, though you heard him starting to falter.

“Yeah, but you have stuff to jerk off to when you miss me,” you nuzzled his neck and kissed the curve of it. “I only have my imagination and videos where I can pretend it's you doing it to me.”

“YN…”

“I’m always at home, playing with my toys and wishing it was you,” you said, reaching his groin for a second. He’d just finished cumming, but here he was already getting hard. You loved that about him. You didn’t have to wait as long as with other guys. “I really like using the one you got me too. It’s just as big as you, and makes it easier to imagine you.” Your own dirty talk caused your sex to pulse in your panties.

“That’s why I got it for you,” he said, coughing and making a turn back into town. You noticed he was heading north towards Figure Eight, and not The Cut. “What do you, um, think about?”

“Nothing particularly weird,” you shrugged, fingers dancing up and down his crotch. “Just you kidnapping me, taking me somewhere private and doing whatever you want with me.” You purposefully whimpered in his ear as you bit the earlobe softly. “You fucking me for as long as you want, muffling my screams with duct tape so nobody hears me begging you to stop…” Delicately, you took one of his hands and put it between your thighs. Automatically, he started returning your teasing movements, getting you to moan in his ear. “Thinking about you doing whatever you wanted to me gets me so wet, and I really mean that. Anything, Rafe. I want to be your special toy; a set of holes that are yours to do whatever you please with.”

“Fuck, you’re so dirty and horny,” he almost chuckled.

“And you love it,” you said.

“I do,” he confirmed, “I really do.” Long digits traced the inner seam of your shorts, focusing on where your clit was from time to time. You raised your hips for him to touch more, but as expected, he went at his own pace. “I’ve never done things like that with other girls. They’re always too prudish. Honestly, they all talk up a big game but once I get ‘too rough’ or ‘too weird’, they back out.” He looked over to you when he stopped at a red light, “But not you.” He gazed down to your chest, which you’d covered back up before getting into the car. “I could tell you to show me your tits right now and you’d do it.”

And you did, knowing an order when you hear one. This time, you completely removed your top and pulled your bra down, fully exposing his favorite part of you. Luckily, the streets were empty, so Rafe lingered at the light to stare at them without a problem. Cupping them, you whined at pinching and rolling your own nipples, unable to stop squirming from the arousal inside you. It elevated when Rafe grabbed one, brushing his thumb over the sensitive spot to hear you whimper again.

“See?” he said, staring at your chest. “No other girl would do this for me.”

Neither of you mentioned how the subject of his blackmail material played a part in it. It started out that way: you only doing things to keep him from outing your internet persona to the whole town. But, as time went on, you started loving these little hookups. Rafe became the guy who fulfilled your every fantasy. You couldn’t picture yourself doing this with anyone else. He let go of you and continued driving. Since he never said otherwise, you kept playing with your breasts for him. Licking two of your fingers when he glanced your way, you stared at him as you rolled them around one of your nipples. The wetness made it harden, and you gave it a small tug between the two fingers. Being so exposed in a semi-public space only aroused you more; knowing any passerby might catch a glimpse through the windshield made you want more from him. Rafe liked public sex, especially if people happened to be nearby, and you never failed to indulge him.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered as you got closer to his neighborhood.

One hand still teasing your tits, you unbuttoned and unzipped your shorts and pushed your hand inside. Finally getting some kind of contact, you let out a soft moan when your fingers slid over your moist lips. The velvety outside felt damp from the pooled juices in the middle; you only rubbed the folds around your hard clit, teasing the sweet pearl poking from under its hood. Rafe took deep breaths when he heard your moans, likely doing his best not to give into his desires right there in the car. You loved teasing him to the breaking point. The idea that only you could turn Rafe Cameron into a frustrated, horny mess stroked your pride a bit. Is this what Eve did upon seeing the serpent in the garden? Maybe she tempted him first. She might’ve desired more than the fruit of knowledge. Adam might have bored her, and she wanted something better, something different and erotic. You didn’t blame her. Every guy seemed so bland compared to Rafe.

“Take those off,” he said, “And lean back.”

Shifting around, you only removed your shorts to show the drenched spot in your underwear. You continued sliding your fingers up and down your pussy, occasionally circling your clit to bring out the moans he craved. If any other guy asked this of you, you’d turn them down right away. They didn’t earn the privilege like Rafe did. Damn the evidence he had. Damn his empty threats. Rafe could burn it all and you’d still give yourself over to him. Once you had a bite of him, you simply could not stop.

“You’re fucking drenched,” he breathed, swallowing the tightness in his throat. “Other girls I know act like they’re too good to suck me off, but here you are getting wet from just that.” He reached over and placed his hand over your own. You allowed him to guide you on your own pussy, shivering at the small amount of pressure he applied. “Why is that, I wonder?”

“Because I’m a slut,” you said, knowing what he wanted to hear. “A big slut that loves your cock.”

“Only my cock? Nobody else?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he smirked when you moaned at a particular spot, “No competition then.”

He continued teasing you while he drove. By the time you reached Rafe’s house you were dripping and aching for him. When he parked, he took a moment to lean over to you. A loud moan broke through when he wrapped his lips around one of your nipples and sucked it. Your entire body lit up from his mouth and hand alone. Other guys had to go a lot to get you worked up these days, but Rafe did it as if it were second nature.

“Little slut,” he said, tongue swishing over your nipple. “I bet you’d let me fuck you right here instead of on my bed inside.”

“That’s how turned on you make me,” you huffed, eyes closed as the overwhelming sensation took over. “I’d do it wherever you wanted,” your hand sunk into his hair again, “As long as I got to cum on your cock.”

“I believe that,” he laughed, softly biting your nipple. “You’re so wet, you’re dripping down to your tight little ass.”

He sucked your tits for a bit longer, then pulled away. You knew what to do without him asking. As he slid out of the driver’s seat, you fixed yourself back up. This time, when you opened the door and moved to get out, Rafe easily lifted you into his arms and set you on the ground. He held you for a moment, giving a long, passionate kiss before leading you into the house. His house, richly decorated and bigger than your own, was dead silent. Even if his parents and sister weren’t home, you knew his youngest sister, Wheezie, was. From what you’d heard from Rafe, the girl had ears like a bat and constantly listened in on other people’s conversations. If she knew anything important, she’d tell anyone who’d listen. Rafe told you Wheezie is the last person he’d want discovering you two. So, that was why you snuck past her room so silently. Rafe carefully opened his door, and let you get inside.

Once there, Rafe gave into his desires and hungrily kissed you. Hands cupping your jaw, he worked your mouth open right away and brushed his tongue there. His kisses, sweet like honey with a hint of mint, broke your restraint and you nearly dragged him to his bed. Rafe didn't make you wait. He didn't continue his teasing or whisper more filthy talk in your ear. He placed you on top of a stack of pillows, and undid his own pants. Holding up your knees, you let him fold you as he pushed inside. That delicious release spreads through you, bringing out bouts of pleasure and relief. The moment he reached the end, he gave you exactly what you needed. All the build up to this moment exploded within you, and you balled up his sheets just to stay grounded. No drug beat the euphoric, blissful, near magical feeling Rafe gave you. His girth stretched and sunk deep in every thrust, pushing on the very center of your body. When you began moaning above a whisper, he put his hand over your mouth and laid down over you. This changed his angle, and the restriction took you closer to the edge.

“Shut up,” he said harshly, “Or I stop.”

‘Please, Rafe, don't. Not now when I finally have you inside me,’ is what you would have said if he didn't have his hand over your mouth.

It didn't take much to have you shaking under him. With deep, hard, fast pushes, Rafe untangled you. Every coherent thought in your head was blown away by the hard orgasm. Your body clung to his by his waist and shoulders, urging him to get closer and go even deeper.

“Gonna…Gonna cum inside,” he grunted in your ear. When you shook your head, as you did at times, he nodded. “Yeah, Yeah I am because this hole is mine. I get to do whatever I want with it….whatever I want…as much as I-I-I-oh fuck! Oh god!”

Rafe's dick twitched and you soon felt hot cum shoot inside you. You held onto his tense arms, nails making crescents on his skin and scratching as he kept going. Even as you felt him soften, he didn't stop right away. His pelvic bone brushing your clit, the sparks of sensitivity had you wriggling around like a worm. He wasn't done. He never really was when it came to this. Standing upright, he pulled off his shirt, withdrawing from you for a few moments.

You admired the body he worked hard to keep in shape, eager to run your hands all over him. He was beautiful. He was cruel, perverted, brutal and beautiful. Yet, as they say, even Lucifer was beautiful once.

Both of you fully undressed, he rested against his pillows and pulled you onto his lap. Your hands instantly glued to him, wandering his naked chest and arms while you kissed his neck. Grinding on him, your lips went across his collarbone to his shoulder, then from his neck to his ear. The soft moans his cock produced became all Rafe heard, while his own vibrated into your neck. Your sex slid up his shaft, sometimes hitting the tip if you went far enough. This made the head brush the underside of your clit, urging and tempting it for another round. Yes, a sting of pain came with it, but you loved it. However, you’ll always say something different.

“Rafe,” you said, putting on that sweet, innocent tone he liked, “Stop, it's too much.”

“You can take it,” he assured you, reaching down to grab your ass. “Sluts like you take dick every day. It's all you're good at,” he smacked a cheek hard, “It's all you know how to do.”

“But it's sensitive right now,” you cried when the head slid over your clit once more.

“Oh, is it?”

“Yes.”

He tossed you onto your back right away, taking the air out of you. You laid sprawled between his legs, your lower half completely exposed to him.

“You say this here is sensitive right now?” He asked, his thumb already working your clit. He smirked when you twisted to the touch, moaning his name. “Hm?”

“Yes!” You cried though tried to keep it down. You’d lose your mind if Wheezie walked in, curious and nosey.

“And you want me to stop?”

“Yes, please!”

“The thing is that I don't want to stop,” he groaned, spreading his cum and your essence over you. “You look so cute when I’m overstimulating you.” He drooled over your sopping pussy, and rubbed it into your folds, “Plus, you know the rules, we stop when I want to.”

“Raf-”

He covered your mouth again, then began rapidly rubbing it. Three fingers went side to side, causing small pangs to go through your body. An obscene slick sound came from your combined juices coming together inside you. Rafe occasionally spat on it, making it even wetter. This sent you spiraling, and you found it hard to stay quiet now. He didn't care about your bucking hips or the nails scratching down his legs. Your tormentor focused on bringing you to another orgasm with only his hands. His tongue soon joined, lapping at your clit and entrance while you did your best to control your volume. Once he sunk two fingers into you, it was over. You came undone on his hand and face, trembling and muttering his name in between pleas to stop.

“Rafe, Rafe,” you panted his name, but he cut you off.

“Ride me.”

He brought you onto his lap once more, this time burying himself in your soaked cunt. You didn't hesitate to start bouncing on him. You both shared a deep kiss, moaning into each other's mouths as you became one again. How many apples did Eve have? It couldn't have been just the one. Not when temptation came in the form of a Greek god like Rafe. He grabbed and smacked one side of your bottom while he grabbed your tits. It was as if he had no clue what to touch, just knowing he wanted you. It didn't take you much longer to cum, once again sent over the edge despite your waning energy. Rafe took a bit more after two orgasms back to back, but you greedily accepted the third on your stomach and chest when he did finish.

Satiated for the night, Rafe wiped you down himself before settling next to you. The tenderness that came after always created butterflies in your stomach. Wrapped up in his arms, you listened to his slow breathing as he drifted to sleep. Your own exhaustion crept over you, only waking when you felt his hand go to your chest. He examined the small rose shaped charm, holding it between two fingers.

“I didn't think you'd ever wear it,” he said groggily.

“Why?”

“Questions.”

“I got some, but I said my parents saved for it to be a graduation gift.”

“And they believed that?”

“Yeah.”

He kissed the back of your shoulder. “Good,” he said, “It looks nice on you.”

Neither of you had to say anything. Rafe might say ‘you’re mine’ the way a master says to their slave, but this wasn’t that. At least, you hoped so. Lord, you actually hoped this guy, who is blackmailing you into a secret relationship, truly feels something for you. Why? Why did you care what he felt for you? You should hate him for doing this to you. He is making you lie to your friends and family about you two. Him holding this secret over your head is wrong, and him forcing you to sleep with him is cruel. Yet, you found it hard to feel that way at times. Like right now, when you’re resting in his arms after being satisfied by him, listening to him fade into his dreams. When he’s vulnerable and sensitive, opening up to you in ways he won’t with others feels more intimate than sex. You imagined he usually kicks girls out when he’s finished, but here he is clinging to you as if you’ll float away. A snake trapping its prey in its grasp. A serpent beckoning a young maiden over, offering an apple that would give her freedom and knowledge. The Devil seeing a beautiful woman and wanting her all for himself; no longer interested in defying God, but instead desiring His greatest creation. It made you feel special, even if it wasn’t real.

But, the tiniest part of you hoped it was.

****

A/N: heeeyy guys! Looks like things might start getting more serious, hm? Who knows? Hope you guys liked it, shoot me a comment or an ask if you're bad enough, or reblog and like <3

#outer banks #drew starkey #rafe cameron #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks fanfic #obx fanfiction #obx fanfic #rafe obx #rafe one shot #rafe x reader #rafe x you #outer banks smut #obx smut #rafe smut #rafe cameron smut

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concretejunglefm · 11 hours ago

Note

Will you accept this thot from me, cause I don’t know what to do with it and I needed to let it out? 🤲🥺

We talk about threesomes with two guys all the time, and that’s great, but what about a threesome with another girl?

Maybe she’s a close friend that you share a crush on Noah with, and after one too many “haha what if” and “girl, imagine if..” you finally go to Noah with the proposition and do you think he’s gonna say no? Of course not. Or maybe a random girl was flirting with him in a bar and instead of getting jealous you both take her home.

Either way, imagine having your face buried between her soft thighs, her sweet, breathy moans vibrating against your ears, her legs shaking because of you, all while Noah is balls deep inside of you. Or when he is fucking her nice and deep, you’re holding her close, your hands exploring her soft curves, your mouth latched onto her nipple? Or when Noah decides he needs a little break and leans back against the headboard, his gaze flickering between your entwined bodies, hands everywhere, her hips rocking slowly, sensually to grind against your thigh, while he lazily strokes himself? 😩

Feeling a little too bi today, ovulation hitting hard 🫢

So himbo!noah x two girls is coming too, but rereading this really made me think of bf!noah letting you explore and invite in a friend 🫣 I hope you enjoy this little a lot of self indulgence bb 💕

CW: includes mentions of partner sharing, threesome, unprotected sex (p in v) oral (f and m receiving), fingering (f receiving), scissoring/grinding, minimal descriptions of reader and friend, mentions of pre negotiations, slight cum play, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, hints towards possible poly dynamics.

WC: 3.9k.

Smut below the cut 🔞 Minors DNI.

It’s something you and Noah have discussed before—the idea of bringing someone else in. Not for him, but for you. He wants it to be all about you, and he couldn’t have made that clearer. He’s supportive of you, of your wants, your deepest fantasies, and your kinks, many of which either overlap or have become something the two of you have been learning and embracing together.

Lately, the idea of including another person has become the focal point of your fantasies, with Noah expressing his desire to watch you make someone else fall apart the way he so often does with you, to be both a cheerleader and a spectator in something he knows you deeply desire. Truthfully, you both have someone in mind—the same person, a mutual friend—though she was yours before she became Noah’s.

Before this, the three of you had sat down together and brought the idea to her, a heart to heart filled with expectations, desires, and any potential boundaries. Nothing felt off the table. Not really. Not when you had all harbored your own quiet crushes on each other.

The only non negotiable was her request: this had to be something you both wanted, something you entered into as a unit. She had no desire to come between you, to play homewrecker, or to steal one of you away. This wasn’t about driving a wedge, it was about deepening something that had always lingered beneath the surface.

What started as fantasy became an opportunity to explore what had always simmered between the three of you, especially when your flirtation had long been mutual, and they had always been open about being polyamorous.

That assurance, and the honest, open conversation, is what brings you to this moment now.

There’s a delicate dance to her touch—so different from Noah’s fingers. She’s soft, slow, and methodical, pressing into you with gentle precision. The way she kisses the inside of your thighs, mouthing praises as her lashes flutter and she looks up at you from beneath them with a soft, “Look at me, baby,” makes your stomach flip and your walls flutter around her fingers.

You try your best to keep your eyes on her, but the sound she draws out of you is unstoppable—something breathless, almost high pitched and whiny. It’s different from the sounds Noah coaxes from you, because this feels different. She feels different.

You’re like putty in her hands, melting under her touch with such ease. Her fingers work you slowly, following the rhythm and pace you set with the roll of your hips. “That’s my girl.” The words ripple through you, and you feel the curve of her smirk against your thigh just before she leans up and over you, her mouth meeting yours in a deep, sensual kiss.

Again, it’s softer, not hungry or needy the way Noah’s kisses are, the way you’ve come to love how he kisses you, but her tongue still seeks a taste, slipping into your mouth all the same.

From the sidelines, Noah watches—not as a cuck, but as someone utterly mesmerised by the spectacle before him. The usual possessive beast that gnaws at him whenever someone so much as gives you the faintest bit of attention doesn’t stir. Not this time. Instead, he marvels at the way she touches you.

He’s seen you come undone beneath him more times than he can count, heard your moans in his ear, felt the way your body responds to the rhythm of his hips with every thrust, but he’s never seen you like this. Two fingers deep, your thighs trembling, and your newfound lover kissing you with such reverence, as though you’re something sacred to be worshipped, and she’d be right, because that’s exactly how he sees you. Every time.

His cock is rock hard, the tip flushed and already leaking, but his hand stays planted on his thigh, squeezing, resisting the urge to touch. The throbbing is relentless, but he remains still, fixated entirely on the sight before him—on you both.

Noah is a man more than secure in his relationship, and in his abilities when it comes to you, but what man wouldn’t whimper at the sight of someone else making their girlfriend cum not once, not twice, not even thrice, but multiple times? Pushing you to an entirely new brink of pleasure—one rolling orgasm after another—before leaning in to kiss you again, feeding you the softest touch of aftercare between each one. Wanting nothing more than to make you feel adored.

Usually, that’s his job, but she includes him. She’s not selfish—despite how ravenous she is for you—she shares you. She guides Noah in, tells him how to hold you, when to touch, where to touch. As if he doesn’t already know, but there’s something different in his touch now—softer, more sensual, more mindful of how sensitive you are. He finds new ways to make you quiver, without even needing to touch the more obvious places.

She has your head laid back in his lap while you gaze up at him, a drunken look of lust written across your face and shining in your eyes—nothing less than pure satisfaction. His hand glides over the front of your neck, gently squeezing, tilting your head back as it rises to cradle your jaw, and when he dares to dip down and capture your mouth in a kiss, it’s his turn for the magic words to roll off his tongue: “That’s my girl.” Because you are—his girl, but tonight, you’re their girl.

“Our girl.” It’s a correction he murmurs against your lips when the kiss breaks, dizzying and warm. His eyes flick to your friend, who wears a prideful smirk and echoes his words with a low murmur of agreement, her hands trailing slowly along your sides in a soft, reverent caress as she leans in to meet you in another kiss.

The room is thick with heat and anticipation, the scent of sex hanging heavy in the air as you descend between her thighs. You work her open with soft, slow strokes, tongue pressed flat, her arousal flooding your taste buds. She’s sweet—so sweet it’s addicting, making you crave more with every sound she gives you. Her breathy moans make your cunt clench and throb, especially with Noah behind you, his thick cock buried deep, grinding into you in slow, devastating thrusts.

“Fuck, look at you both,” he groans, palm splayed across your lower back as he rocks into you, watching your hips jerk and feeling your walls flutter around him with every soft sound you manage to pull from her.

He leans forward, lips brushing a trail of kisses along your spine, working his way up to nip at your shoulder before nestling in close, breath hot at your ear. “You’re doing so good for us, sweet girl.”

The praise, his voice, that pet name, makes you let out a muffled moan, and his free, tattooed hand reaches down, fingers combing through your hair in one smooth motion to gather it up, giving him a clearer view of your mouth pressed against her pussy. The sight alone is enough to make him groan, low and wrecked.

As her fingers claw at your shoulders, you reach up blindly for her hand. She meets you there, your fingers intertwining and resting against her stomach, while her free arm drapes across her face. Her thighs tremble around your head, her body tense and aching for release as your tongue focuses on her clit, licking her through slow, relentless circles that send her spiraling toward the edge.

“You gonna cum for us? Gonna cum all over her pretty tongue?” Noah murmurs from behind you, voice thick with lust. His gaze flicks down to your friend, focused on the soft, desperate whimpers you’re pulling from her, right up until a tidal wave of pleasure crashes over her. She trembles beneath you, her entire body shaking as she cums, and Noah’s hand moves from your hair to trail gently down her thigh, grounding her through the intensity with soft touches and low spoken words of praise and encouragement, blending into the symphony of sounds filling the room.

You keep licking her through the aftershocks, determined to savor every last drop she gives you, but it’s Noah’s hand at the nape of your neck that pulls you back. He lifts you just enough to lean over and capture your mouth in a kiss, moaning into it at the shared taste of her, licking into you like he can’t get enough. When he finally breaks away, he guides you up to meet her lips instead, keeping his cock buried deep inside you as he follows you up the bed.

You sink between her thighs again, mouth meeting hers in something slower, more sensual—something Noah can feel in the way your walls flutter around him, in the pooling wetness that greets every movement of his hips, and then he pulls back, just enough to draw a moan from both of you before slamming in harder, hips rolling in a perfect rhythm as he sets a deeper, rougher pace. He fucks into you with steady, deliberate thrusts, the wet sounds building between your bodies only adding to the heat—evidence of just how many times she’s already made you cum with her mouth and fingers, and just how ready you are for more.

She cradles your face as she kisses you—soft, tender, and unhurried. She holds you close, drawing out each kiss, savoring every moan you feed into her mouth, driven by the quickening thrusts of Noah behind you. Your body begins to tremble, every muscle tightening as he edges you closer to another climax, and when you fall apart around him, Noah follows, letting out a deep, guttural groan as his hips falter. His fingers dig into your hips, grounding himself as he rides the euphoric wave ripping through him, your walls clenching and milking him with each aftershock.

He dips forward, chest heaving, forehead pressed to your back, and it’s the feeling of gentle fingers combing through his hair that tells him it’s her. She’s there, speaking softly, soothingly, guiding you both through the haze of your orgasm and the tender quiet of the comedown.

Noah pulls out, his breath ragged, and you both hear him exhale sharply. “I need a minute,” he says, voice wrecked, as he shifts to lean back against the headboard. He’s honestly surprised he lasted as long as he did, just the sight of you both had him rock hard and throbbing from the start, but being inside you the very moment you came undone, combined with everything he’d witnessed before, had him careening over the edge with a new, overwhelming intensity.

Noah may be spent—for now—but your friend isn’t finished. Not with either of you.

While she grants him a brief reprieve, she rolls the two of you over until she can shift, straddling your thigh, her soaked cunt pressed flush against your skin. Leaning over you, she captures your lips in another kiss before trailing her mouth along your jaw, down the column of your neck. She nips and marks deliberately, swirling her tongue over every sensitive spot until your back arches, your body instinctively pressing up into hers.

With a slow roll of her hips, she begins to grind against your thigh, the wet heat of her dragging over your skin sending a jolt straight to your clit and blooming heat in your belly all over again. Your breath stutters, and your hand rises to cradle her jaw, then slips around the back of her neck just as her mouth finds your breasts. Her tongue teases your nipples before she catches one between her teeth, tugging just hard enough to rip a sharp gasp and moan from your lips.

When you dare to look down at her, you catch the faintest flicker of a smirk, and it makes your stomach flip. You guide her back up to you, her palm replacing her mouth as she kneads your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples while you kiss again, deeper, your hand sinking into her hair to give a firm tug.

Noah can’t help himself. He watches, entranced, his eyes locked onto the sight of your bodies moving together. His cock twitches with interest despite how sensitive he is, temptation running hot beneath the surface. He wants to stroke himself—almost does—but settles instead for trailing his hand slowly down his chest and stomach, stopping just short before dragging it back up again with a quiet groan.

“You two are gonna kill me,” Noah murmurs.

Your kiss breaks as she pulls back, her attention shifting to him. One brow lifts, a smirk playing at her lips, as if to silently ask is that a challenge? Then she moves—still straddling you—as she shifts her hips lower, bringing her cunt against yours, both of you still slick with arousal, and with Noah’s cum no doubt pooling on the bedsheet beneath you.

You gasp at the press of her against you, and a ragged, groaning breath escapes Noah in response.

Your hands move instinctively to her waist, gripping and guiding her as she leans down to kiss you once more. Her movements are slow, deliberate, heated, her hips rolling in sensual, unhurried drags, spreading Noah’s release between you, your own arousals mixing in something raw and intimate. It’s dizzying. A sensual rhythm she draws out to savor, and you embrace every second.

Your hands explore her body, her curves, her ass, her thighs, and the sudden addition of a larger, familiar hand brushing against yours lets you know Noah has joined in again, no longer content to simply spectate. Even if he doesn’t touch much, he’s there, marvelling at the moment unfolding before him.

She reaches above your head, dragging a pillow beneath you for support, her forehead pressing to yours as she breathes in your breath—hot, shallow, needy. Goosebumps ripple across your skin. The heat blooming in your stomach is low, but slowly bubbling up, a sensation that builds not with urgency, but something deeper.

The way she grinds against you is intoxicating. From beneath the flutter of your lashes, you catch the way she looks at you, like you’re something divine. Her gaze is drenched in lust, yes, but also pure adoration.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” she murmurs, voice hushed.

Your nails rake gently across her skin in response, your thighs trembling around her. You can’t quite tell if what crashes through you is a full orgasm or something softer, more drawn out and deeply satisfying, but it doesn’t matter. You lean into it, lean into her, letting yourself come apart in this slower, quieter way, the heat of her body against yours more than enough in your overstimulated, overwhelmed state.

She doesn’t pull away from you right away—not until your body finally stops trembling. Then, her attention shifts to Noah. She keeps him firmly pressed against the headboard as she moves to settle on one side of his thigh, leaning down to bring her mouth to his cock.

Her movements are slow, deliberate, the flat of her tongue stroking along the underside of his shaft before curling around the tip. She isn’t just tasting him, she’s collecting what remains of you both. His cum, your slick—the mix of everything shared between you still clinging to him.

Reaching down between her thighs, she dips her fingers into her folds, pressing into herself to gather more of her arousal. When she draws back, faint traces of Noah’s cum—rubbed off from you during your grinding—shine on her fingers, mixing with her own. She trails those slick fingers along his shaft, coating him in it, before leaning back in to taste again.

As she laps at him, she offers her hand to Noah, brushing her fingers against his lips, and he opens willingly, obediently, tongue already flicking out to taste. He laps at her fingers hungrily while her mouth delivers slow, teasing kitten licks along his cock.

With her free hand, she beckons you over, guiding you to the other side of his thigh. As you lean in, she tilts your chin just slightly and brings you down to meet in the middle—right at his cock. The moment your tongues touch, licking along opposite sides of his shaft, it becomes something almost pornographic—sloppy and messy, with breathy moans vibrating directly against his length, making his cock twitch and his hips jerk with overwhelming pleasure.

It’s all too much, in the best way, especially when you reach his leaking tip and both of you share it, devouring him and each other at once, your tongues tangling, the taste of him thick and heady between you.

Her fingers stroke gently at the nape of your neck, grounding you as Noah’s hands settle on both of you—slow, exploratory touches, reverent in their hunger. His groans spill around her fingers still in his mouth as she continues to feed them to him, making him put on a show just for the two of you, and all the while, you both work his cock with unhurried attention, savoring the slick, the taste, and the pleasure it brings him with every stroke of your tongues.

“I want to watch you fuck her.”

You finally speak, voice breathy as you pull back, your eyes flicking up to Noah from beneath your lashes before they settle on your friend. A sly grin tugs at her lips.

“Anything baby wants,” she murmurs, leaning in to kiss you, her teeth catching your lower lip in a gentle tug that sends a ripple of heat down your spine.

You switch places with Noah after both of you have taken turns edging him, feeling the throb of the thick vein beneath your tongue still lingering. You settle into his place, back against the headboard, while your friend lies between your thighs, her back pressed to your chest. Noah positions himself between her legs, spreading her thighs to frame him, eyes dark with anticipation.

You watch intently as he slides his shaft through her folds in a slow, teasing motion, dragging the tip over her clit before pulling back, and then, just as he begins to sink in, he leans forward and captures her mouth in a searing kiss. The sight alone pulls a sound from you, a soft, involuntary mix of a whine and a moan, as you watch the two people you crave most kiss and move against one another with the same intimacy they show you.

Your hands begin to explore, roaming her curves, gliding over her stomach, cupping her breasts. You tease her nipples between your fingers as your gaze stays locked on Noah, on the way he drives into her with slow, measured thrusts, his rhythm deliberate and controlled. His eyes stay on her face, attuned to the way her moans shift, adjusting his angle with each motion, each deeper push.

When he hikes one of her legs over his shoulder, you feel her body shiver against yours, her thigh trembling as he shifts just enough to hit that deeper spot—the one that makes her cry out, her hips tilting up in search of more.

“Look at how beautiful you are, being fucked by him,” you muse, a drunken, lustful smile tugging at your lips. Your head feels dizzy from the pleasure you’ve passed back and forth—the way you’ve stopped to worship each other, the way you’ve unraveled together. There’s been no selfishness between you, only tenderness laced with raw sensuality.

Noah’s sounds grow louder, his pace faltering for a breath as he watches you talk to her, sees the way you cradle her while he fucks into her. The slick sounds between them grow louder with each slap of his hips, her arousal building, her walls growing tighter around him the deeper he reaches. She’s close—he feels it. The telltale signs swirl at the base of his spine, that heated pull tightening low in his belly, matching her rising tension.

She takes your hand, guiding it down her body, the pads of your fingers gliding over her stomach before she presses you between her thighs, right to her clit—aching and slick. Her back arches, head tilting back against your shoulder, and she looks up at you with that familiar glint in her eye. Her voice is soft, almost trembling.

“Rub my clit, please.”

It’s a gentle plea—a request to be touched by you, to be undone by your hand as Noah continues his relentless rhythm, his cock dragging against her walls with every roll of his hips.

Her lashes flutter, and you lean in to kiss her, cradling her neck with your free hand as you murmur sweet nothings against her lips. Your fingers begin to move, slow and steady, circling her clit in smooth, teasing motions, slipping through the mess of her arousal.

In moments like this, Noah would usually reach for a toy—something to push you over the edge with precision, but right now none of you want that. You want each other. You want to be the source of each other’s pleasure—the cause and the cure. The reason for every shuddering breath, every moan, every fall into bliss.

Watching them come apart together is a breathtaking experience, one that leaves you completely captivated. The way they tremble in sync, the way Noah’s mouth presses anywhere he can, her leg, her calf, dipping forward to kiss her chest, her neck, her shoulder, while she buries her face against your neck, moaning into you as she unravels. You hold her through it, and somewhere in the haze of shared pleasure, you find yourself wondering how you ever went this long without this, how this hasn’t happened before. It’s something you know, with startling certainty, that you’d want to happen again.

There are no words at first as you all lay together in the afterglow, quiet and tangled in the stillness. Your heads rest on either of Noah’s thighs, his body nestled between you both. Your arms are draped over one another, and Noah’s tattooed hand rests on your scalp, fingers lazily massaging through your hair. His other arm curves around her side, fingers tracing soft, absentminded shapes into her smooth skin.

Every now and then, there’s the quiet rustling of sheets or the soft sigh of someone adjusting, but mostly—it’s tranquil. Peaceful. You cling to one another in the silence.

Noah eventually reaches for your hand, lifting it to his mouth to press kisses to each of your fingers, slow and reverent. You reach out with your other hand, touching your friend’s cheek, cradling her face with a tenderness that makes her smile.

“That was… more than I expected,” you confess softly, breaking the silence with a quiet laugh.

A hum of agreement follows from both of them, nothing tense or uncertain—just mutual satisfaction, the kind that lingers in the air like warmth.

“Speak for yourself,” she teases, that familiar smirk tugging at her lips—the one that still makes your stomach flip. “I’ve been hoping for this day for months.”

She turns to press a kiss against the tattoo inked on Noah’s thigh, then shifts slightly to brush another soft kiss against your wrist, where your hand still cradles her.

You feel Noah’s smirk curve against your fingers and know he feels it too, that same sentiment. The same realisation: that you’ve all been dancing around this for far too long.

And now it feels foolish to have waited. Coming together felt effortless—in more ways than one, and as the quiet between you settles again, there’s a new awareness. This wasn’t just about lust. It wasn’t only physical. Something deeper had pulled you all into this, and something deeper still had been born from it.

tagged: @fadingangelwisp @deathblacksmoke @geminigirlfromfinland @fuck1ng-queen @xxkittenkissesxx @lacy1986 @ami--gami @floodflameschosen @dominuslunae @tosoundlessdarkistare @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @lonelydragonlady @th4t-em0-k1d @amelia-acero @dollieomens @sitkowski @athenexe @trvshdxddy @collapsedglasshouses @overmydeadbodysblog @xmads-omensx @ajordan2020 @astronoids @courta13 @oobleoob @bluehairpunklol @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @swissy23 @i-love-the-smell-of-your-blood @kenjipepsi1 @birdie-in-arcadia @blackcherrywhiskey @saythatuwill @concretenoah @death-ofpeace-ofmind @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @blade-dressed-in-red @limerinseme @lilgarbitch @pipidoll @heyyoplayer @iconic-taurus @flowery-mess @jesuisunchaton @bloody-spades @bluestdai @respectfulrebel @dravenskye

#respectfulrebel 💕#bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian smut #bad omens smut #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian x f!reader x f!reader #concretejunglefm fics

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 2 days ago

Note

pet and toy pet and toy pet and toy pet and toy

🤤🤤🤤

*chanting* pet and toy, pet and toy, pet and toy!

Pet and Toy [2]

Club!Blue Jones x Cecil Dennis x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist • ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • series masterlist •

Summary: Cecil shows you around the play rooms.

A/N: I'm sorry I can't stop turning oneshots into multiple parts. I have a problem. This part is mainly reader and Cecil.

Warnings: kissing, hand job, pegging, Cecil is just horny alllll the time, Cecil just talking about what he and Blue do, gonna say dubious consent because reader works in Blue's club, collars, some dub/sub dynamics, Cecil is referred to as 'pet', reader is referred to as 'toy', not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 3123

Cecil squeezes your hand, excitement practically radiating off of him. He’s a little giddy as he shows you around the ‘Play Room’. Rooms would be more accurate.

They were upstairs, the club and Blue’s office below. Other than an entrance from a secret side room in Blue’s office, there didn’t seem to be any other way to reach them.

The decoration was opulent, outlandish. But Cecil was seemingly so used to it that he didn’t bat an eye.

“It’s so nice to have someone else here,” he beams at you, “usually it’s just me waiting for Blue, and then he has to go off again and be busy.” He pulls a face, and you can help but smile. “I mean, what’s he got to do, really?” He shrugs. “He’s got other employees, he doesn’t need to be so completely obsessed with it, with working.” Cecil finally sighs and shakes his head, like he was trying to clear the thoughts from his head. “But, now you’re here.” He takes your other hand in his and links your fingers.

“What do you usually… do?” You ask, your voice uncertain. “When Blue’s not here, I mean?”

Cecil nods, “Eat, smoke… jerk off.” He grins sheepishly. “What about you, Blue said you’d only started here a few weeks ago?”

You nod.

“So… what was it like?”

You pause, not quite knowing exactly what he wants to hear. “It was…”

“Did you have any clients?” He wiggles his eyebrows at you.

“I…” “When I first came here, I wanted to, you know, be one of the ‘staff’.”

You tilt your head to the side in a silent question.

He giggles. “I was broke, worse than broke. Nowhere to go, and here you get somewhere to sleep and food and I don’t mind fucking or being fucked.” He shrugs again, like what he is saying is no big deal. “But Blue, I guess… he took a shine to me.” Cecil beams at you again, the expression almost blinding.

“So, did you have any clients before?” He gives you an inquisitive expression, it’s honest. Open. And very unlike the attention you’re used to.

You shake your head. “I hadn’t… yet.”

Cecil nods. “Blue probably had his eye on you, too.” He smiles again and gives you an animated hug as he giggles. “I’m so happy. It’s so nice to not be alone, you know?”

You nod, mirroring his action.

“I kind of think about what would have happened if Blue hadn’t,” he gestures to the collar around his neck, “you know?”

“Does it upset you?” You ask sympathetically.

Cecil shakes his head, laughing. “No, no, part of me kind of likes the idea.” He covers his face with his hand, “I know that sounds fucking stupid.”

You gently take his hand, moving it back so you can look at him. “It’s not stupid.”

“No?”

You shake your head. “You like what you like.”

He grins. “See? I knew you’d understand Toy.” He kisses your cheek quickly and then breathes in deeply. “Can I kiss you?”

You swallow and nod.

His kiss is soft, slow. But you can feel the energy behind it, the current that is running just underneath his skin. He presses close, lightly rubbing his half hard cock against you and moaning quietly. The sound is almost a purr.

He gulps, loud and echoing, as he pulls back a fraction, just enough to talk to you while his hands hold your hips tightly.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, a little breathless. “Can we…?”

You nod, that was what you were here for, wasn’t it?

He grins and kisses you quickly, taking hold of your wrist, he pulls you to the sofa. Cecil sits eagerly while you’re still standing and grabs a half full bottle of lube from underneath the coffee table.

“So if you jack me off,” he says so matter of factly while he shakes the bottle, “and then you can fuck me.” He smiles widely, then pauses. “Have you pegged someone before?”

You shake your head.

There’s a flicker of something in his expression, and you can’t be sure if it’s disappointment or not. Anxiety twists and spikes in your stomach.

“But, I get the principle.” You say quickly.

And Cecil misunderstands your apprehension as excitement. “Yay, okay, great. There’s a strap over here, erm…” he chews on his bottom lip as he gets onto his knees and bends over the side of the sofa, rummaging in a bag. You get a great view of his ass as he looks.

“Here!” He holds it aloft in a giddy elation. “So fuck me with this after?” He blinks his large doe eyes at you, and once again, you nod.

He gives you another brilliant smile and places the strap on the coffee table before settling onto the sofa and getting comfy.

“Oh,” he tugs his jogging bottoms down to the middle of his thighs, lifting his hips up just enough to wiggle free. His cock bobs against his stomach, as hard and eager as you remember. He pauses as he looks at his t-shirt, the hem between his fingers. “Should I take this off too?”

It’s oddly nice, you realise. The level of trust he’s putting in you immediately. Some of your nerves calm down a little, just taking the edge off.

You sit next to him carefully, leaving a slither of space between your bodies that Cecil moves into immediately, pressing up as close to you as he can without sitting in your lap. He rests the side of his head on your shoulder, still holding his top.

You take hold of the bottle of lube in one hand and the edge of his t-shirt with the other. “Here,” You say softly, “Why don’t you just…” You place his hand on his chest and encourage him to hold his t-shirt there so it’s pulled up and showing his soft tummy.

He giggles, wiggling his legs a little and watching you with bright, eager eyes. “Okay.”

Lightly, you touch his stomach, trailing your fingers down over his warm skin.

He shivers and chuckles lightly, “Tickles.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I kind of like it. I like how you touch me.” He presses his face to your neck, shyly. “It’s different.”

“Different?”

“Blue’s more… I don’t know. I like how he touches me, for sure, but I like how you touch me too.”

You smile gently, part of you can see why Blue chose him.

He whimpers lightly when you open the bottle and pour a copious amount onto your palm, warming and spreading it before you just trace the outline of his cock with the tip of your finger.

He moans, shivering and gulping. “Oh, fuck. Please, I’m so horny.” He blinks rapidly at you, giving you the most beseeching look.

You gently wrap your fingers around him and pump slowly.

He gasps, whining beautifully. “Fuck, that’s so nice.” He bucks his hips up, his body following the pleasure automatically. “So nice,” he swallows, his eyelids fluttering closed. “Fuck, so much better than my own hand, Toy.”

You stroke him a little faster, revelling in his cries and moans, how his muscles shiver and tense, how sensitive he is. He holds onto his top tightly, clutching it to his heart.

“How often would you touch yourself,” you think twice about calling Cecil by his nickname, but the word ends up falling from your lips anyway, “Pet?”

He sobs out a groan, convulsiving. “Oh fuck, love it when you call me that.” He shivers, pressing his head back into the sofa and forcing his eyes open so he can look at you. “I, I’d, I do it a lot.” He gulps again, almost hiccuping. “I get so worked up so easily,” he licks his bottom lip, making it shiny with his saliva. “I need to do it a lot.”

You stroke him a little firmer and lightly rub the pad of your thumb along his slit. He gifts you with a gasp and shudder.

“How often is a lot?” You ask, trying to keep your voice even and calm.

“Lots, loads, I, uh, fuck,” he squirms, bucking up eagerly into your fist. The squelch of lube echoes around the room. As he moves his t-shirt rises a little higher, the material twisted in his hand, revealing more of his chest and one of his nipples.

You don’t really think twice, too caught up in the sound he's making and his love sick expression. With your free hand, you reach out and squeeze his chest, lightly pinching his nipple and Cecil all but screams.

He comes suddenly and violently, his eyes rolling back as he spurts all over himself and your fist. Copious amounts hit his chest and tummy, some even splashing over his t-shirt and hitting the underside of his neck.

He moans loudly the whole way through, his hands squeezing any part of you he can reach, swearing and gasping your name. Your real name.

You start to relax your grip on him the second he goes limp and weak, breathing hard.

He whimpers slightly, quickly moving so that he can press his lips to yours. Hungrily, he licks into your mouth, his kisses becoming more and more demanding by the second.

He groans as you lightly bite his lip, his eyes rolling back.

“Fuck,” he swallows, his throat bobbing, “here,” he takes you hand and hastily wipes the cum from your skin with a clean part of his t-shirt. “Sorry I jizzed all over you.”

You bite back a snort, his sincerity was strangely endearing. “It’s okay.”

He shakes his head, but doesn’t answer any more than a soft hum.

His cock is still semi hard between his legs, his eyes still as dark.

“Can you fuck me please?” He asks sweetly, an edge of desperation to his tone. But you get the clear feeling that he wouldn’t press, wouldn’t demand anything if you said no.

Your nerves aren’t as fraught as before, they don’t slither and slice at your insides. Instead, there’s a low constant beat of arousal that is starting to very heavily cloud your mind.

You nod and he groans.

“Fuck, thank you, thank you, I,” he scrambles up, nearly falling over and into the coffee table in the process. You grab his hips to stabilise him and he gives you the sweetest look as he pulls off his trousers completely, and then his shirt.

“Thank you,” he repeats, rubbing his stomach and hands clean with his t-shirt. “Blue says I have a crazy refractory period and that I’m po-pet-u-at-lly horny.”

“Perpetually,” you say with a kind smile and he beams at you.

“That’s it, that’s the word! You’re so smart.” His grin widens. He doesn’t give you a chance to refute his statement as he pulls you to your feet.

Quickly, he moves so that he’s bent over the sofa, his hands on the cushions and the front of his thighs resting against the armrest. He spreads his legs a little wider. “You can keep your clothes on, or take them off, I don’t mind.” He smiles again. “Whatever you want. Also I don’t need any prep, that’s,” he nods his head to the strap on the table, “a totally a-okay size. I kind of like it when there’s a bit of a stretch, you know?” He keeps running his mouth, having to fill the silence as you pick up the strap. But it’s nice, comforting even.

“Blue’s not like that.” Cecil continues. “He hates taking anything straight away, you have to work him open for hours. Not that I mind.” He looks over his shoulder at you as he speaks, his eyes lingering on your form as you take off your top.

You decide to leave your bra and underwear on, folding your clothes roughly and putting them on the armchair at the side, before you put on the strap. It takes you a moment to work out the harness, but Cecil doesn’t seem to notice.

“Sometimes he makes me suck his dick for hours, literally hours. And then I have to eat his ass for just as long.” Cecil swallows, his cock throbbing at the thought. “And then I finally get to put some fingers in him, but I got to suck him off, or lick his balls at the same time, or he makes me start all over again.”

Cecil jumps slightly as your hand touches his hip, he shivers, widening his legs yet again and groaning when he hears you open the bottle of lube and pour a more than generous amount onto the strap. The dildo is a bright, vibrant yellow, and honestly, it wouldn’t have surprised you if it had a classic smiley face at the tip.

“You can keep talking.” You say soothingly as you tightly rub his hip and he preens, arching his back a little.

“You sure? I don’t mean to talk so much, I’m not letting you say anything.”

“I like hearing you talk.” You stroke your hand down to his plump ass and gently spread him a little so that you can position the head of your strap at his entrance.

Cecil gulps, closing his eyes.

“Are you sure you’re okay to take this all?”

He nods viciously. “Fuck yes.” He swallows again, not as loudly as before. “Please?”

“Only if you keep talking.” You tease.

Cecil rocks back slightly, an involuntary reaction and you giggle quietly.

“I’ll, I’ll keep talking,” he pants, “promise, I swear, just-”

You push your hips forward, pressing the tip of the strap against his hole and Cecil whines.

“Oh fuck, thank you, thank you. You know how often I’d just sit on a dildo and jerk myself off? Or stick it to the shower wall? I nearly passed out once, I just kept going and going. Fuck,” he groans deeply as the strap breaches him, stretching his ring of muscle wide so satisfyingly.

You ease into him slowly, despite how he’s regaled you with stories of how easily he takes things, you still don’t want to hurt him or cause him any discomfort. Pushing forward an inch before moving back half and then repeating.

“Blue’s like the opposite of me,” he pants, trying his best to let you set the pace and not misbehave. “Blue’ll hold off for ages, like a whole day. My idea of torture.” His voice breaks at the end of the word as you bottom out. “Ah, that’s good, so good,” he bites his lip.

“I, I need to come so much,” Cecil breathes heavily. “Like all the time, the smallest thing’ll set- set me off.” He moans as you press one hand to his lower back, making him bend even further, and the other firmly to his hip.

You move slowly, giving him time to adjust before you gradually pick up your pace.

The sounds he’s making are mouth watering, they make a weight settle deep in your belly, make you want to fuck him harder and just take whatever you give him.

“Blue’ll sometimes let me fuck his ass,” Cecil moans, “But only sometimes, because normally, oh fuck, I come straight away. I can’t help it, I get inside him and it’s over. Most of the time I come while I'm sucking his cock or eating him out. He’ll, he’ll pull my hair and, and, and, I come.”

He sobs as you pick up the pace, hammering your hips into him. Each thrust sends a wave of heat along your skin. You can feel wetness building between your legs and dampening your underwear. The base of the strap presses delisouly against your clit, rubbing just right whenever you fuck Cecil particaullary roughly.

He whimpers loudly, suddenly tensing like he’s been struck by lightning. “Oh, fuck, Toy please, right there!”

You focus all your energy on hitting him exactly the same, constantly fighting the urge to grab hold of his hair and pull him back to your chest so that you can sink your teeth into his neck.

“Some-some-sometimes,” Cecil pants, utterly drunk on pleasure, but needing to please you, to keep talking like you asked. “Blue’ll let me continue to fuck him even though I’ve come, I love that, it’s my favourite. I get to work myself up and come again and make him come everywhere.” He groans, shivering, his balls drawing up. “I like it when he uses me to get off, makes me, makes me, makes me- oh fuck!”

He yells as he comes again, squeezing the strap so hard you almost can’t fuck him through it. He doesn’t make as much of a mess this time, but still a dribble of white leaks out of his cock and onto the uppostery.

You grab hold of his chest as he slumps forward to stop him from falling face first and he whines softly, but appreciatively as he shivers with aftershocks.

“Sorry, I came so fast, I…” he rests his head back against you, his hair warm and sweaty. “You’re really good at that.” He smiles. “Give me a moment and,” he manoeuvres himself, slipping the dildo out of his ass and turning to face you. “I could eat you out, if you want?” He gives you the sweetest look as he asks and you nod a little shyly. You’re about to speak when there’s a tut and you nearly jump out of your skin.

Both of you turn to the sound at the other end of the room. Blue is standing there with his arms crossed, looking unimpressed.

“What’s this Pet?” Blue shakes his head, teasing in his voice.

Cecil blinks hard.

“Playing with Toy and not even making them come once?” He raises an eyebrow as he walks forward.

“I, I was going to.” Cecil huffs a little and you nod, wide eyed, trying to back him up. A sudden tension washes over you, making you want to shrink back and hide.

Blue stands in front of both of you, regarding each of you with a hard inspective stare. He takes Cecil’s chin, turns his head left then right.

“Look at this mess, Pet.”

Cecil opens his mouth to speak but snaps his teeth shut when Blue gives him another look.

“I’m sorry Blue.” You say softly, regretting speaking the second the words are out of your mouth.

He takes your chin next, forcing your eyes to meet his. But his expression is much softer when he looks at you. “Making Toy feel that they have to apologise for you.” He tuts again and strokes your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. “I think there’s some punishment in order.”

You stiffen, but Cecil moans wantonly and nods.

Thank you for reading!

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moutheyes · 3 days ago

Text

8 shows, many thoughts

so I thought I should at least attempt to talk about the eight (8) shows I'm somehow managing to keep up with right now, even if it's just for the sake of being able to jot something down in MDL when I go to do my ratings. I'll go in the order of how far along the series is:

My Stubborn (9 of 12) — This show was so much fun in the first half, because so much of Sorn and Jun's dynamic was revealed by the progression of their sexual relationship, and there was something deliciously appealing about a show that really leaned into the horniness of the main characters, but now that we're getting into the thorny feelings end of the series, the patchier parts of the storytelling are more evident. I'm not sure how we're supposed to get three more episodes out of Sorn's expected groveling and redemption, but I'm sure it'll be entertaining if nothing else.

Boys in Love (9 of 12) — This is mostly Sunday night background noise for me, since I don't find myself overly invested in any of the characters or relationships (well, the teenage ones at least, the teacher romance has me hooked), but it's made for a nice viewing experience. there's something comforting, after all, about returning to the emotional purity of a high school first love BL, and I appreciate the touches of mundanity that keep the story grounded in its youthful reality, despite its candy-colored setting.

Pit Babe Season 2 (7 of 13) — I love everything this show chooses to be. I love the brazen commitment to this frankenstein concoction of a plot, I love that there are moments of true darkness in the conflicts but also a genuine sweetness and mutual devotion in the relationships that have developed over the course of two seasons, and I love how much depth the characters have and how the acting manages to draw me in no matter how absurd the action or dialogue is. they really put something potent into this show, and it helps that the entire cast is just as invested as we are. the beauty of watching Pit Babe is that I have absolutely no idea where the plot is going to go, but I'm happily settled in for the ride.

Knock Out (6 of 12) — I knew I was going to adore this series, had zero doubts in my mind that it would work for me on multiple levels, and so far it hasn't disappointed. the plucky, quick-tempered, driven Keen is one of my favorite protagonists of the year so far, and there's a real heartbeat to the boxing gym setting, true to Tee Bundit's hallmark style. to me, the show has done a great job balancing the minutiae of these relationships (whether it's romance or friendship), showing the mutual support and care that makes them worth rooting for, and the commentary on power and compromise embedded in the big dramatic conflicts thrown at our ragtag but proud little group so far.

The Next Prince (7 of 14) — Come through, budget! this the most visually pleasing series of the year so far, with so much lush detail in the sets and costuming. and that effort hasn't been wasted, either, because the prince-and-bodyguard romance at the heart of the story is a heady, powerful, pulsing thing that has dragged me under its spell. the endlessly devoted and deliciously reserved Charan is one of my favorite character archetypes, and Zee was born to play him; the moment in Ep 7 where he finally breaks and allows himself to give in to Prince Khanin's seductions was just breathtaking. and then, obviously, the angsty, twisted dynamic between Prince Ramil and literal whipping boy Paytai has provided a parallel side couple well worth obsessing over.

My Sweetheart Jom (5 of 12) — This show is doing several things extremely well, and in a rather understated way. for one, the rural setting is a refreshing change of pace, a lovingly rendered backdrop for the city mouse/country mouse storyline. second, it's a true slow burn, with actual lingering enmity between the two romantic leads that hasn't dissipated despite the first frissons of attraction. and that's because of the the third aspect, which is that it takes the age gap between steadfast village chief Jom and stubborn idealist Yo seriously. their conflict resides in the profound gap between their lived experiences; the show has taken its time showing how both characters respond to things like injustice, and how that difference is a real hurdle they must get over, first and foremost as human beings, before they can proceed to approach each other romantically. and I love that, I love how thoughtful this show is in presenting both characters as full-fledged people first and letting the story unfold around them.

The Ex-Morning (4 of 10) — Having paid my long-overdue SOTUS dues earlier this year, as part of a Krist Perawat appreciation binge, I was primed to eat this up, and so far it's hitting every note of its promised second-chance romance storyline, with just the right amount of pathos, tension, and humor keeping me invested. the meta elements connecting the plot to SOTUS and the larger history of SingtoKrist as a CP make for fun easter eggs, but it's succeeding on a more basic level too, as the natural chemistry between the two leads has provided both a familiar, comforting joy and something newer and equally exciting.

Reset (3 of 10) — When the pilot dropped, I was a little worried the themes might hew a little close to My Stand-In, but so far this show feels different enough that I'm having a blast with the ultra-lakorn vibes, from the music to the acting style to the heightened romantic tension. Thada is a classic down-bad yearner, singularly focused on Armin, which helps smooth the edges of our doomed actor as he oscillates wildly between vengeful paranoia and traumatized self-pity. the chemistry is chemistrying so far, but with the limited episode count, I hope the time-travel and murder mystery plots start to take center stage soon.

#my stubborn the series #boys in love the series #pit babe 2 #knock out the series #the next prince the series #my sweetheart jom #the ex morning #reset the series

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softjeekies · 4 hours ago

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Waiting After The Rain

↳ chapter 5

previous chapter // next chapter(coming soon)

Paining: ot8!stray kids x pregnant omega!reader

Synopsis: An omega pregnant and alone after being kicked out by their alpha stumbles upon a pack willing to take them in and care for both the omega and their pup as if they were their own, because now they are.

Genre: strangers to lovers, angsty but lots of fluff to even it out.

Warnings: a/b/o, past abuse physical and verbal, past sexual abuse(mentions of past non-con), mentions of past violence, trauma, self esteem issues, pregnancy, aftermath of abuse, panic attacks, anxiety, pack dynamics, angst but it will be okay, polyamory

A/N: been a little busy seeing stray kids live and all but chapter 5 is finally here, enjoy!! + I’m already deep into writing the next chapter so get ready ;)

Hours, You had spent hours sitting in front of the bag of nesting supplies Chan bought for you. Felix and Han had basically begged multiple times to help you, and it did hurt to turn them down every time they asked but you didn’t want to burden them like that. Something sick deep inside of you wanted to prove to the alphas that you could be a good omega, that you could nest, and that they didn’t need to worry about you. That was so far from the truth. You couldn’t even bring yourself to open the bag and take anything out, voices shouting in your head reminding you not to be a lazy slob anytime you even got close to the bag. One look at the clock tells you it’s two am, but your body’s exhaustion already told you as much. You want to go to bed so bad but you need to prove yourself to the alphas, You smile at the picture of them checking your room in the morning and seeing the perfect nest, showing them that you were a good omega worth keeping.

But you weren’t a good omega, so you accidentally fell asleep on the floor.

“Y/N! Oh my god, what happened?” The abrupt awakening scares you, out of instinct you push the person back away from them. You blink for a moment before you realize it’s Han you just pushed, your chest tightens.

“Oh my god, No! I’m so sorry Han, You scared me but that’s not an excuse, I shouldn’t have pushed you, god I’m such an idiot! I’m going to be in so much trouble, aren’t I? I ruined everything.” You ramble, unsure how to fix this. Your whole body feels like it’s on fire, How could you do this?

“Hey. It’s okay, I’m okay. I shouldn’t have woken you up like that, I just saw you on the floor and thought something had happened to you. I have anxiety too, I’m always worried about my pack. Just please try and breathe, this was just a misunderstanding, it’s not a big deal.” Han keeps his hands up as he walks towards you and gets down to your level.

“I’m sorry.” A pained whimper rips from your chest.

“It’s okay! Tell me why you were on the floor and we’ll call it even” You focus on his face in an attempt to ground yourself, he has the most gorgeous smile, cheeks so soft perfect for chaste kisses, he’s perfect, the perfect omega.

“I’m a horrible omega. I couldn’t nest. Part of me is worried I don’t deserve it, like nesting isn’t meant for me. The other part worried I won’t be good at it. I’m scared Han, so scared.”

“We told you we’d help you, you don’t have to do this alone. Please let me help you.” You take a moment to look into his eyes, searching for any malice, and you’re left confused when you find none. With your nod of approval, Han takes the bags of nesting materials and dumps them on your bed. You’re immediately hit with the intense urge to fix it, to nest. You get up and take careful steps towards the bed, as if it were a wild animal you needed to be careful around.

“Don’t think too hard about it, touch everything and let your instincts guide you where it needs to go.” Han's encouragement does something to you, your omega coming to the forefront of your mind almost puppeting you as you touch the various fabrics and pillows.

You’re now sitting up on the bed, pushing around the pillows and blankets, kneading at them to try to assess where it would be best suited. After placing the final border pillow you look up to meet a pair of glassy eyes. Your heart skips a beat. Never in your life have you been able to say someone looked at you with that kind of love and care, but now you could see and smell the love radiating off of Han.

“Did I do good?” You’re nervous for his answer, somehow a fellow omega’s approval feels more daunting than any alpha’s.

“Oh, it’s perfect, so perfect. May I come into your nest?”

“I don’t see why not.”

Han enters the nest carefully, taking extra caution not to mess up any of your hard work. He takes a seat in front of you and gently takes both of your hands.

“My love, nobody enters your nest without your permission, do you understand? Nobody is entitled to your space, and none of us will ever enter this nest without your explicit permission.” You’re certain you’re as red as a tomato now, This was yours, and Han is okay with that, he says the whole pack will be okay with this being yours. It feels euphoric, having something that you can control like this, something in you snaps, like a small crack in an armored wall.

“Thank you. Thank you for this Jisung.” You don’t realize there are tears in your eyes until your smile causes one of them to fall down your cheek, for once they are happy tears.

“You don’t have to thank me for caring, we’ll always care.” Every wolf in the world can hear your heartbeat right now. Tears continue to flow down your cheeks, you’re so overcome with emotions that it’s almost overwhelming. Before you can ground yourself, you feel your omega come back to the forefront of your mind.

“Can we cuddle?” Your hand immediately flies over your mouth and panic sets in. Your words are blunt but Han can’t help the flutter those words cause in his chest.

“Don’t worry! Of course, we can, you deserve a nap after sleeping on the floor last night.” Han takes it upon himself to lay you both down together in the center of your nest. He lays your head on his chest and lets you drape your leg over his. Now Jisung is crying, not only is he proud of this step you’ve taken, but he's honored you wanted to take it with him. You don’t notice Jisung’s tears though, your mind too preoccupied with settling into dreamland once again.

“She has to get up and eat something.” A sharp voice pulls you from your sleep, you don’t open your eyes just yet a little dazed and a little concerned about what the conversation is about.

“But look at her, so cute and sleepy, and safe. She fell asleep on the floor last night, Can't she just sleep a little longer?” That whiney voice could only belong to Jisung.

“Ji, it’s almost noon.” The realization that an alpha wants you to do something hits you like a truck, you have to get up, you can’t upset Minho. So before Jisung can respond you cut him off.

“It’s fine Jisung, we can go eat now, our nap was nice.” Jisung’s face contorts into one of shock, but he smiles down at you accepting your answer without a fight.

Without a word you take Jisung’s hand, your mind still a little hazy from his scent surrounding you. When you make it to the dining room you notice the rest of the pack isn’t there but before you can question it Minho speaks up while pulling out your chair.

“Everyone already had breakfast, and it’s just us for now. Chan is spending the day with Felix and the rest of them are at work. Chan told me everything the doctor said and what foods were recommended for you so I did what I could. Please tell me if there’s something here you don’t like, I don’t want you to get sick again.” You take a moment to examine the plate, aside from the fact that it seems like way too much food you can confidently say nothing on the plate will make you gag.

“This is good, thank you Minho.” He smiles before taking a seat to watch you and Jisung eat. About halfway through the plate, you put down your utensils to wait for Jisung to finish.

“Are you full?” Minho speaks sharply but there’s no malice in his words, he seems more shocked than anything.

“It’s just a lot of food.”

“I gave you the minimum portions the doctor recommended, if you’re full that’s fine, you can just ask for more food when you get hungry again, but if you can eat just a little more that would be good for ou-“ a cough cuts off his words. “your pup.” He gives you a nervous smile but behind his eyes, you can see the encouragement, and just this once you feel safe to give in and eat more. You actually eat the whole plate and Minho’s face shows something you’ve never seen before from really anyone.

“I’m proud of you. If you get hungry again you have free rein in the kitchen or I can make you something.” But before you can give Minho a response you’re interrupted by Jisung.

“Minho hyung last week you said you’d take me to the store to get new headphones so I can stop using yours, can we go today?” If you were Minho you'd never be able to say no to him, his puppy dog face game is insane.

“Ji, Y/N just went out yesterday. I don't know if it’s a good idea if she goes out again, she needs rest.”

“I feel fine, we can go to the store, it’s no big deal.” Yeah, you definitely can’t say no to Jisung.

Jisung gasps and runs upstairs to get ready to go. You get up as well but Minho stops you.

“You don’t have to give in to him, if you don’t want to go for any reason, Say the word, nobody will be mad.“

“I’m okay.” You give Minho a gentle smile before retreating to get yourself ready. You take your time getting ready, admittedly a little nervous to go out with Minho. You don’t know him, you don’t know any of them. It's only been three days but with Felix, Chan, and now Jisung at least you’ve spent some time with them and they don’t seem like they mean any harm. But you at least have a little trust in Han, if he thinks going out with Minho is a good idea you’ll do it. So you continue getting ready, the anxiety settling into a small hum in your mind.

As you three walk towards the electronics section, Minho keeps a steady pace behind you and Jisung. You can feel his eyes burning into your back, so you aren’t surprised when he notices how your eyes linger on the baby section for a second too long.

“Y/N did you want to look?” You and Jisung stop in your tracks and turn towards Minho.

“No, it’s fine.”

“Oh my god yes let’s look at all the cute itty bitty clothes!” Jisung takes your hand to drag you further into the baby aisles, Minho making sure to catch up quickly.

“Have you thought about whether you want a nursery or do you want the baby to stay in your room?” Jisung’s question makes you freeze, because no you hadn’t thought about it. It feels wrong to think about it, like that future where you and the baby are staying with the pack feels unpromised, undeserved.

“Oh, I hadn’t thought about it. I think I’d like to keep my baby safe with me, you know? But I don’t know…” You trail off and look anywhere but at the two men in front of you.

“We have the space upstairs, if you want a nursery it wouldn’t be an issue and the pup wouldn’t be far from you at all, they wouldn’t be far from any of us,” Minho speaks up and something about the way he speaks with certainty almost eases your nerves, keyword being almost.

“Yeah, and if you want the baby to bond with all of us it might be good to have a neutral space where all of our scents frequent for them to sleep in.” His statement throws you off. Did you want your baby to bond with them? Is your baby safe with them? Would you all even make it to that point?

“Jisung!” Minho almost growls at him, clearly realizing that it was a touchy subject for you.

“What? What’d I do?”

“I’ll have to think about it, I guess.” And just like that immediately Jisung gets distracted and moves on.

“Oh look at these little fuzzy onesies! This one’s a bear! Oh, and this one’s a bunny! Oh, we have to get both, they are so cute and Minho hyung looks like a bunny, so he could have a baby bunny!” Jisung’s excited voice cuts through your thoughts, and you take a look at Minho just in time to catch the blush spreading across his face above his now prominent pout.

“You have to ask Y/N if she wants them Ji, it’s her baby.”

“Don’t you think they’re cute Y/N. Minho should buy them for the pup right?”

“Minho doesn’t have to buy me anything.”

“That’s not a no!” Jisung almost squeals as he picks out one of each onesie and continues browsing the adorable clothes.

“I’m sorry about him, he really likes cute things, and it doesn’t help that he already has his heart set on having a baby one day so this is something he thinks about often, if you need me to tell him to tone it down I can.”

“It’s fine, if I can do this for him, at least I'm being useful for once.” With that, you walk towards Jisung to do some looking around yourself. Just focus on your baby, yeah that will distract you.

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a-stars-art-blog · 6 months ago

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🎸🦈

Sooo…KlavRyan/KlavDar/DaryKlav????

#ace attorney #klavier gavin #daryan crescend #KlavRyan #KlavDar #DaryKlav #my art #I know every ship has multiple names and I just got here but what’s the go to ship name???#there’s like 6 of us and we’re all saying different things help lmao #ANYWAYS SURPRISE!!!#idk just the fact I’ve posted nothing but Ben Baro for almost a month and then I just hit yall with KlavDar out of NOWHERE #it’s super funny to me #I actually liked them before I rediscovered Ben Baro 😅 but I had no idea how to find more content of them #and it’s even more funny bc I forgot Daryan existed and I never really cared for Klavier either #but boy do I sure think about them together!!!#it was that line that Klavier said in 4-3 that got me here #went something along the lines of #‘At times like these I really wish you where here Daryan’#FUCKING BROKE ME LOCKED ME THE FUCK IN #so ofc I referenced that line here 🤭#I love their vibes #I have multiple dynamics in mind for them #like Daryan having a one sided crush #or a werid complicated relationship where Daryans all in but Klavier just won’t commit and is just unsure about it and kinda toxic too #could also be a they dated and broke it off but remained friends #which I like #I wish Daryan had a Mohawk instead….bbygirl what are you DOING #anyways fuck a character’s popular ship I WANT TRAGIC BEST FRIENDS #COUGH Ben/Baro COUGH KlavDar COUGH ClayPollo

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raifuujin · 1 year ago

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“I just don't like Gosho's use of ideas nowadays” do you have some examples? I’ve been feeling the same but I still don’t have like articulate thoughts on it

Well, 'nowadays' has been for. About ten years, ish? The most glaring example that always sticks out in my mind is the Sun Halo MK chapters, with the complete and utter waste of the very common fanfic tropes of 'Aoko gets suspicions' and 'Kid gets injured around someone'. But it kind of matches the general problem I have with his writing that I don't think used to be this bad: He's trying to stuff too much around the strict case-by-case structure (or for MK, introducing the heist-by-heist structure) without actually giving anything focus. (And for MK it's so much worse because he writes it so rarely, that he makes everyone cameo every time but they tend to just get hand waves to whatever drama plot gets instigated by Kid having his next heist.)

For DC, it's the whole. 1) Overarching plot with the BO and suspects and 'here's the available suspects for who's involved with the BO that we introduce one at a time at the end of cases and then maybe leave more clues about them during future cases'. 2) Dangling character or relationship progress and then constantly pulling it away, usually as a joke. 3) When we do occasionally get some of the major plot, it's all at once and then maybe mentioned once in the next case, but otherwise completely dropped. (Amuro and Akai and Kudo tea party tease also lingers as a 'Gosho is just evil at this point'.) Basically rigid structure that doesn't allow for much of the subplots aside from breadcrumbs.

For the current situation, it's also tied into interview comments. Which. have no bearing on the story until he actually uses them. But instead of even that, the movie gets exciting stuff instead and puts it in a giant limbo of is it meant to be canon or not, because no one has been able to settle on that for any movie, even as some details get connected back to the manga more and more.

It's bad writing. Gosho has been a bad writer for a long time, and it's kinda just getting worse. It's my opinion that it's because he tries to have his case after case after case (because mystery manga), and then stuff little bits of everything else in the seams, whether it works well with the case he's writing or if it's a good delivery or (more usually) it's just. Kinda tacked on.

It's partially because of time investment, partially because I have low standards of entertainment, and partially because I want to see how it all ends that I stick with DC. MK is. Similar, but hurts more because I really hate how it morphed into the DC structure when old MK had more you could do with it. Gosho will never drop his rigid case-by-case structure at this point, but it really would be better if he did at this point. Things need development that they're not allowed to have. Or at least smooth out the lines between his hints. And stop with Heiji and Kazuha, just. God. Stop. Is this how people felt about Kid appearances? I feel like at least when people were mad about Kid, they knew nothing was going to happen from the get go, the romance 'tease' is just painful.

#dc thoughts #It's really just a general feeling that I know Gosho /can't/ write drama that well #The writing style he's picked really doesn't allow him to; whether he /could/ write it well or not #So I don't like him going for an idea that sounds like a fanfic idea #Because it's never going to be as fun to watch as just. A fanfic. Because fanfic writers don't have to stick to genre or anything #/They/ can take time to explore character dynamics and implications and direct continuation of the idea into multiple chapters #Gosho literally /can't/ do it. At best; it's okay. At worst; it makes all the characters look so much worse #Because the characters are smart or dumb to allow whatever situation Gosho wants to happen /right then/#Because he can't wait too long to properly build up fun little ideas; he just smashes them in and moves on #(The Fairy Lip heist is also lingering. Most of what sticks in mind is Kid; as per usual)

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koushirouizumi · 1 year ago

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Katekyō Hitman Reborn! + Ep. #180 ~ Yamamoto & Tsuna {YamaTsuna} / 8027 + Moments & Interactions + Important Dialogues {Anime Ver.} + Character Development Parallels - Tsuna's Character Development{s}

"I put unnecessary 'Pressure' on you without realizing it..." - Tsuna, Initially

{"...I want you to stop."} - Tsuna, Later

Happy belated Birthday, Yamamoto! {Apr. 24th}

{Gifs by Me} {Do Not Re-post} {Do Not Re-produce Without My Permission} (Please ASK to Use)

#koushirouizumi khr #koushirouizumi khr cap #koushirouizumi tsuna #koushirouizumi 80x27 #8027 #yamatsuna #c: tsunayoshi #c: takeshi #c: hayato #khr: primo guardians arc #khr spoilers #(Just 80x27 Things)#({oK BUT} Lead in to Later Moments in Full)#(HI THESE CONCEPTS WERE G O O D)#(HI I NEED MORE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT + SELF A W A R E N E S S LIKE THIS IN S H O N E N SERIES *IN GENERAL*)#(Tsuna makes up for it later by c LARIFYING Too)#(Im honestly almost m AD this concept between them ISNT 'main' c ANON BC IT S H O U L D B E hHHHH)#(MORE ON THAT LATER T h o)#(Hi was it REALLY n ECESSARY to make {Takeshi} sound B r o k e n Voice'd while Watery e YES MULTIPLE TIMES BETWEEN BOTH This Sequence)#({Hayato} ofc gets pissed and is like 'k NOCK IT OFF I KNOW YOURE BETTER THAN THIS WHATS *WITH* YOU')#(&NEGL when I first watched like *2k10!!!* I had wondered if theyd Go There with Ch05 referring to BUT Yeah I Was Let Down in that regard)#(They Sure Did Get The Feeling of Ch05 {Takeshi} Down Here Though It Felt Like)#(Also {Takeshi} With The D r a m a t i c w INDOW SeatTM View)#(Tsuna WAS VERY GOOD STILL THOUGH in these eps and to this day I Long For More Like This From S h o n e n)#(Because this was TSUNA Trying to Give {TAKESHI} AN ***O U T***)#(TSUNA WANTED TO GENUINELY LET {TAKESHI} KNOW THAT TAKESHI COULD S T O P W V O N G O L A IF *TAKESHI WANTED*)#(*AND TAKESHI DECIDES TO CONTINUE f OLLOWING + P R O T E C T TSUNA a NYWAY* ALL BECAUSE OF SUCH MOMENTS BETWEEN THEM)#(LIKE YES ITS S H O N E N THATS THE GIST BUT ITS A GREAT DYNAMIC ID LIKE MORE OF IN SOME FORM SOMEDAY THANKYOU)#(HI THIS SET NOW RBABLE BUT PLEASE KEEP IN MIND I Have Blogrules That Should Be Followed I AM NEW TO K.H.R TAGS p OSTING PLS R E G A R D)#(I AM NOT New to K.H.R as a whole and actively followed m a n g a while it released in J.P.N until End but PLS BE KIND ON THIS THANKYOU)

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cherryskirbycorner · 1 year ago

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so I finished reading iyd where it's currently at a few days ago.

i am incredibly normal about @post-it-notes7 's Heart and Soul series. I can be trusted with these freaks I promise I won't keep microwaving all of the strawberries and blueberries I promise.

anyway good lird these two have been through so much. they need eepy time + bonus wishful thinking first few chapters in a nutshell

#kirby series #kirby fanart #cherry's kirb art #I DID SO MANY OF THESE INSTEAD OF MY MATH WORK LMAO.#pins ily and your art so much. i hope the sheer amount of my doodles effectively conveys the Grip your art of all kinds has on me #i have done multiple rambles about iyd and your artstyle to my friends. i am incredibly unnormal about their dynamic and how you write them #i want it no other way. thank you #the amount of times i was just like. JUST COMMUNICATE....so many.#if and whenever you write more do expect more fanart. or who knows more might come tomorrow. i hope you dont mind #they need to be allowed to say fuck at least once. itd make them feel a little better im certain of this/j #i do not have words to describe how much i appreciate your pieces but i also have so many. but not enough space. never enough space.#just know ily platonically ok and your art is scrumptious and i screamed several times during iyd out of various emotions #ok thats enough i think. i promise im normal

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t-u-i-t-c · 1 year ago

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okay i think i have an idea for my event set this month

#it will get no notes but what's new #anyways i'm excited to work on it #the theme is fools and i wanted to do multiple characters like a dynamic thing but not too much with a ship thing #bc i have a specific set in mind for them in the future for that so more in line with a canonical relationship they have #if you think about it you might figure out the duo 👀#hint: 🪄🌟#umbrella.process #umbrella.posts

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mandalhoerian · 5 months ago

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Fish in a Birdcage ৎ୭

ৎ୭ ⸻ rafayel has quite the storm raging in his mind during his artistic expedition to aridum. which, the root of his crisis he was trying to wean himself off of wasn't supposed to tag along to make him spiral further. funny thing is, you just think he's sick. he is. just infected by something far worse than you can imagine: crippling dependency.

ৎ୭ ⸻ SO MUCH BUILD-UP, momentary sickfic, anxious attachment issues, rafayel being hot and cold with the reader, angst, exhibitionism for like 0.01 seconds bc of bond shenanigans, switch4switch and constantly changing dynamics that comes with it, handjob, slight obedience kink, impromptu bondage play with rafayel's neck piece praise kink, obedience kink blink and you miss it, p in v, CLOTHED SEX ITS SO HOT 2 ME, unprotected sex, multiple rounds.

ৎ୭ ⸻ hello lads fandom, FIRST WORK HERE (it sucked my soul out i've been working on this for like tHREE weeks)!!! this is my adaptation of rafayel's nightly rendezvous card intertidal zone. a lot of it is based on my reading and understanding of the card, i'm so sorry for releasing this when caleb just released but, i hope you enjoy, much love <3 ( lil tag: @comatosebunny09 )

ৎ୭ ⸻ 26K, read on ao3

In retrospect, finding out Aridum was a city in the middle of a desert should have made you stop and think more about how the climate would actually affect Rafayel before diving straight into travel plans.

You know, a Lemurian.

Who, logically, wouldn’t fare well in the dry heat.

Rafayel flicking off your genuine concern like it was a bug on the surface tension of his fish tank was the first red flag you should have paid more attention to. In your defense, since he’d been there before and was confident enough to initiate banter, it was easy to give in and trust he knew what he was doing as he batted his lashes at you with those pretty dual-colored, sparkly wide eyes that left you starstruck in the face and said, “As long as I’m with you, I’ll be fine.”

Well. He was with you now and he wasn’t fine.

Because for once in his life, Rafayel didn’t have enough energy to run laps around you. Just a few minutes outside the hotel, lingering near the grand fountain square framed by towering palm trees that offered scant shade, and he began to deflate pitifully like a garish balloon leaking its vigor into the sweltering air. His usual dynamism, the kind that pulled attention to him as effortlessly as a river carved its path, had dimmed to a sluggish ebb, so much so you found yourself glancing over your shoulder every ten seconds, vigilance heightened by the unsettling absence of his ever-present current. The languid pace like he was moving through molasses made him look like an entirely different person than the one tugging you through the airport with even the luggage excitedly rolling behind him.

And it had been just a single day since you’d set foot in Aridum.

That wasn’t to say the trip had been a disaster or he was in terrible shape — you two were still on day one. Back in Linkon, he was, on paper, enthusiastic about pointing out local landmarks for you to go together like he knew the city personally, but he had quickly lost that energy when it actually came to the execution. You chalked it up to him not being able to get any sleep the previous night because of a mix of jetlag and the discomfort of a new bed, but regardless, it was still concerning to watch him only interested in stopping by street stands where he could buy himself cold water bottles and stand in a shaded corner in order to drink them slowly under shelter, while also dragging you with him, so there wouldn't be even a split-second distance between you two.

You were thankful you didn't have many plans in mind. Rafayel always packed enough enthusiasm for the both of you, but now, as you watched with wide-eyed worry how his spark had suddenly wilted, the drastic shift in his personality left him finding everything he suggested doing utterly unnecessary for the day. On top of that, after only managing to sit still for five minutes or so, it'd become obvious to see that the environment of this city, complete with a sun beating down hot enough to cook you alive, had taken a toll on Rafayel's temperament far more drastically than expected — rendering his eagerness completely sour.

But still, you wanted to cheer him up, you did. It broke your heart seeing someone who brought so much life into every room shrivel down to such a defeated shell. Maybe that's why you couldn't help yourself when you caught him pouting at something on the phone screen as if it'd done him a great offense.

So, you began teasing. “Rafayel, we haven’t even been out for thirty minutes, you're sweating already?"

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” you countered, only to squint at his face more closely. “Wait. You’re not?”

He threw his arms out like he was expecting a grander reaction. “Do you know what that means?”

“That you’re a human raisin in the making?”

He groaned, a sound that was more theatrical than pained, but you still caught the edge of frustration in it. “It means I’m seconds away from crumbling into sand. You’ll have to gather me up and carry me home in a jar.”

You started walking towards one of the fountains near some empty seats where shade was available, while he dragged himself behind you like a zombie. "Let's sit you down before you begin to form cracks."

The fountain’s spray misted faintly in the air, enough to make the stone bench beneath feel less like a skillet. Rafayel took extra care positioning himself on one of the seats before collapsing backward, draping one arm over his flushed face.

He took the bottle of yet another ice cold water you fished out from your bag without protest, but his free hand found your wrist and lingered there — light at first, then tighter, like he needed to anchor himself. The unexpected heat radiating from his skin sent a little jolt up your arm. You were about to comment on it, but then he tipped the bottle back and drank, and you swore you could feel the tension in his throat as if it was your own.

When he finished, he let out a breath — not a sigh, just an exhale that sounded heavy, deliberate, sprawling beside you, one leg stretched out, the other bouncing restlessly as he tilted his head back and squinted at the cloudless sky.

“I think I’m dying,” he announced, as if that wasn’t thr fourth time he’d said it today.

After your attention was made aware that he indeed wasn’t sweating by the dry hairline of his, though, the mood to banter had dissipated like a mirage. You began fussing. Was it normal that he didn’t sweat? If a normal person was like this, they needed to be taken to the hospital. However, Rafayel had done nothing but up the ante in complaining, that had to indicate nothing was seriously wrong, right? He’d know his body the best. Right?

“I told you to put on sunscreen this morning. Did you?”

He scoffed, “I don’t need it,” — and you heard the imaginary Lemurian in his tone rolling his eyes at your human expectations.

“Not with that attitude,” you shut him down, already skimming through your bag at an increasingly faster pace. “Now, keep still.”

Finding what you were looking for, you uncapped the bottle, reaching out with one hand to tilt Rafayel’s head left and right to gauge where to start. His skin under the pads of your fingertips felt almost brittle and paper-thin — unnatural on Rafayel, making you unconsciously rub like it was a stain you could get rid of. Without meaning to, you frowned, and he made a soft, lukewarm grumble, nudging your leg with his foot, reminding you what you were doing. Which was fussing over a grown man who should have been responsible from the start and able to take care of himself.

“Show me your forehead,” you said, wanting to get it out the way first.

He obediently carded his bangs back, silent, half-hooded eyes flicking everywhere on your face going ignored as you rubbed sunscreen in and felt what alarmingly was similar to a fever. It was a relief to hear him humming at the feeling, you hoped it would help as you quickly moved to spread the white lotion over his cheeks and smeared a stripe right across the bridge of his nose as he fixed his hair, squinting at your ministrations.

Though, somehow, he looked contented enough that you had to stop him from nuzzling into your hand. “Rafayel, I’m working here.”

All you got was a breathy, “Mmm,” as if he was speaking through the pleasant haze of sleep.

How contradictory of him, as always. For someone constantly grumbling about the unbearable heat, he leaned into every touch with a docility that defied reason — and worse, he initiated them, either molding against you like water taking the shape of the container it was poured into, or his fingers ghosting over your skin as though drawn by instinct. You couldn’t make sense of it. The mere thought of physical contact when the air was this heavy and oppressive made your skin crawl, but he seemed to revel in it. No, thrived on it.

It wasn’t just the way he didn’t flinch — he leaned in harder, his breaths hitching faintly, brow furrowed like he was wrestling with a need he barely understood. You’d swear the heat radiating from your skin would only make it worse, yet he tilted his face into your touch as though your thumbs brushing his cheekbones offered a balm, a strange, cooling relief.

Maybe, he perceived your skin to be indeed cooler than his.

It had to be something unique to his Lemurian physiology. His reactions didn’t make sense otherwise. What human would ever enjoy the sensation of warmth pressed against warmth in such sweltering conditions? And yet here he was, biting back what suspiciously sounded like a placid sigh, while you struggled to reconcile the peculiar contradiction.

“C’mon, don’t let me do all the work,” you muttered, quieter than you intended, the heat and the moment distracting you entirely.

You must have sounded a tad bit worried, because Rafayel didn’t react with his usual playful defiance or the melodramatic sulking he resorted to when things didn’t go his way. Instead, he fell silent, sinking more fully against your side as though he belonged there, and successfully narrowed the angle you were working with. His head tilted slightly, guiding your hand to the sharp line of his jaw with an unspoken invitation, eyelashes fluttering as he blinked, the haze of his voice turning soft and almost vulnerable. You couldn’t even see his face properly from looking at the top of the purple mop of hair blocking you.

"Do my neck too?"

Before you could decide, his hand encircled your wrist. Not tightly — not forcefully — but with a loose, guiding pressure that was maddeningly deliberate. He led your lotion-slicked hand to curve around his throat, the smooth, simmering heat of his skin pressing against your palm.

You hesitated, the instinct to pull away warring with the strange tension settling between you both, but his thumb found the delicate underside of your wrist and began tracing slow, thoughtful patterns that seemed designed to leave you paralyzed. You knew damn well how tenderly and skillfully he handled paintbrushes, and it was evident by the practiced precision of each touch that he was using the same sensibility on you, whether he was fully aware of it or not, which sent a warm burst of blood rising to your cheeks.

Seeming restless, Rafayel sat up straight and finally allowed you a clear view of him. His head tipped further back, exposing more of his neck to your hand, eyes darkened into to a shade of purple that seemed otherworldly in the harsh light of day. They glittered like faceted amethysts film-burned blue around the edges, soaking in every sunlit fleck of your features with a focus that made your chest tighten, like you were being studied with the assessment of the artist Rafayel before another’s painting, his focus unbroken save for the low hum he let slip, soft and unguarded.

You swallowed hard, aware of how exposed you were. The bustling world of Aridum hadn’t stopped turning just because the two of you had stumbled into whatever this was. A bead of sweat rolled down the back of your neck, but it wasn’t just the desert heat making you feel like you were suffocating.

This shouldn’t have been happening. Not here, not now.

Your breath shuddered as you finally regained enough sense to break the silence. "Do it yourself," you murmured, voice uneven as you pressed the bottle of sunscreen into his chest. You looked away, clumsily rubbing your hands on your arms to mask the way they trembled, pretending to rid yourself of excess lotion while wishing desperately to erase the heat radiating off your skin.

Rafayel sighed, a low sound of reluctant acceptance, as he pulled himself upright. His fingers glided over his neck, spreading the sunscreen where you hadn’t, his movements smooth and unaffected as he worked the lotion over his collarbones and along the nape of his neck. The sight was annoyingly graceful, as though he wasn’t feeling the same unbearable tension you were. If you’d have thought of bringing a small electric fan along today, it would have been inches from your face already.

"Maybe we should’ve gone out at night," you said abruptly, grasping for any lifeline to shift the moment’s focus. Your gaze darted to him as he worked, your cheeks burning hotter than the sunlight that baked the streets. "Now I feel bad."

"What for?"

"Making you come along. This must not be very inspiring.”

Rafayel let out an honest-to-goodness laugh. It rolled from his throat so easily and naturally that it seemed even he wasn’t aware of it until the sound tapered off into a quiet chuckle. Shaking his head, he leaned toward you until his temple rested lightly on your shoulder, his gaze unfocused as he stared absently at the fountain ahead. "I’m not giving up time with you just because the sun here wants me dead."

He completely bypassed the part about inspiration, but the sincerity in his words hit you like a splash of cool water on overheated skin. Your shoulders relaxed as you melted into a sigh, letting your head fall atop his, but the sticky warmth made the closeness unbearable almost instantly.

You promptly peeled yourself away with an, "Ugh.” He had already filled his making-you-feel-hot quota for the day, in every sense of the word.

Rafayel straightened just enough to meet your gaze, "That’s how you answer my heroic declaration?" he asked dryly, one brow arched in faux offense.

He didn’t budge, though, even though the heat seemed to bother him more than it did you. The stubborn set of his jaw spoke volumes, and it took a gentle nudge of your elbow to get him to finally sit upright. Even then, he let out a dramatic whine from deep in his chest as if being forced to separate was a personal betrayal.

"You’re lucky I’m rewarding it with mercy," you shot back, brushing a hand through your hair to vent your own rising frustration with the heat. "Come on, let’s head back. I need to get my fishie in the water before he dries up completely."

"But you wanted to see—"

"There’ll be plenty of opportunities in the future," you interrupted with a wave of your hand. "If anything, this was a good lesson about choosing the time we go out more carefully."

To your relief, Rafayel didn’t push back. He rose to his feet with you, though his sluggish movements and the slight downward pull of his lips suggested reluctance. As much as his leaning on you had been irritating in the heat, the sight of his faint frown made your chest tighten, and without thinking, you looped your arm through his and pulled him closer, even though the contact made your already overheated skin feel unbearable. His shoulders straightened slightly at the gesture, but the small crease between his brows didn’t disappear.

"I hear it’s seafood night at the hotel restaurant," you offered, attempting to lift his mood. He was obviously bummed out, but his stubbornness refused to show why outright. It was cute to a degree — childish almost, so endearing you couldn't find it in yourself to grow impatient with him. But you hated seeing him down. "If we head back now, we might snag a rooftop table.”

"Snag? Puh-lease. Worst case scenario, one glimpse of me and I could get us prime seating any time, anywhere," Rafayel scoffed. Still, the corner of his lip twitched upward as if tempted to smile, and you found yourself mirroring the reaction immediately. “And that whole thing would still be less bothersome than you assuming I haven’t secured us a reservation already.”

Later that evening, after dinner on the rooftop, the mix-up with the room service attendant delivering Rafayel’s envelope to your room turned out to be a convenient excuse to check on him. It had been hours since you insisted he take time to rest, and while he promised to settle in and let you know how he felt after freshening up, you hadn’t heard from him since.

You were greeted by the humidity hitting you in the face like a solid wall of rain when the door got opened though, instead of your boyfriend. Thick as fog like it had its own gravity.

Rafayel stood in the doorway, his hair dripping and clinging to his flushed skin in lazy dark purple rivulets, robe loose, the soft fabric blotched dark with water where droplets had slid from his neck and shoulders.

The room behind him radiated a different kind of heat — not the oppressive dryness of the desert, but the heavy, steamy warmth of someone trying to crawl their way back to comfort in the only way they knew how.

He looked better, at least.

The brittle edge that had been clinging to him seemed softened, as if he’d soaked away some of the tension in the beath he’d clearly stepped out of upon you knocking on his door.

Still, the sight of him — damp like a wet cat instead of a fish in his natural environment, robe-clad, the faint sheen of exhaustion still lingering in the way he leaned against the door frame left an odd twist in your chest.

He didn't look any worse for wear than he had earlier in the day when he’d claimed he wanted to spend the rest of his night marinating in ice cold water, and while seeing him not suffering was a relief, you clearly weren't expecting for him to actually mean what he said, even though the water obviously wasn’t ice cold.

The envelope, as it turned out, held a ticket to the memorial hall and an invitation to an art salon gathering hosted by one of his friends. Neither looked to be sparking any interest in Rafayel, however, despite him having come here for as much stimulation as possible for his inspiration.

You understood. It just wasn’t possible when he wasn’t feeling well.

The room itself was telling the entire story, in fact, chaotic in its stillness against the beauty of the floor-to ceiling windows framing the desert skyline in soft, shimmering lights of the city crowned by the full moon hanging proudly above. Papers were scattered across the floor in uneven piles, some curling slightly at the edges where they’d caught the artificial moisture in the air, blank and untouched, and some haphazardly sketched in a way you couldn't even begin to guess what they would become later. A few uncapped pens sat nearby, ink untouched, next to a can of soda that had long since gone warm. It wasn’t hard to guess what he’d been doing — or trying to do — in the hours since you’d left him.

So, you told him to stop forcing himself. Come enjoy the scenery with you.

It was your first instinct, but the words didn’t feel enough. You weren’t an artist, you didn’t know what would be good for the block he was going through. Even though your concern was genuine, you were clumsy at best at consolation.

But, he did lower himself onto the floor beside you anyway, his hands brushing against the scattered papers as he sat and leaned back on his palms. Like this, it was easy to imagine him search for his vision to come to him among the mess as he was attempting to draw, and end up with his gaze drifting out the window instead.

And then, as if he were a tide and the moonlight was pulling him inexorably to shore, he began to open up. Pushed by your mention of watching the view together, he spoke of sceneries. Of what traveling to discover secret corners of nature meant to him before everything changed — before he started creating. About how he used to just look at the world and feel it. Admire it. He didn’t need to do anything with it back then. A sunset was just a sunset, the sea was simply the sea, and neither asked anything of him but to exist alongside them.

Once he began to create, however...

Those discoveries done from a place of pure enjoyment became material, their beauty and pain turned into fuel. The act of looking became an act of taking. Of extracting. He started to see the world not as it was, but as something that could be stripped bare and transformed. A beautiful, bleeding wound. Every sunrise painted became a slice taken from the sun. Every ocean wave he put down on canvas was a handful of ocean lost. He couldn't experience sceneries for themselves anymore without having to to capture and translate them into a demand.

He didn’t look at you while he spoke, but the portrait of his honesty could be interpreted by even the most art-blind.

It was then that he dropped the bomb on you: “If one day, I become someone who only takes from you… If I were like that, would you leave me?”

That question dropped into the space between you like a stone in still water, sending ripples through everything you thought you understood about this moment.

But Rafayel was watching you in a way that made your pulse trip over itself, dissecting every flicker of your expression, like you were sitting in the middle of a high-stakes exam you hadn’t studied for. His fingers splayed on the ground besides yours were mere inches away, but even in that minimal distance, you sensed him drawing further back — a subconscious, reflexive reaction to fear, as if he needed to protect himself by retreating into some remote part of his mind, distant and closed off from the rest of him.

"Oh you silly fishie..." was your immediate response despite the whiplash he'd inflicted upon you, fondness rolling off your tongue easily, folding over itself into a dull ache for the struggle he was going through. "I won't leave you."

Your hand slid towards him, pinky finger crossing over until it brushed against his — gently, giving him ample chance to pull away before you covered his entire hand with your palm.

He was feverish again, despite all attempts made to soothe him, and the urge to smooth the pads of your fingers over his flushed skin, mapping each ridge and freckle that dotted his knuckles, surged forward within you. And you gave in, trying to make up for what you knew words would never be able to express, as you lightly rubbed lines onto the back of his hand.

It seemed to melt something in him, and he eased into your touch. It was an involuntary response to you reaching out for him — he tilted into you like he always did. It only lasted a second or two, however, before you felt him falter; like he noticed the instinctual motion midway, then consciously pushed down the reaction by gripping his thighs in an effort to sit back and avoid leaning in. Your heart dropped a little, confused, and you stole a peek at his face through the corner of your lashes to try to guess what he was thinking about.

What you saw only amplified how wrong everything felt. His features, which normally softened whenever you reached out for him, tightened, pensive. He frowned, holding back — hesitant about something, unreadable except for a subtle unease creeping in around the edges.

Even before he broke the silence, you had the awful premonition that his next words weren't going to be what you hoped to hear.

"Are you sure?" he asked, measured and quiet, and you knew you were right. This was trouble.

You squeezed his hand lightly despite wanting to do the very opposite, reassuringly, "Do you really think I’d stay even a second longer with someone I know is bad for me?"

He remained unresponsive.

“Rafayel?”

You made it about yourself, idiot, you realized.

Instead of acknowledging him and his cue for more reassurance and affirmation, you'd shifted the attention from him to trust in your decision making. You hadn't meant to, you hadn't done it deliberately — but...

Gosh, you were absolutely terrible at this.

So much so that Rafayel being the more emotionally in-tune of the two of you even in his vulnerable state was setting a humiliating new standard for how low you could go.

It was pathetic, really, how utterly you failed to pick up on what should have been an obvious cue. There wasn’t a shred of doubt in your mind that he’d taken your clumsy words as a glaring sign you found his struggles trivial, insignificant compared to your own convenience. All you’d managed to do was shove him deeper into the spiral of insecurities he was already battling.

This was supposed to help him clear his head. All it had achieved so far was adding onto his concerns.

Despite your determination to pour everything you had into assuaging the gnarled knot of his self-doubt, you were woefully unqualified for the task. Unmoored, you floundered blindly through half-finished thoughts, grasping for ways to communicate your feelings — gracelessly, imprecisely — all in hopes of soothing whatever ugly thoughts tangled around your boyfriend's brain like weeds choking the life from fertile soil.

Your stammering words stuck to the roof of your mouth like taffy, thick, unwilling to yield, and suddenly useless, coming out slow as you spoke. “What I mean by that is… My life has been consumed by you. In the best way possible. You made it ito a beautiful, chaotic mess bursting with life. I couldn’t possibly leave you.”

And he heard it — you felt it in the faint shuddering breath he drew as a silent response.

His thumb swiped over your pinky in absent response, stroking soothingly over the thin bones as he stared at your joined hands. His shoulders hadn't relaxed even marginally, but there was still an immeasurable kindness in the gesture.

“Besides, you’re not someone who takes. That’s not true at all. You’re just…”

He looked up then, turning his head to you, a doe-eyed, half-dazed blink breaking past the glassy stare he'd fixed on the empty space in front of him. His hand twitched underneath yours, flexing as he made a questioning noise, wordlessly urging you to elaborate as he invited comfort from your explanation. The way he tilted his head, the corners of his furrowed brows slightly angled upwards — the effect was childlike, innocent almost.

Receptive.

Breaking through your hesitation to touch him lest he shrink away again, you lifted both hands to cradle his cheeks gently, smoothing your thumbs across the high sweep of his cheekbones until his eyelids slid shut.

A soft sigh fell from his parted lips, his body pliant in your grasp as he melted under your fingertips, as if the gesture were more potent than any reassurance you might offer. The climbing tension within your ribcage dissolved with a single exhalation at the sight — helplessly endeared by his sheer willingless to submit to your awkward, inexpressive attempt at consoling. Subtle adoration burned quietly beneath each featherlight caress you placed along the slope of his nose or the soft patches underneath his eyes.

"You're just feeling a little anxious," you continued carefully, brushing a stray piece of damp hair away from his temple. It stuck stubbornly, refusing to let itself be tucked behind his ear before you tried again, gentler this time, hoping to soothe any lingering reservations you hadn't managed to wash away. “That’s probably why you’re overthinking things.”

In the brief silence that followed, anxiety bubbled low in your stomach once more, especially when he seemed to be focusing somewhere on your neck and ignoring looking you in the eye directly. It came as yet another whiplash and a sinking feeling simultaneously when he covered one of your hands with his, tilting his chin to plant a kiss into the centre of your palm as if making up for the withdrawal from earlier.

"What, were you playing tricks on me?" you murmured.

Shaking his head, "A token of my gratitude," he clarified. A gentle huff of laughter slipped past his lips, so faintly that you would've missed it had you not been staring at him with rapt attention in your bewilderment. "For you. Who accepted someone like me."

You frowned, eyebrows immediately drawing close. “Rafayel—”

He leaned in all of a sudden, one of his arms slid behind your back, while the other stretched across in front of you, caging you in with an unnerving ease. Both his hands rested flat against the floor now, framing you on either side like a living barricade. Your own left arm shot down to slap a palm down so you wouldn't topple over on your side. The droplets falling from his damp hair onto your neck was a sharp, sudden cold in comparison to the alarming heat radiating from his body, making you jolt in place as he loomed close enough for his breath to fan across your face.

"You're burning up again," you said weakly, trying and failing spectacularly to disguise your nervousness with indignance as his lips brushed softly against the apple of your cheek before ghosting lower, pausing just beneath your ear, testing for a reaction.

Meanwhile, him taking your hand that was balled up in a fist on the ground to slowly bring it towards his mouth left you frozen and dizzy from the contradictory sensations prickling under your skin.

Rafayel hummed against your wrist in response, dropping light kisses along the ridge of bone connecting your thumb to the rest of your fingers in the interim. It was impossible to ignore how every one of his touches ignited something different within you — the sensation of him painting the length of each finger with tender brushes of his lips and heated exhales sent pulses of liquid warmth flowing through your bloodstream.

The abrupt shift had left you uncertain about many things, chief among which being whether your previous efforts actually sank in at all or not.

Apparently they had.

The combined assault was distracting, but even amidst the whirlwind of thoughts vying for attention, you struggled to fully comprehend just how drastically the moment had veered off course — how your own worry-stricken attempt at appeasing him ended here instead, with your pulse hammering in your ears as he pressed even closer, draping his arm around your waist to turn you sideways until you were nearly sitting on his lap, faces inches apart.

A glimpse hope of maintaining control over the situation arrived in the form of a can toppling over during his handling of you, clattering on the hardwood flooring and startling you enough to snap free of the strange trance Rafayel had ensnared you in during his momentary lapse in focus.

Being so close gave you a good look at the change in him that manifested suddenly; his features visibly hardened as he turned his head at the disturbance, seemingly irritated to have been interrupted midway — a dark glint shone through his lashes before shifting over to you, misty, hazy, indescribable in its raw complexity.

His bathrobe hung loose, the neckline slouched further down one shoulder from having moved so much earlier, displaying more skin than was appropriate, and you weren’t sure if you were imagining the faintest hint of familiar coloration mottling his chest.

Which was dry.

Not only had his skin absorbed all the moisture that clung to it like a sponge after stepping out of the bathroom, there was no hint of perspiration whatsoever — not a bead of sweat lining the ridges of his collarbone or dampening the strands of hair stuck to his forehead.

As if responding to your inner thoughts, he lamented, "As you said, I'm anxious... Well, more like... Restless," before leaning in further to bury his face in the crook of your shoulder. "Ever since I arrived here, I feel..."

His arms encircled your waist, pulling you flush against the expanse of his chest and filling your nose with the scent of bodywash. It was no less than holding a solid block of heat capable of radiating more than enough warmth to replace an actual human furnace. The sheer amount of radiated temperature seemed ridiculous in such conditions, but the way he tried the loosen the already disheveled robe covering his other shoulder despite coiling around you, which had to be the source of the biggest discomfort concerning heat, was even more ridiculous. Shouldn’t he have let go of you before complaining?

"The air feels like it's burning, like there's not enough moisture anywhere. My heart's racing and I feel so miserable," he admitted quietly, muffled in the material of your shirt.

Yeah, you were taking him to a hospital.

This wasn't normal by any means, especially since you were now a hundred percent sure Rafayel couldn't sweat in order to regulate his internal body heat.

How could you let this go on for so long? He had been suffering these symptoms for a whole day now, hiding it all under layers of petulant frustration and overdramatic complaining to escape having to ask for help.

He was always like this. So secretive and reserved about his struggles underneath all the goofiness, especially those directly related to him being a Lemurian.

You put a hand on his burning chest and pushed yourself away to put some distance between the two of you and this moment, ignoring his quiet gasp and the way he clutched your waist. "I'm taking you to a—”

Suddenly, the world spun off its axis, a dizzying blur of motion that ended with your back colliding against the floorboards.

The impact sent a ripple through the room — drawing pens clattering and rolling away, half-sketched papers crumpling beneath you, while others scattered into the air like startled birds, carried by the gust of displaced air.

As you blinked up, trying to shake the daze from your mind, the world sharpened into focus.

The light cascaded over Rafayel like liquid mercury, accentuating every sharp edge and soft curve of his form. His bare legs straddled your hips, knees pressed firmly into the ground on either side of you, pinning you in place with an effortless authority. His hands had found yours in the chaos, and now your wrists were restrained above your head, his long fingers encircling them with a grip that was firm yet somehow shaky.

The bathrobe he wore hung precariously, one shoulder already exposed to the moonlight’s caress while the other threatened to follow suit, the fabric dipping low to reveal a tantalizing V that stretched from his clavicle down to his navel. Tendrils of lilac hair curled lightly downwards with gravity, catching the light from outside, glittering like morning dew against a canvas of violet satin and plopping down onto your face, each impact making you blink. And his face, suffused with a flush so intense that it seemed to glow under the pale lighting, as if all the blood in his body had rushed to stain his fair skin with an undeniable rosy bloom.

The cool floorboards beneath your skin were contrasting harshly with the heat of his touch, and the helpless position left your pulse racing in a way you couldn’t entirely blame on adrenaline.

Rafayel lowered himself until his nose brushed lightly against yours, his breaths shallow and uneven, eyes caught halfway between hazy drowsiness and burning intensity — a vivid shade of sunless plum made darker not by the shadows cast across his features, but a deeply buried and masterfully concealed emotion on the verge of making itself known to you.

To call it desire wouldn't do it justice.

It was something far stronger than fleeting arousal or casual infatuation — you hadn’t been looked at this way before. Weren’t even sure if a man could look at someone like this. There was nothing superficial or mundane about this particular weight. It sought to consume you. To burn you alive, leaving you to crumble into ashes like incense offered up to a deity. And the worst part? You had no idea what exactly you were being consumed by, or why.

All of this, because you had merely wanted to—

“No. I’m not going anywhere,” he hissed as if sensing your plan, breath dragging along the edge of your ear. "I'm just... restless.”

But—

“In every sense of the word.”

Oh?

Your mind reeled, dizzy from the intoxicating cocktail flooding your senses — from his breaths washing over the side of your neck, to the overwhelming sensation of Rafayel on the verge of draping over you like a living brand, hot and firm, trapping you in place.

"Especially when you're by my side," he purred.

Oh.

He pulled back to stare you down, heavy-lidded and glinting like knives honed razor sharp, yet somehow tender in his approach. If anything, it served only to accentuate the danger of whatever it was simmering below the surface. This was different than his Ebb Day state, but similar enough in its intent to be instantly recognizable — especially since it bore all the marks of the manic rush he fell victim to when succumbing to the lure of his instincts.

It was something primal in you that scattered your thought process into oblivion and made you look away instinctively, averting your attention toward the window off to your left — but the sparkling view of night time in Aridum was soon curtained by a flash of Rafayel's hand as he cupped the side of your face in one smooth motion.

The slight roughness of the pad of his thumb brushed along your cheekbone until his fingers sank into your hair, fanned along the outer edge of your ear, and turned you back to face him. The gesture felt proprietary, like he wanted to make certain he'd captured every last scrap of your undivided attention, like it physically hurt to allow even the smallest opportunity for you to withdraw and escape his grasp.

“Rafayel,” you forced your common sense to come out of its hiding place. “I don’t think—”

"But even so, I can't let you go. I don't want to," he breathed against your lips, punctuating his command with an achingly slow drag of his nose tracing yours. The contact made something molten unfurl in your belly, warm and sticky-slick and pooling in the hollow space below your navel, curling its tendrils through your veins like sweet, syrupy nectar. "What should I do?"

It would be easier than breathing to surrender and give him whatever he was asking for, but... but...

It felt wrong when he was so distressingly hot to the touch, not to mention you couldn't shake off the feeling he was doing his best to distract you from your worry by acting more brazenly suggestive than you'd ever seen him be before.

"You should rest, I don't think you'll enjoy getting worked up in your current condition—"

Your efforts were derailed with the subtle scrape of chapped lips running up the slope of your neck and a bite into the fleshy part below your ear as punishment for daring to answer his plea with platitude.

A shudder shook your frame, nerves firing off confused messages in quick succession throughout your brain, half demanding the sudden pressure recede and half urging more from the tingling heat. Your hand flew to grip his bare shoulder, fingers digging in until the tight bunch of muscle strained beneath his fevered skin — not enough to stop his ministrations, but enough to serve as a weak deterrent.

"Such lovely lips, spinning such pretty excuses," Rafayel huffed, drawing back and sweeping his thumb across your chin with gentle disapproval. "When we both know you don't want me to let you go either."

The words trailed off into something softer, tender, almost wistful, and were followed by the pad of his finger slipping past your parted lips, stroking along the underside of your tongue before drawing back and skimming across the wet patch he'd left glistening upon your bottom lip. As if magnetized, his smoldering stare followed, entranced by the minute trembling of your mouth, darting occasionally upward to capture your own hooded eyes at the sudden boldness of his gesture. He licked his own lips slowly as if thirsty, mirroring the same lazy stroke he'd used against your mouth, allowing you to take your fill of the sight.

No.

Before you could fall into his enticing trap again, your palm pressed firmly against Rafayel's chest until he eased back obediently, giving you space to rise, every single sensation previously pink at the edges quickly melting into clarity about taking care of him properly.

"This isn't the right time," you insisted breathlessly once you managed to catch your breath and speak, steadfast with the strain of iron will alone — pushing forward when your mind threatened to wander where his moistened lips had been just seconds before.

The mood was quickly dispelling, much to Rafayel's clear irritation, judging by the petulant slouch of his shoulders. You emphasized your point by putting your hands on his forehead, cheeks, neck, every patch of skin you could reach, the clear intent of medical examination being communicated silently until he relented with a dramatic sigh, turning his face upwards to expose more of his throat as if giving permission.

"It's fine," he groused reluctantly, although his grumbling somewhat relenting in volume under your gentle inspection. "I'm not dying."

"That's the opposite of what you said earlier today. Are you sure you don't want—"

His hands closed firmly around your wrists, tugging you off gently before you could finish speaking. "It's really not that bad.”

You’d be more convinced if he'd just told you about how miserable he was feeling.

"Is it a Lemurian condition?" You frowned up at him, taking note of how carefully he cradled your hands in his palms, stroking the insides of your wrists. "If it's making you feel awful, shouldn't we see someone about it?"

Rafayel tilted his head at you with a peculiar sort of fondness written across his features. It was difficult to identify what precisely made his smile curve upward into something distinctly knowing, yet warm — something infinitely affectionate yet impossible to quantify.

"Already doing that," he answered cryptically, tilting forward until he met your forehead with his own, nuzzling into the creased spot directly between your brows, eyelashes fluttering shut.

Ugh, this man.

"Do you know for a fact if you'll be okay?" you asked as delicately as possible without sounding too overbearing. That would definitely push Rafayel closer to defensive territory again and have him brush off any attempt at assistance, or even conversation, so you needed to walk the tightrope of concern while still keeping it mild enough for him not to clam up. "This trip still has a few more days left. What if you don't get better?"

The corner of his mouth twitched faintly with a ghost of a smile, perhaps pleased by your attentiveness —— "I enjoy this kind of concern."

—— which was starting to irritate you a little. "Well, I don't. Seeing you suffer and not doing anything isn't enjoyable."

He had the audacity to grin at that, broad enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes as he ducked his head coyly before turning it sharply to brush the tip of his nose against the shell of your ear and murmuring, "Not enjoying seeing me suffering does imply some enjoyment in seeing me otherwise."

"Rafayel!" You snapped finally, jerking out of his embrace with exasperated incredulity, only to meet an unrepentant smile waiting for you beyond your escape. He wasn't deterred whatsoever, which was a little unnerving.

Or rather, the rapid shift to your own pent-up restlessness was about to become in the next two days.

The limbo between then and the memorial hall day unfolded in a whirlwind of contradictions, each more puzzling than the last — starting from the abrupt ending to your interlude in front of the window, where he suddenly pulled back without any warning at all, leaving you cold and stunned with the excuse that he wanted to go to sleep, subsequently kicking you out of his hotel room as if possessed by a demonic force capable of inducing selective amnesia.

Like he wasn’t asking to fold you in half like a laptop mere moments ago.

The result was you forcing mandatory house rest until the day of the memorial hall visit came, settling awkwardly between coddling and hovering — a weird blend of fussing over his health like a mother hen and trying desperately not to make him feel infantilized as a result of said fussing.

All of that only ended with him either clinging close or deliberately distancing himself in confusing waves that seemed to occur at random intervals with little rhyme or reason.

It was simultaneously bewildering and heartbreaking. You had no idea how to react when he gave you zero insight into his thoughts and behaviors unless coaxed open, and even then, his answers were cryptic.

(So much for enjoying your concern.)

Really, this was your fault.

Maybe you shouldn't have pushed. But you worried.

Especially when he was dismissive like that despite being openly going through something other than a fever and a creative block, made worse by his inability to leave the hotel due to the hostile environment. Both of which you could do nothing to help with.

He would sit at the edge of the bed, his sketchbook propped open but untouched, pencil hovering above the page as though waiting for some divine spark that refused to come. At times, he’d stand by the window, reminding you of a cat sitting by its food dish for its owner to fill it with dinner, paw swiping irritatingly at its empty confines. Then, just as abruptly, he’d abandon his spot to sprawl across your lap instead while you were busy with paperwork online, one arm draped loosely over his stomach as he stared blankly at the ceiling in defeat, and demanding you play with his hair.

Then, some time later, it was back to deciding being near you was unbearable, pulling away entirely whenever you reached out for reassurance, no matter how casual or friendly your intentions, retreating back into his personal bubble to focus on attempting to get something on paper mindlessly, pages fluttering with restless action, crumpling here and there under the rough treatment before being smoothed out hastily.

The cycle continued nonstop. Restlessness, fatigue, clinginess, building you up while you didn't let it show because time and place, solitude, then back again — you never knew what Rafayel's whimsies were going to bring, and the uncertainty of it wore you thin, fraying your already wan nerves.

The humidifier was a desperate, last-ditch effort, the kind born out of sheer frustration and the kind of exhaustion that makes rationality optional.

You’d bought it from a small local shop at the crack of dawn, spurred on by the memory of walking into Rafayel’s suite only hours before, where he’d bullied the hotel staff into delivering two oversized sacks of ice — each roughly the size of a small child — and ordered them to be dumped unceremoniously into his bathtub.

At 3 AM. In the dead of night.

By the time you returned and set it up, the machine had barely begun spitting out its first gentle stream of cool mist before Rafayel sat down beside it, legs folded beneath him like a solemn monk meditating in front of some sacred relic. His quiet intensity as he stared at the thing made you wonder if he was grateful, resentful, or some combination of both — because with Rafayel, it was never as simple as one emotion at a time.

Still, the day turned out to be noticeably easier on him, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, the worst had passed.

He still looked like death warmed over, often pink on the face and worn, but at least he wasn’t on the brink of staging another late-night ice-bag heist.

He even tolerated your awkward attempts to distract him, accepting your offerings of snacks, endless glasses of ice water, iced tea, whatever cold beverages you could scrounge up, and a marathon of that one TV show the two of you had been meaning to watch together.

And, of course, there was the doting.

So much doting.

Which was rare for you.

You were not, by any stretch of the imagination, the kind of person who showered people with attention. You weren’t the mom friend. You didn’t hover. But something about Rafayel in this state, rightfully whiny, subdued, far too fragile for your liking, made you want to roll him over in bubble wrap and shove him in your pocket to keep him safe from everything.

In some ways, you were more anxious than he was.

The helplessness swung at you like you were a tree and it was an axe, the inability to snap your fingers and fix him, to just make it better was torture. Worrying felt inevitable, but useless. And the not knowing what to do with yourself in between bouts of fretting? That was worse. Still, he wasn’t showing any signs of further deterioration, which felt like a victory you didn’t want to jinx.

You were so relieved you briefly considered leaving all your savings to the shop clerk who’d sold you the overpriced humidifier. She had probably thought you’d lost your mind, judging by the way you thanked her like she’d just handed you a ticket to salvation, practically singing her praises as she rang up your purchase. And honestly, if you could go back in time, you would’ve thanked her even more profusely.

Because it worked. Rafayel was better — well, better-ish. Better enough that you decided it was safe to move forward with the plan to visit the memorial hall.

Which, eventually, became a visit to the ocean.

An ocean.

In the middle of a desert.

The sheer impossibility of it left you breathless, like you were standing at the edge of a fever dream made real. The water stretched out endlessly, shimmering beneath the brutal sun, and you couldn’t stop marveling at the sheer absurdity of it — a body of water so vast, so alive, nestled in a place it had no right to be. It felt like a miracle.

It was a miracle.

And just when you thought the desert couldn’t surprise you further, the skies proved you wrong soon enough later, crowning the experience with snowfall at the end of the trip. Snow, delicate and silent, drifting from the sky like a benediction.

You couldn’t help but marvel at it all — at how the world had managed to gift you two impossibilities in the span of a single day. It felt like the desert itself was defying logic, bending over backward to offer something beautiful, something extraordinary, as though it wanted to prove it wasn’t all hardship and sunburnt misery.

But Rafayel stood by the edge of the ocean with a look that made your chest ache — a look that spoke not of wonder, but of mourning. To you, it was a miracle, but to him, it was a tragedy: a dying ocean trapped in a place it could no longer thrive, its very existence a reminder of something slipping away. An everlasting eulogy engraved into reality.

He didn’t look away from the canvas of pain he had set up and started painting for himself until you voiced all of what you thought out loud for him to see.

And this time, you truly felt like you had broken through — like you’d reached him in a way that mattered.

It was there, in that rare, fragile moment, that Rafayel dove straight through your hesitation, sidestepping the awkward pauses you were fumbling with, and pulled you into an embrace before you even had the courage to ask if you could. It was as though he had heard the unspoken thought aloud, plucking it out of the air with startling precision.

And then he’d confessed — softly, almost too softly — that at the time, he had wanted to come here before, with the most important person in his life.

Those words lodged themselves in your chest, a bittersweet ache blooming alongside the unmistakable joy bubbling up within you. You hugged him back as tightly as you could, pouring all the gratitude you didn’t know how to put into words into that one simple gesture. Gratitude for trusting you enough to share that. Gratitude for showing you yet another new side of himself, something unguarded and rare. A treat, indeed, one you hadn’t expected but cherished all the same.

Relief flooded through you, so potent it felt like a physical weight lifting from your shoulders. You hadn’t even realized how tense you’d been until that moment. Your body relaxed, and with that relaxation came fatigue, the kind that crept up on you and left no room for resistance. Before you knew it, you had fallen asleep during the entire way back, lulled into a rare sense of peace you hadn’t felt in days.

And yet.

Like clockwork, he withdrew the instant you arrived back at the hotel.

Rafayel never thought he’d truly understand what it meant to drown.

As a creature of the sea, he wasn't meant to in the first place.

Not until you.

The realization had hit him like a storm breaking over still waters — not all at once, but in slow, rumbling waves that built. He didn’t even feel himself breaking; it was more like a slow erosion, the kind that wears stone into sand. Quiet, but irreversible. Your optimism. Your touches. Your encouragement. Inching in and in and in one step at a time.

(It was snowing in the desert.)

He had been holding himself together in the driver's seat, hands knotted around the steering wheel and knuckles bloodless with how tightly he gripped. Every inch of him vibrated with anxiety, away from where you lay fast asleep beside him, breathing shallow and uneven like he was afraid of exhaling too loudly. But there you were, oblivious, asleep, your head leaning softly against the window as if his world hadn’t collapsed in on itself.

(It was snowing in the desert.)

It wasn’t the desert heat that was killing him, though it might as well have been. (Everything about this place grated against him — the air, the dry scrape of his skin, the silence of the fading ocean that was too vast to be comforting. Too big. Too empty. Fading. Fading. A warning from cities away that this land was no place for a creature like him.) He wasn’t meant for this — for the cracked earth and the relentless sun and the suffocating absence of water. His body ached for moisture, for the cool, familiar embrace of the sea, but it ached even more for you. (He didn’t even realize how long he had been watching you from the corner of his peripheral vision — how long he had been unraveling, thread by thread.)

You’d tilted his world off its axis, turned everything he thought he knew into something unrecognizable. Once, pain had been his anchor. It was always there—constant, unyielding, something he could hold on to when nothing else made sense. It had driven him, fueled him, given him purpose when nothing else could. He had sought it out like a man dying of thirst seeks a mirage, and it had never failed him. Pain was constant. Pain was reliable. Pain was everything. Inside. Outside. It was all he had ever known, and it had kept him alive — fed the anger that gnashed his insides with teeth and claws, soothed the beast that prowled just under his skin, tempered the instinct that drove him relentlessly onward. Toward destruction. Towards home.

He had used it as a shield, as armor, as the whip he wielded against those who dared to clip the tails of his people. A weapon. A tool. A brush.

And then there was you (who he'd willingly sought out, angry and grieving and resentful and hurt.)

You, who didn’t fit into his carefully crafted world of suffering and art and revenge. You, who had made him forget (as easily as you forgot him) what it felt like to hurt, to ache, to yearn for something greater than himself. To hate. To see others bleed while his fingers flew across canvas after canvas, leaving only beauty in their wake — only soaring wings, only gleaming scales, only flowing water, only living fire, only reaching skies, only rushing wind, only rising floods...

Only you.

(It was snowing in the desert.)

Except now, he did yearn. He yearned in a way that was foreign and unbearable, in a way that felt like drowning — not in water, but in light, in warmth, in the overwhelming weight of wanting something too much. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he wanted you this much — needed you this much — when he didn’t even know who he was without all the hurt and hatred inside. It wasn’t fair that he felt something hot and ugly churning under his skin whenever you smiled up at him in admiration, filling his stomach with lead until he thought he might collapse beneath its heaviness. It wasn't fair that there were times when he thought it might actually be better not to have met you again at all.

(That thought filled him with dread so immense it threatened to crush the breath from his lungs; the possibility of having spent his entire life stumbling aimlessly through darkness towards a destination he was no longer sure even existed — )

He watched you sleep, the rhythm of your breathing steady and unbothered.

His gaze lingered on your hands, resting loosely in your lap, fingers twitching faintly as if even in sleep, you were reaching for something. (Reaching for him?) He wanted to take them in his own, to press them to his lips, to hold on so tightly he’d never have to let go. But he couldn’t. (He wouldn’t.)

Because the moment he did, he knew he’d lose whatever fragile standing he had left.

(“Isn’t it a surprise that there’s an ocean in the desert?”)

His thoughts spiraled, looping back on themselves in a tangle of contradictions that refused to resolve; questions without answers, fears without resolutions. What had he become, to need you like this? To depend on you like this? To depend on you so completely that even the idea of your absence felt like the loss of something vital — something essential — an emptiness he wasn't prepared to face.

(What must you think of him? Did you even know what you did to him? What would you think of him?)

He had told himself he could manage it, that he could stay close enough to feel your warmth but far enough not to burn. But that was a lie, wasn’t it? He was already burning. He had been burning since the moment he met you. An addictive pain — the kind that made him ache for more even as it seared him from the inside out.

And before he knew it, the car was parked beside the hotel entrance around the far corner of the garden, and Rafayel didn’t remember driving there at all.

He blinked, confused for a moment as to how exactly he had managed to pilot the vehicle, when you stirred quietly in the passenger seat, drawing his attention like a moth to flame.

You groaned softly, eyelids fluttering, but remained firmly locked within slumber's grip as he unbuckled your seatbelt for you, as gently as if he were handling fine china. Your head leaned sideways against the headrest and faced him, slack and soft with sleep. His fingers twitched around the plastic buckle, curling into a fist until he thought they might cramp under the strain.

He leaned forward, forehead coming to contact with the cool leather surface of the steering wheel, squeezing his eyes shut tight enough to blot out your presence entirely.

There was too much to process — too many feelings, thoughts, sensations threatening to overwhelm him if he looked directly at them, instead swirling through his head like debris caught in a vortex, invisible yet disorienting nonetheless.

But they all blipped out of existence the moment he turned his head around, following the impulse to look.

(“Isn’t it a surprise that there’s an ocean in the desert?”)

The urge struck Rafayel with all the force of a lightning bolt — bright, sudden, unavoidable — and suddenly the knuckles of his fingers were sliding across your cheek, feather-light in gentle arcs along the arch of your cheek, savoring every inch of satin flesh as it shifted beneath his caress.

The sensation of touch buzzed pleasantly underneath his skin previously starved, reveling in the sweetness of contact after so many days of withdrawal.

The artificial light coming from outside bathed your sleeping form in a glow that cascaded like a gentle waterfall, chiaroscuro shadows casting angles upon your features, emphasizing every line and curve, and for a long time, all he could do was stare. He could feel your breath against the tips of his nails, warm puffs of moist exhales against his calloused flesh, and found himself fixating on the gentle undulation of your chest as you breathed — unconsciously, mindlessly unaware of what such a simple act did to him.

The memory of your voice echoed in his mind, soft and certain, cutting through the chaos like a beam of light.

"Isn’t it a surprise that there’s an ocean in the desert?"

You had a way of reframing everything, of taking the pieces of his broken world and rearranging them into something that almost looked like hope. (He hated it. He loved it. He hated that he loved it.) It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.

You hadn’t asked to become such an integral part of his existence — so intrinsic and fundamental and irreplaceable. Yet somehow, here you were. Here he was. The absence of water, the grief of it. The grief of what it meant to lose something so essential, so intrinsic, that one didn’t know how to live without it. And that grief had found a new home in you. You, who had become his ocean, his escape, the source of every ache in his chest and joy in his heart.

(Isn't it a surprise that there's an ocean in the desert? Isn't it a surprise you're the muse calling to him and not the muffled, fading cries of the dying ocean in pain, not the skeletal remains of an era he'd never get back?)

He gazed, and gazed, and gazed, drinking you in like a thirsty man lost in a sea of golden sands, watching the subtle play of lights over the curves of your face — the delicate angle of your chin, the arch of your nose, the graceful slope of your neck as it curved into collarbone and shoulder — memorizing every detail he could, without the pressure of having to wrench himself back before he drowned in your wake, without the need to pretend to your face he was anything less than desperate to be with you all day, every day, in every way possible. And that the sound of your voice in his ears was enough to get the paintbrush running across paper from the sheer momentum of his imagination.

But he couldn't keep going like this.

Somehow, somewhen, between the start of your journey and now, this thing had begun shifting irrevocably past his ability to contain it any longer. Had grown exponentially until it seemed to dwarf his capacity to handle it. All it would take was being away from you for a mere few hours to bring him to a level of misery that was honestly embarrassing.

And you had no idea.

No idea that orbiting around him in these past few days like a second moon had only served to exacerbate the foul joy of watching you fawn over him.

It made him sick to his stomach to admit it, but soaking in the knowledge (in his soul, through the bond) that you cared so deeply for him went straight to his head like some drug he hadn't realized he needed.

It felt so despairingly good that he would wrap himself around you like a vine climbing towards sunlight if he could for the rest of his days, absorbing your rays of affection like photosynthesis... or a parasite.

(Was he being punished by the sea that this love was eclipsing his fury and vengeance? Or rewarded that he held both equally in his grasp despite how terribly wrong it felt at times? Regardless, his inspiration was the punchline, once only capable of singing into the canvas elegies of lament and sorrow, now composed ballads and odes that poured out effortlessly.)

You would hate him if you ever found out just how perversely his emotions swung in every direction; so high one moment that the ecstasy of relief nearly shattered his reserve of control, and so low the next that he feared he'd choke to death from the guilt that clawed up the back of his throat like a strangled animal's cry for mercy.

This entire ordeal had flipped the script completely — instead of keeping you at arm's length as he normally did (regarding… everything), Rafayel now clung onto you desperately like Tantalus to a branch of fruit he’d finally gotten a grasp of, and what if he was exposed? The question rose like bile in his mouth whenever he began slipping.

“I won't leave you.”

Liar, his grudge wanted to answer.

It remembered. It never forgot. It told him you'd flee and never look back if he let a sliver of this dependency that bound him tighter to you with each passing day slip out from his fingertips — if he allowed you even the tiniest insight into the strange workings of his head and his heart.

Because you didn’t understand. You couldn’t. You had no idea what you were talking about when you told him you wouldn’t leave. How could you, when you didn’t know the depths of what you were promising to stay for? You didn’t know the true nature of Lemurian love, its ferocity, its weight, its cost. The all-consuming, all-encompassing reality of it — how they loved as if it was the only thing tethering them to existence itself. How they lived for it, how they died for it. How he had been dying for it.

If you saw it — if you saw him — you would run. He knew you would. Because if he laid bare just how much he depended on you, how much of his breath, his will, his very being hinged on you, you’d be overwhelmed. You’d leave.

Why else would he be tearing himself apart like this? Miserably trying to wean himself off you, forcing himself to let go only to grasp harder each time he felt you’d finally come to hate him and slip away?

He didn't know how long he sat there in silence.

Just a bit longer, he would keep watching you with these feelings out in the open. Just a little bit longer. He couldn’t bear to wake you up.

By the time you stirred, groggy and disoriented but blissfully unsuspecting, it felt as though several eternities had passed in the span of minutes, and he had to struggle with all the strength of a raging current to force himself back into this skin of his that felt too tight and suffocating around him.

But, still resting his temple against the steering wheel with an arm slung on top of it and another hanging lazily at his side, feigning ease, nothing betrayed his inner turmoil.

He watched quietly as you slowly regained your bearings, resisting the temptation to reach out and brush aside that one piece of hair out of place on your head, letting you find the words first.

(So adorable. So endearing.)

(It was not only snowing in his desert. There was also an ocean in there.)

"Rafayel..?"

"Yeah?"

"How long was I asleep?" You blinked at him blearily, one hand lifting to rub the lingering tiredness from your eyelids as you peer into the darkness of night beyond his silhouette. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

Everything he'd been thinking about vaporized and left behind nothing but softness, so tender it scared him; it seeped into the spaces in his heart left vacant and curled inside them, filling every corner, until it made the next smile he offered you come free of burden. "You were sleeping so well, cutie. I didn't want to disturb you."

The unconscious put of your lips and the way that strand of hair bounced around when you slid down your seat a little had him leaning in before he knew what he was doing, smoothing the unruly thing, fingertips betraying him by skating across the outer edge of your ear while he watched you tilt your cheek instinctively.

His body warmed immediately, gravitating towards you in a half-hug that kept you cradled close to the side of his frame as he nuzzled into your hair above your temple with a hum, dipping his nose deeper into the crown of your head near where your neck curved gracefully upwards before inhaling deep — greedy, thirsty, like he’d die if he couldn’t seep up all the scent of you.

Your breathing hitched a bit, and that’s what halted him right at the corner of your mouth with a sharp exhale — he couldn’t be doing this, he was just thinking about how he needed to pull back and —

Art salon.

Yeah, the art salon gathering.

He was supposed to be on his way to there like yesterday.

If only his body didn’t move like a most willing pupped tethered by strings to yours and refused to walk away whenever he tried.

“…Rafayel?”

It suddenly hotter in this car like a tide pool at noon. So stiflingly hot he was breathing fire even with the snowy weather outside. So unbearable the deepest V-cut known to mankind that had his whole chest out for the world to ogle did nothing to help.

He could… He could skip.

Yeah, he needed this. It had been literal days of non-stop withdrawal and a push-and-pull of his frustration that you wouldn’t touch him (because oh noo, he was sick — which, he wasn’t!) and stubbornness to not let you touch him. He’d gotten to a point that he was drunk off your scent alone and he couldn’t keep doing this forever, and why should he? Why did it matter about this event at all? Who cared — who cared about some stupid gathering? He wasn’t functioning anyways until he—

Stop. He had to stop. He was already so late.

He imagined catching himself by the scruff of his neck and yanking himself back to the driver's seat, within safe borders. Far away from your mesmerizing lips and wandering eyes and cute squirming in your seat under the thin cover of innocence.

And pulling away and practically fusing with the car door was exactly what he did.

He needed to prove to himself, just this once, that he could function without the constant reassurance of your presence — that he wasn’t helplessly anchored to you, no matter how much the pull of your moon whispered otherwise.

He had to dilute himself. This — and his inspiration problem, involving you or not, was his to figure out. And he had to figure it out if he wanted you to stay by his side.

"...Do you wanna go back to your room first?" he heard himself ask you quietly.

"You're not coming with me?" The tiny furrow of worry between your brows spoke volumes about your confusion, and despite wanting to reach out and smooth it away, to wipe every ounce of uncertainty from your face with a tender kiss, Rafayel clenched his fingers around the door handle of the vehicle until they cramped, his heart aching strangely inside his chest as you stared quizzically at him.

He brought out the invitation that came with the memorial hall ticket, waving it a little with little to no enthusiasm, "I still have to attend my friend's art salon thing."

The way your shoulders deflated and face dropped at the mention made him waver in — not enough to follow through with ditching the whole thing, but certainly making his resolve weak enough to crack like glass under pressure. "But you don't look well. You need to rest."

How could someone manage to resist getting spoiled like this, he thought miserably as he closed his eyes while you continued fussing, peering worriedly up into his face with the cutest scrunch to your forehead, palms searching along his cheeks heat before trailing down the length of his arms, and he wanted nothing more than to give in to that impulse of being coddled to bits by your hands alone.

He was a weak man.

You nearly lifted off the passenger seat and fell into his lap the way he embraced you, his arms coiling around you like kelp around a rock, holding fast as though you might slip away with the wind. His face buried into the crook of your neck, breath warm and uneven against your skin, his grip snug yet teetering on the edge of too much — like he didn’t trust himself to let go. There was a desperation in the way his hands trembled slightly, his fingers pressing into your sides, not hard enough to hurt but enough to leave the faintest impression of how badly he needed this. When your pained whine broke through, it was like snapping a thread, he instantly loosened his hold, guilt washing over his features as he pulled back just enough to make room for you to breathe. But he stayed close, his forehead dipping to rest against your shoulder as a heavy sigh rumbled deep from his chest, raw and apologetic. You leaned heavily into him, your fingers threading into his hair in a gesture that should have comforted him, but instead left him drowning deeper in the tangled sea of his emotions.

"See? You're burning up again," you mumbled as your cool lips grazed his temple in a comforting kiss. He was no better than a child. He knew it. And he hated how much he basked in your coddling, reveled in the unspoken message behind your words: Don't hide it. Tell me when you hurt. I care. "Maybe we can go together? Will you feel okay if I'm there?"

He would. He would feel more than okay, because that's what made him function.

But he couldn't keep being like this.

"Do you wanna turn me into a sea creature beached on the sand after the ocean recedes," he whispered, mostly kidding except not really, hiding in the dip of your neck just below your ear, hand tracing absent shapes into the small of your back above your tailbone. "Unable to breathe on my own, waiting helplessly for your tide's return?"

Your fingers stroking through his hair slowed, then stilled entirely at the edge of his nape. You pulled back only far enough to meet his lowered stare, confusion dancing within your own, bright and clear and genuine. You had no inkling of what was going on with him, and he didn’t want you to find out either. He would be fine. He was going to handle it.

"Don't you trust me?" Rafayel said. "How about we make a promise? I promise... I'll be okay without you tonight."

It hurt to lie to you so directly, but seeing your doubt dissolve to appease him helped soothe that sting considerably. (Even if it felt a little too convenient to rely on such flimsy methods.) You nodded, seeming convinced in spite of yourself, and his stance firmed — strengthened with your faith and affirmation alike, like he'd just taken a double shot of espresso. He would be okay. He wasn't going to keep imposing his feelings upon you even if a part of him desperately yearned to, no matter how difficult the prospect seemed.

(Say no, a small part of him whispered traitorously, selfishly, insistently. Ask me to stay. You know I can't say no to you, he wanted to plead. Needed to be affirmed once more, reassured that he was welcome to indulge, to remain, to lean into the comfort you offered freely.)

"Okay..." you echoed uncertainly, but gave him another soft smile — tentative yet warm, gentle encouragement. He watched quietly as your expressions shifted in quick succession, cycling through shades of hesitation and worry before settling on resignation. You nodded again, firmer this time, seemingly steeling yourself against whatever doubts you harbored. He wanted to kiss it all away.

But instead, he gently pushed you back, sinking further into his seat, looking out the view beyond the windshield to gather his wits against the force that was your presence beside him.

"You can head back," he repeated, not turning to meet your searching stare. "I can handle it."

The art salon had an air of cultivated elegance, grandiosity reflecting into soaring ceilings and walls adorned with curated artworks, with conversations floating in fragmented pieces, the occasional laughter punctuating the steady hum of "cultured" discourse — all the while Rafayel stood at the periphery, his posture consciously maintained with the kind of deliberate nonchalance that masked a profound discomfort, one hand buried in his pant pockets and the other holding a flute glass of champagne, ghosting the suffocating room with an expression of aloof disdain, attention drifting from painting to painting without ever settling. Humans circled him like murmuring specters, their faces a study in muted curiosity and empty civility. He loathed their presence. (Yet, here he was.)

The room's overwhelming sensory overload grated against his composure — cloying mingling of varnish and wine, sharply polished sheen of curated lighting, artifice of smiles that never reached their eyes...

He should leave. (No, he had to stay.)

The dichotomy was a pendulum swinging between contempt and an unspoken compulsion to endure. He’d insisted he didn’t need you here, insisted on proving — to himself as much as to you — that he could function without your constant presence. But the more he replayed his own words in his mind, the more it was obvious the joke was on him.

He rolled his eyes as an overly enthusiastic laugh erupted nearby, a sound sharp enough to pinprick through his already thinning out patience. His hand twitched in his pocket, the movement a reflexive manifestation of his barely-contained frustration.

(Focus.)

The art, exquisite as it was, did little to distract him as the chatter blurred into a meaningless drone, the edges of the room constricting him under the weight of pretense.

And then. The tug.

At first, it was delicate — an unsuspecting tremor sifting through his awareness, like the faintest ripple across an otherwise still surface that he thought he was imagining and hoping this was you. But it swelled rapidly, a deluge of sensations sweeping him off his feet towards your pull with a force that left his breath stuttering and the floor wavering beneath, erupting into vivid, agonizing clarity.

His lips tingled, a ghostly imprint of a kiss not yet given.

Heat bloomed under his skin, first at the base of his throat, spreading like a slow, insidious current. The faintest pressure, then, at his collarbone, radiating outward, like silk dragging over sensitive skin, a tingling warmth that prickled and spread, until it seemed to rewrite the very contours of his form, leaving him trembling with phantom caresses that lingered far too long to ignore.

He could feel the press of your palms against his chest, the drag of your nails over the planes of his stomach, each sensation so precise it made his breath catch, and the ache in his hands mirrored the way you gripped at yourself. Every brush of your hand — every hurried, seeking stroke — burned through him like smoldering embers, and he swore he could hear the faintest hitch of your breath, feel the tremor in your thighs.

A siren song of need that echoed his own, calling him under, drowning him in you.

Come to me, come to me, stay with me.

His breath hitched with the oxygen turning into lava-hot needle prickling in his lungs, his legs going limp as noodles and giving way. He collapsed into the nearest chair with a jarring lack of control, the motion abrupt, almost violent.

One hand clamped onto the edge of the table as he hastily discarded the champagne glass to cover where the bond was glowing, fingers digging into the wood as if it were the only thing keeping him from being swept away.

A single candle at the table’s center responded instead of Rafayel, its once languid, uninterested flame quivering violently, and then erupting into an erratic flare, a burst of light so sharp and sudden it cut through the room like a gasp. The activity drew murmurs from those nearby, heads turning, eyes widening as the flame seemed to writhe with a life of its own as wax spilled over the edges of its holder, dripping down in frantic rivulets, glistening like molten gold beneath the trembling glow.

"Hey, Rafayel, man, you good?"

A hand on his shoulder made him flinch violently and slap it away, the contact snapping him partway out of his spiraling thoughts. "Don't."

He was already rising, the chair scraping noisily against the floor as he pushed himself upright with a force that bordered on frenetic. The friend stood as well, confusion clear, but Rafayel didn’t wait to explain — with a curt shake of his head, he turned on his heel and strode toward the exit, leaving the other man standing there with his hand half-raised, a bewildered, "Hey, where are you going, come back!" hanging unanswered in the air.

The murmurs of those left behind — curious stares, the faint scrape of chairs and clothes ruffling — faded into irrelevance, they barely even registered. The bond burned like a tether, yanking him back to you, and he had neither the strength nor the desire to disobey.

By the time he reached the cool air of the night outside, he was seething. He had heard you loud and clear.

You merciless, cruel, horrible witch of a woman, punishing him with your sweet truth in an act so loving yet selfish, selfless yet entirely possessive, driving him completely to his wit's end until the only remaining thought was yours — to worship you wholly, thoroughly, obsessively, as deeply as he wanted.

He was in love.

You were in Rafayel’s room.

Because for his sanity to be tested like you intended it would be, of course you had to be in there of all places.

He was able to crash in the way he wanted like a dam bursting without knocking holding him back. In fact, he didn’t even bother calling out at all.

And honestly, he wasn’t even lucid enough for coherent thoughts such as those the moment his vision tunneled on your frame in the middle of his space, your back turned to him, an unaware and unintentional siren in a fluffy white robe loosely tied at your hips.

His robe.

Rafayel was moving before he registered the full picture — prowling the distance between you within seconds, hand snatching up yours and spinning you around. Just being this close and touching you uninhibited got the synapses firing faster than bullets in his head. He pushed forward into your space with no preamble, crowding you against the floor-to-ceiling window. He spared another two or three precious seconds taking in your startled expression with vindication (“Rafayel, what are you doing here?” before putting a stop to all the unnecessary talking with a kiss.

How could he expected himself to stay away from this?

One knee pushed between your thighs, a subtle but undeniable acknowledgment of what he’d felt, and you faltered, clutching the sides of his shirt so abruptly the lily decorations peppered through out clinked. A quiet noise escaped past your lips, muffled by his own and intensifying the building pressure simmering in his gut as he played with the collar of your robe — his robe — and drank greedily from you.

He felt a push at his chest.

The separation between you that couldn’t be more than a tight space to breathe each other’s air brought the world rushing back into focus — Aridum’s quiet, serene snowfall materialized behind your head like a mockery of their frenzied tangle of limbs, the ambient sounds of the city bustling in the distance dampened.

Your eyes searched his, glazed and hazy with steadily-building arousal, yet waiting nonetheless for an answer, shiny lips parted in wordless wonder.

Rafayel could say nothing. The words were there, soda fizz under the surface threatening to erupt into something incomprehensible at best if he opened his mouth.

His palm engulfed your cheek and drew you right back in, continuing the kiss with more urgency to prevent you from tumbling out from his grasp again — let the action speak for him.

The need that thrummed deep beneath rendered him mute, save for strained sighs and grunts of effort louder than the rustle of fabric and the thuds of feet shuffling around on the floor as he plundered your mouth, tongue chasing yours. It tasted like toothpaste and chapstick, like fresh mint leaves, like nurturing warmth cooling his into something calmer.

Rafayel’s hand left your face and slid down your back to seize your waist, dragging you closer, flushing your hips against his firmer and pushing his thigh more brashly. Not even a second later, his other hand bracing your wrist against the window pulled your arm into him to spin you around like in a dance, switching positions without breaking away.

And you bit him.

He recoiled with an “Ah,” that was more surprised than pained, drawing away just enough to swipe his thumb over the curve of his bottom lip where your teeth had punctured him.

“Why are you here?”

Something rotten and vicious was about to bare his fangs at you through a smile he barely stopped from telling on himself by holding back, ‘You called,’ from slipping.

The other, more acceptable answer came in a quick and effortless sweep of your legs off the floor, draping them over either side of his waist, one palm supporting you underneath like the cradle of a hammock as he pivoted towards the bed. “This is my room,” he said — low, simple, keeping eye contact to witness your frustration. “You’re the one who walked in here.”

He saw in the curl of your mouth that you would’ve continued arguing semantics if not for Rafayel bending to deposit you gently atop the bed for you to settle safely beneath him. The mattress creaked under his shifting as he eased further and started descending to resume getting lost in your kisses until a finger landed upon his lips.

“What I meant was,” you started, and Rafayel exhaled against your touch and nuzzled into it like an obedient pet coming to heel with a lowered tail before his master. “Shouldn’t you be at that art salon?”

He stared, blood about to keel over the boiling point.

His beloved was pouting. So adorable that he wanted to bite down.

You’d been so patient with him, hadn’t you? The little divot between your brows called out to Rafayel, begging to be kissed.

“I regret going in the first place,” he said, getting closer to breathe those words directly against the curve of your ear, savoring its delicate shell and the heat emanating from it against his lower lip — basking in the short tremble he could pull out of you that told him all he needed to know. “Stay here with me—”

His arm dipped around your waist and tugged you insistently closer, shakily eager, while your hands scrambled at his biceps, the side of your neck stretching upward to meet his halfway and melting further into him like candle wax molding against Rafayel and pooling liquid sweetness inside him like a basin filled.

Ring — ring — ring — ring — ring — ring — ring!

What the hell? Now?

A surge of irrational anger flared inside Rafayel, sharp and sudden, as if the hotel room phone had personally wronged him so bone-deep that his ancestors themselves had been insulted by its shrill, untimely ring. He clicked his tongue sharply against the roof of his mouth, a frustrated noise brimming with disdain as he reached out with the intention of silencing the nuisance immediately.

But before his hand could reach the red button, your fingers curled gently around his wrist, halting him mid-motion. The touch was soft, warm, and unassuming, yet it cut through his irritation more effectively than words ever could. His breath hitched as he glanced down at your hand, stilling under the quiet weight of what you were going to say next.

“Wait,” your dulcet murmur came. “What if it’s something important?”

More than this?

The irritation got you a side eye for that — but he quickly caught onto where this was heading from the way you gave him a pointed, sultry glance under your lashes and the faintest devilish curl at the corners at your lips. The grip around his wrist turned into your fingers interlacing with his as you guided him to accept the call, holding his gaze so intensely throughout that the beginning of the reception’s announcement went unheard in his ears.

“The guest of this room is unable to answer. Please leave a message."

Rafayel hadn’t even found a chance to breathe, let alone process what was even happening when you pushed him off and knocked him flat onto his back, straddling his hips with surprising speed which elicited an involuntary jolt from him.

He froze, breath caught somewhere between his lungs and the thick, burning, moistureless air that was overheating him. A thousand words tumbled in a rush into his mouth at once, all died under his breath in a sigh as his senses swam and short-circuited in response to your boldness, the sheer power radiating off your figure captivating him. For a single, stretched heartbeat, all he could do was look up — look at you.

The light from the ceiling framed your form in a way that bordered on divine, spilling past the loose strands of hair that fell around your face and catching on the curves of your silhouette like a lover's caress. Shadows slithered around you, dipping into the soft folds and valleys of the bathrobe that clung to you in all the places his gaze couldn’t help but follow.

And then the vision struck, slicing through his mind like a blade dragged cleanly through water.

No, you brought it to him, conjuring it as surely as though you had whispered it directly into his mind.

The blues wouldn’t just be blues — shadowy cobalt would bleed into the depths below, heavy and still, fading into fractured glacier blue as the water grew lighter near the surface, where the sun struggled to break through. The greens would soften into glassy jade, shimmering faintly, caught in the shifting light as if the water itself pulsed with life. Shadows would stretch in drenched charcoal, not oppressive but endless, framing the brightness above almost like curtains opening.

And there, close to the surface, you would hover like the sun underwater, light spilling from you in ripples and shards. Your form would glow with submerged gold, warm and radiant, a halo of sunlit pearl surrounding you where the sunlight hit the water and scattered around your silhouette. You wouldn’t simply stand still — you would drift, your movements impossibly fluid, arms outstretched in a gesture that could be comfort or inevitability, a quiet invitation to a homecoming. Shadows would gather around your curves in bruised honey, soft and subtle, fading into the glow that surrounded you, the kind of light that looked almost too warm to belong in the cold ocean.

The person who the painting was drawn from the perspective of would see you not as a person, but as something greater. His arms would float above him, slack and surrendered, the only movement from his fingers angled upwards, glowing faintly with washed ash gold, the last vestiges of warmth clinging to his skin, while the rest of his form darkened in the embrace of storm-drift gray. Faraway air bubbles would be glacier silver-blue catching the warm light as they ascended toward the unreachable surface, reflections flickering like distant stars against the background of salt-shadow teal.

This was a homecoming.

The bursting of colors landing on his imaginary canvas came to a head when the branding heat of your mouth found his ear, screeching into stuttered motion and scattering like seagulls afterwards. His head lolled sideways under the zapping pressure, inviting more of the world-halting caress that left him all limp.

Then it was gone — only a cool tingling remained where yout moist breaths once ghosted him —

"Hey bro, why'dya leave? Get back here—"

Shocked as if he had short time memory about it being a voice message, he squirmed for a beat, eyes flitting in panic between the call display and you with the mortification of every single drop of blood in his body rushing southwards.

His friend’s voice fractured into static buzzing under the pounding of his ears when you bowed forward once more, towards the red mark on top of his mark that was practically vibrating under his skin, trailing kisses across its glow. Every skin contact point with you burned even with the layers of clothing in-between, melting into an acute throb as you reached the base of his throat and dipped into the hollow between his collarbones — fingers dancing along the strip of his neckpiece before delving underneath, dragging down and delicately, deliciously tugging.

That was all it took for Rafayel to flip your positing and roll you beneath his body, propping himself up with one forarm and holding your wrist to just — stop you for a minute, expression tight as he asked, “Are you sure?”

Your intentions were crystal clear, but it was necessary to check in before continuing any further even though he needed this like air right now, and the prospect of hearing it straight from your lips that he was wanted —

Looking somewhere off to the side, you replied, “Otherwise you’ll actually go back,” thoughtfully, but there was something resentful in there, the statement almost bitter sounding in its delivery.

The overjoyed press of his lips to hide the smile he just knew would annoy you betrayed what he was thinking on the spot.

“So cute,” breached containment however, full of affection as he moved aside your hair behind your ear tenderly, fore and middle fingers taking your love’s sensitive edge between them and caressing, causing you to turn your face further away from him. “You must have missed me quite a lot.”

That sentence was accompanied by the press of his knee into the junction between your inner thighs, innocent enough unless you factored in that one certain revelation of earlier that entirely changed the context in intent. Especially when your pupils dilated visibly before him as you choked out a tiny gasp of surprise, revealing your guilt in glaring clarity.

“What, not pleased you got caught?”

A wicked impulse seized him — one daring him to keep playing this card to unlock so many possibilities as to how he could have you tonight.

He could have you show him what you’d done while he watched until you begged to be touched — on your back with legs wide open for his viewing pleasure, or hovering right above his face in 4K Ultra HD quality that he could just lay down and enjoy and perhaps contribute with his breath if he felt generous enough. You were having fun all on your own, yeah? He just wanted in on it. Not knowing wasn’t a sin, but not learning was.

If you didn’t think you were ready to bear the consequences of this decision of yours, you should have rethought before choosing the room he frequented, shouldn’t have turned him into a fish out of water in public by calling out to him like that, should have known better that Rafayel could be the vilest when he was provoked.

“Or, are you?”

His words were a double-edged knife. Pick the surface-level meaning and you ended up with him teasing you about missing him quite literally, nothing more, nothing less. Take him for what lay beneath, however...

Unfortunately, or, fortunately, you were one slippery fish.

"Why should I be ashamed?" The confidence that dripped from your reply rang genuine. You were so unbothered by his instigation that he realized this was going to be harder than expected, perhaps more rewarding as well. A delightful prospect. "Do you wish I wouldn't miss you?"

Oh, your pride, your grudge was truly an impressive sight —

gleaming razor-sharp even under scrutiny, glittering steel reflecting his image in fragments, and yet tempered by enough warmth to invite him closer instead of warding him off.

"Not at all." His heart sang. "But it couldn't compare to how much I missed you."

"And you still left," came a mumble, sounding more dejected than anything, carrying the weight of his deeds for the past two days.

It was that easy to change his mood.

Rafayel cooed instinctively, rubbing soothing circles into the skin above your knuckles as he pressed a string of quick kisses into the curve of your wrist — lips brushing tender apologies along its path until he reached the palm of your hand cupping his face, where he lingered to feel you stroke delicately over his lower lashes.

"I'm here now," was his gentle promise, one spoken nuzzled against the backs of your fingers. "I'm not going anywhere."

"What are you going to say to your friend? You didn't even pick up his call," you admonished softly, drawing his attention towards where the voicemail was still being displayed on the hologram screen hovering from the nightstand, accepting a prompt about how to proceed.

Rafayel made a show of leaning back to sit back on his heels, staring down at you as he slipped his fingers underneath the tightly-belted thick, sash-like band to pop the clasp to the side apart, the metal closure disengaging with a small clack as the ends slid free and exposed the zipper underneath.

He drank in your every reaction — every detail of you sprawled out before him: your robe coming undone ever so gradually, tantalizing glimpses of skin peeking between its parted folds, a little bit of collarbone here, the curve of your breast there, teasingly hinting at the shape of a nipple underneath the white fabric, then another flash of thigh, an exposed inch of inner leg from your feet shifting restlessly alongside his shins.

He pulled the whole belt free in one smooth yank — the sudden momentum making it snap with a harsh crack. It curled like a ribbon in his palm as he surveyed you, gauging your reaction; watching your widened stare catch onto cloth held loosely in his fist as he flung it haphazardly to the side.

Then, he started tugging at your ankle to raise it higher — dragging his knuckles along your heel, the sole of your foot, caressing into the arch of your instep, traveling along the softness of your calf all the way down to your knee, a single fingertip trailing underneath, slinking gradually but surely toward the inner side, tracing hypnotic spirals into the silky flesh that made your breathing hitch unevenly.

The ends of your robe were riding further up past your thigh along with the slow march, your naked skin revealed in gradual increments the higher his palm slid — revealing more and more until his hand stopped at the underside of your thigh, entirely disappeared from view because of the bunched up cloth, and pulled your leg up gently to drape it over the curve of waist.

Falling right back in on instinct, he leaned down, propped above your splayed form on his forearm beside your shoulder and bent to drag his nose upwards along the line of your cheekbone, saying, "I'm busy."

Your answering snicker was endearing and familiar, drawing forth a swell of warmth inside him like the sun rising over a tranquil ocean's horizon. "Still trying to run away?"

“Just returning to the original plan.”

There would be no running away now — not anymore, not ever, at least not from you and what you made him feel. He'd tried; failed, obviously, as evident in his return here, where the answer awaited him with open arms.

"Who says I'm going to agree? I still haven't forgiven you.”

Rafayel adored that one pout of yours, the one that curved at its edges like the swoop of a bird's wing, delicate and lovingly rounded in its downturned shape. It drew his mouth upward to meet its match, slotting perfectly against its twin seamlessly in the union of a kiss, lingering as if they belonged together like puzzle pieces. You melted sweetly under the fondness contained within the gesture, sighing quietly in surrender; every angle of his mouth was drawn to yours inexorably, it was gravity pulling falling stars back to their courses.

"Not yet," he amended dutifully once he could manage words again, and felt your smile widen before sealing his mouth over it. "Let me."

"If you beg," you shot right back, the curve of your mouth pronounced against his chin, smug satisfaction dripped from every word and its delivery as you pulled away again just enough to meet his half-hooded stare evenly — daring him to refuse you. "Properly."

You kissed the little groan that was about to spill past his lips, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy him. Neither was it intended to.

"How would you like me to repent?" He dragged the question into an offer, a honey trap ripe for plundering. "On my knees? On my back?"

He let his arousal to show on his fact at those mental images, conjured by practiced ease, crafted to seduce. The soft puff of your exhale danced across his chin, sending his nerves tingling. A sign he was on the right track? Or did it merely betray surprise at whatyou had in mind? Either possibility stirred his blood.

"You know what someone in your position shouldn’t do?" you whispered, low and hushed, conspiratorial yet laced with a dangerous authority that quickened his pulse. His brows rose involuntarily, the shift in your tone sending anticipation skittering down his spine. Your lashes swept low, casting faint shadows on your cheeks as your pointed stare locked onto him, sharp enough to pierce. "Ask me what to do when you’re supposed to be coming up with ideas on your own. That’s weaponized incompetence."

His head snapped back so fast that something audibly clicked in his neck.

Mouth wide open.

"Weaponized in—" The sensual, submissive haze he’d been wrapped in evaporated like morning dew under the brutal heat of the desert sun, vanishing so quickly it left him sputtering. The words faltered on his tongue as insult overtook every carefully cultivated mood, his composure fracturing into clumsy indignation. Propped up on his elbows above you, his face twisted into a comically muddied mix of offense and disbelief, his tone taking on an incredulous sharpness as he glared down at you.

"Say that again and I’ll spit bubbles at you!" he snapped, his threat hanging in the air like a gauntlet thrown by a petulant prince.

"Pffft!"

The insolent brat you were being in that moment, daring to laugh straight in his face, was both impossibly cute and maddeningly infuriating. He stared down at you, eyes narrowing with mock offense, the knowledge that your laughter was entirely at his expense gnawing at his frayed patience. He was torn between kissing you senseless or flipping you over and finding some other way to wipe that smug, adorable smirk off your face.

"What do you mean weaponized incompetence?" Rafayel shot back, the words almost trembling with disbelief. "You think I can't please you properly without you guiding me through it step-by-step? Is that what you're saying?!" His irritation swelled, a balloon of indignation puffing up and threatening to burst as he fought, tooth and nail, to keep the whine rising in his throat from escaping. "I like you telling me what to do because I enjoy indulging in your desires! Not because I’m incapable of being creative in bed!"

A frustrated huff crowned his ranting, "Stop laughing!" he barked, though his rising pitch only seemed to add fuel to your uncontrollable amusement.

You shook your head firmly, slapping your hands over your face to muffle the sounds of your laughter, but it was no use. Your entire body curled inward instinctively, knees drawing up as you rolled to your side, burying yourself deeper into the cocoon of your mirth. It only made it worse for his pride — your stifled giggles shaking through you like tremors, every failed attempt to contain yourself sending them bubbling up again.

Rafayel let out a growl of frustration, throwing his body off yours with an exaggerated thud, landing face-first into the pillow beside you in utter defeat. The mattress jolted slightly from the force, but the muffled yell he buried into the pillow caused a chain reaction that only made your laughter harder to suppress. The giggles came fast and bright, and he swore they sounded far too gratifying for his current temperament, his scowl deepening with every shake of your shoulders and every wheezing gasp for air that he felt in the bed, he didn’t even need to look.

The fact that you were utterly immune to his wrath, impervious to every “Stop,” he threw your way, made it all the more maddening. How was he supposed to maintain the upper hand, to reestablish even a shred of dignity, when he couldn’t even intimidate you?

"I'm sorry," you gasped finally, though the apology was weakened by the cracks of laughter still slipping through. You managed to sit upright, though it took visible effort, your hands brushing away tears from the corners of your crinkled, joy-stricken eyes. A few lingering giggles escaped as you cleared your throat, attempting to sound sincere but failing miserably. "I didn’t think you’d have such strong feelings about this topic."

Rafayel lifted his head from the pillow, his hair disheveled, his glare shooting daggers your way, though the deep flush blooming across his cheeks betrayed his struggle to keep his composure. He opened his mouth to retort, to say something, but instead all that escaped was a muffled, irritated groan as he flopped back down into the pillow.

“Rafayel.”

He rolled onto his back with dramatic flair, hands folded primly over his stomach and ankles crossed, the picture of theatrical innocence. The pout he wore, however, was pure spite, lips pushed forward just enough to make his point. “If you think I’m sooo weaponizing my incompetence, maybe I should actually start doing that. Let you handle everything yourself. Clearly, you’ve got it all figured out.”

“Rafayel…”

“No, no, go ahead,” he cut in, stubbornly resolute, almost belligerent in its exaggerated persistence. “I’m useless, right? I don’t know what I’m doing. Teach me. I won’t even lay a single finger on you.” He puffed his cheeks, a childish act of defiance paired with the way he turned his head away, sulking with the finesse of spoiled royalty.

The exaggerated display drew a sigh from you, long and exasperated, but tinged with a quiet amusement that he didn’t miss. He wasn’t fooling you — not for a second—but he relished the moment all the same.

“Well,” you began, feigning hesitation, with false reluctance. “Since you’re already laid out, I guess…” You trailed off as you shifted to straddle him, slow enough to test the limits of his so-called resolution, the soft white robe you wore parting ever so slightly as you moved, revealing tantalizing glimpses of skin before your knees closed firmly around his hips, framing him like twin prison bars.

His eyes darkened as he watched you, taking in the sight hungrily, every detail sinking into him like a drug he couldn’t resist. His hands betrayed him almost immediately, fingertips skimming the hem of the robe where it hung loosely, their touch feather-light as they ghosted over the tops of your thighs. It was instinctive, reflexive — completely unrepentant.

“I thought you weren’t touching me,” you teased with a playful lilt that interrupted the heat thickening the air between you like an unwanted knock on the door.

His hum was deliberately innocent, his head tilting as though to feign ignorance. But the dark gleam in his eyes and the smirk curling at the corners of his lips told a different story entirely. “I really like this robe,” he murmured with a calculated drawl. “What, I can’t touch my own clothes now?”

The claim was absurd — blatantly so — but it made you pause, his fingers grazing the fabric in question as though testing its texture, when in reality, it was clear he was savoring the warmth of your skin beneath it.

(Truthfully, it was also you who looked lovely draped in what was his — but that went without saying.)

Your mouth opened, the gleam of a retort on the tip of your tongue, but the words dissolved into nothingness as his hands shifted, palms hot against your sides, skirting along your ribs in an intentional, testing motion. He knew the heat of his touch stole the breath from your lungs, burning through the fabric like a spark setting fire to paper.

“You go on,” he said, infuriatingly smug as he leaned back into the pillows, his hands never straying far from your sides. “Help yourself. Take as long as you need. I’ll just… be appreciating this fabric in the meantime.”

His fingers traced the lines of your ribs, the motion slow, languid, before sliding downward to hover just above the curve of your stomach. They lingered there, resting near the knot of the belt holding your robe together. The edge of his thumb dipped just slightly beneath the fabric, brushing over its folded loops, a movement so subtle it was barely there, as though he wanted to test how much he could push you. He toyed with the fabric, rolling it between his fingers like he was unraveling a puzzle.

The pause in his pent-up desire — the break that had proven to be a blessing — was wearing thin. The front he was putting on, all casual indifference and smug bravado, was crumbling, betrayed by the way his gaze kept flickering back to you, and, of course, the growing press of his impatience beneath you, hard and neglected, made it abundantly clear that he was more than ready to pick up where you’d last left off.

You broke first.

With nary a warning, your hand shot out, snatching the ends of the thin, ribbon-like scarf draped loosely around his neck. You wound the fabric around your fist once, twice, tightening it just enough to make your intentions clear…

Then you yanked.

The pull wasn’t violent — no, it was far too calculated for that. Enough pressure to catch him off guard, to tip him forward slightly, but not enough to hurt. It was a demand, plain and simple, one he found himself surrendering to before he even had the chance to consider resistance. His wide-eyed surprise melted almost instantly like cotton candy in water into something darker, something sharper, as his lips curled into a grin that spoke volumes about just how much he was enjoying this game.

"First, you ask to beg for my forgiveness," you continued, pulling him a little closer, and his chest tightened as though the leash around his neck extended all the way to his lungs.

Your gaze pinned him down like a blade, your lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, wasn’t quite a smile — something far more addictive.

"And then," you murmured, sweet but laced with unmistakable bite, "you start ordering me around like a brat."

A jolt of concentrated heat shot through him, not from embarrassment but from the sharp edge of thrill that ran through his veins. He let the tension in his body slacken just slightly, a calculated move that allowed him to lift from the bed a little, meeting your challenge with his own. The faint tug of the scarf against his neck only heightened the electric energy between you, and he found himself biting back a grin.

“Well," he said at last, letting his weight sink into the bed with a noncommittal shrug, the barest shift of his shoulders enough to convey his defiance. "I’m just playing my part." He tilted his head just enough to make the scarf strain, wanted to see what you’d do with the provocation. “The sleazy husband.”

“You want a reward for that?”

“Acknowledgment of how committed to the role I am would be nice.”

“Oh yes, the most infuriating actor—”

“Aaand you goofed it—”

“—impossibly—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah—”

“—handsome," you went on, and his smirk faltered ever so slightly. “Disarmingly clever, annoyingly witty," you added, the sharp edge softening with each word, though the grip you kept on the scarf didn’t loosen. If anything, you pulled him closer, closing the space between you inch by inch. "—and worst of all," you finished, dropping into something softer, something so intimate, "Completely, devastatingly, undeniably competent."

“Well, aren’t you good at apologizing…” he said into himself, embarrassingly beet-red at having fallen for your trick.

“I’m still waiting for yours, you know,” you pointed out distractedly, playing with the crystal flame lilies scattered on his wine berry shirt, tracing the petals of a bloom while seemingly entranced, following the silvery droplets dangling in a chain. “But I’ll be graceful this time and keep going with mine...”

Before he had a chance to blink or register the motion — your free palm slipped underneath the thin fabric covering his heart, caressing right alongside the pulsing red mark — and squeezed with a vengeance (such a fierce boob grab!), applying enough pressure that the pads of your fingers sunk into flesh, then widened the buttonless V-cut of his shirt by yanking, no, downright ripping it open by the lapels with both hands, and Rafayel damn near felt like a virgin at how scandalous that single action was that he almost covered himself up.

But then again, he could hardly claim innocence right now, could he? He was practically a champagne bottle about to pop down there. Just from that. Who was he, the main female character getting her corset ripped in a bodice-ripper novel?

“Ohmyg—hi? What happened to hello? How are y—”

“Shut up or no head.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Kisses were rained along his collarbone, the length of his neck, and nipping gently at the spot behind his ear that got the hairs on his nape rise to attention. It would’ve been funny what a child’s play it was to tease him until his ears matched the scarlet blossoms on his shirt, except nothing about this particular situation bore humor — least of all, his response to it.

Which was practically none at all. Because he simply lay there, stiff as a plank from how turned on he was, and you worked him diligently as if he was an instrument and you were the virtuoso.

It was also because he was zeroed in on the cleavage peeking out from the gap in your robe as you made your way further downwards, tongue flickering along the dips and bumps of his upper abdomen — surely able to feel more than hear each inhale and exhale getting closer to moaning territory the longer you kept teasing. He even caught a nip slip here and there, getting impossibly harder in response, culminating in him twitching and tightening beneath you whenever you — purposefully! — brushed against his erection.

“Rafayel,” you sighed dreamily, and he moaned for real this time at how his name fell softly past your parted lips, pouring into a pleased hum against his navel where a trail of wetness gleamed — followed by fingertips curling gently around the hem of his pants’ band. “You’re so quiet. Not leaving it up to chance, huh?”

And the only response he gave was an impatient roll of his hips toward your head, granting you permission — eager acquiescence, even — while a loud, unabashed gasp slipped into his lungs as your hands found the zipper of his pants. With a practiced tug, you freed it from its track, and his pants slid low on his hips, just enough to reveal the waistband of his underwear. Your fingers followed immediately, hooking under both fabric barriers to ease them down until they rested tautly just below his hips. The motion tugged on his shirt as well, once secured by the overlap tucked into his waistband, and with nothing anchoring it anymore, the luxurious fabric parted effortlessly, exposing the sculpted expanse of his chest and abs in one sweeping reveal. His stiffening length, freed from its confines, ached visibly — leaping subtly toward contact, as though craving the touch it had been denied for far too long.

"See? You're being so good... why do you keep wanting to provoke me?" came your lilting reproach, spoken against the soft skin of his pelvis, lips fluttering teasingly across its planes in playful grazes of their silky plush. "

“Permission to talk?”

A sharp, in-drawn breath escaped him the moment a single finger traced along the underside of his shaft, lingering over a wildly pulsing vein — evidence of the frenetic race of his heart currently pumping pure liquid lightning straight through his veins — but he recovered quickly, allowing it to dissolve into an exhale long and drawn-out instead.

“Go ahead, handsome.”

His hips lurched instinctively in search of something tangible, of a sensation besides the torturous tickle of warm breaths dancing lightly along his arousal, "Give me my reward, then. I've waited so long for this, it's been torture."

“Doesn’t sound like you minded the wait. You left me, didn’t you?”

Ah, yes. The grudge. You were becoming like Rafayel the longer you stayed by his side.

"You know I hate waiting. Let alone like this," he said, all whiny and punctuated with a shudder — one that was met with an accompanying jolt that surged straight from the base of his erection when your lips brushed teasingly alongside it. "I didn't think you'd be this cruel..."

"Are you really asking?"

"Can you give it to me instead of wasting time talking?" came his blunt retort, brows drawn together in an impatient furrow that radiated ‘I’m being wronged,’ energy.

"Not wasting time at all, just wanted to spend more time with you. Feels nice, right? You deserve this,” you murmured comfortingly against the swell of his abs rising and falling with each heavy breath — and oh, he almost melted into a puddle at that, visibly deflating with his chest cavity just filling up all warm and fuzzy with love.

It did feel nice but — just — just — fuck — he needed to be touched or he actually was going to disintegrate into sea foam. Not joking.

A brief kiss landed on on the left side of his Apollo belt in consolation before a drag of your tongue along its path followed, transitioning into you breathing more warmth directly into his base, then placing a loving peck to his tip — eyes twinking at the tremble that surged through him. “I really love seeing you so reactive. Does it feel that good? Just breathing on you like this?”

His hips pushed upward in tiny nudges, bumping insistently against your cheek, practically begging to be held properly inside your mouth. "It doesn't feel good at all — just, come on, hurry... I keep my lube in the top drawer on the left... It's edible, you know..."

Thankfully, you didn't smirk at him. Didn't stop to tease him about his eagerness, either, wordlessly going about reaching over to rummage for a bottle in his nightstand — an act that forced you to draw away from his straining member completely, your warmth vanishing suddenly in one agonizing instant, causing him to nearly whine from the loss.

You popped open the lid to squirt some lubrication into your palm and recapped it while staring down at him with a curious gleam. "You had something like this with you the whole time—"

Your words got cut off upon him grabbing your dripping hand and directing it straight where his impatience stood angry at the delay, shuddering out a moan at how incredibly silky the glide was.

"Finally... yesss," he hissed, thrusting upwards to feel more friction — the delicious slickness spreading across your enclosed grip driving him absolutely wild. "Ahh—kkhfff... Keep going, you have to keep going, don't let go... Please. Please?”

Something in your face twisted weirdly at his breathy begging, making his heart flip at the unflinching lust in your widened gaze trained firmly onto his jerking hips.

He had your fist trapped around his swollen cock, urging you into pumping it once you settled into a steady rhythm stroking its turgid crown, twisting and curling into each new swipe upwards along his pulsing flesh; encouraging you by squeezing tighter every few strokes until you took over completely. Then, he threw his arm over his forehead haphazardly, basking in the blissful waves flowing through his veins at long last, watching you watch yourself pleasure him through fluttering lashes, breathing hard through half-parted lips.

"That's it," he sighed huskily, rocking his body into the hand rubbing and grinding against his dick's ridge with expert motions; thumb circling its glistening head and caressing alongside its slit where precome beaded out generously, smoothing over the entirety of its surface and working into the underside, swirling tantalizingly over the bulging vein there until all his thoughts melted into a haze of pure sensation, mind wiped clean of everything except the singular, simple fact that he desperately needed to come. "Like that — nnhhh, yes! That feels amazing — feels perfect — love those sweet little fingers... So close already, I can't, I can't—"

At his muttered groans, your pace stuttered noticeably before resuming its previous speed, which wasn't fast enough according to the stretching throb inside his core, his blood rushing loudly through his ears like boiling rapids. "No, faster..." he urged you, rutting into your palm even harder in a frantic effort to increase the pressure and bring him to the precipice quicker. "I can't hold on much longer — need more, I need more. Tighter. Tighter."

The corners of his vision pulsed white and Rafayel whimpered as he jumped inside your curled fist when the unexpected sensation of having your forefinger slide through his sticky fluids gathered at its tip, swirling clockwise before ascending back up in an unhurried stroke that carried a slippery coating alongside it to smooth out the glide to put pressure right into the slit — a sensation that lingered for seconds afterward with ghostly echoes, drawing a sudden choked gasp from his lips at how intensely good that single touch felt.

“Thaaaaat’s it, yeah, I love that, you have such a beautiful voice.” Your free palm swept up alongside his ribs to rub gently against their curve as though to soothe the ragged sounds ripping past his throat; traveling upward to cradle his head against yours where your cheek brushed alongside his temple, holding him still with tender care and easing some of the tremble wracking through him. "Can you feel how much I'm enjoying us being together like this — how badly I've missed you? Please let me hear those pretty sounds, I wanna hear them loud and clear. Will you be generous for me and share it all?"

His reply died in his throat in favor of a low keening sound — something raw and broken — when you squeezed tighter.

The way your nails dug ever so delicately into the sides of his cock, applying pressure just shy of pain was truly exquisite torture, making his head swim and rise up from the bed so he could crush his lips against yours, biting hungrily into your plush mouth and delving deep into its depths until oxygen became nothing but an afterthought. Every neuron of him burned alive in chain reaction as your tongue wound and slid alongside his, curling along the underside before retreating for him to suckle on your lower lip eagerly until it swelled red.

"Mmnghhfuck! Hhhaaa—keep—" Words spilled past his slackened lips like ribbons unfurling, senseless as he struggled to convey how excruciating it was to contain his euphoria within, desperate for any sort of outlet to relieve the pressure rising inside him rapidly —

— and then broke off suddenly on a low moan when he caught a flash of your unoccupied hand that was just cradling his neck having found its way between your thighs, the view out of sight because of the robe —

Then, Rafayel saw the pearly gates.

His orgasm slammed straight into him, so unexpected and yet wholly expected all the same that he gasped around it like he was in a headlock, utterly disoriented by the sudden assault on his senses, soaring impossibly higher with each jerk of his hips into your fingers' grasp and shooting thick white streaks across his stomach; leaving behind faint smears wherever it hit its mark — warm, sticky ropes landing atop his defined abs and even reaching as far as his sternum.

He knew something was wrong when it didn't stop.

Far from it, really: each pulsing contraction seemed to force more of its fluid past his cock's narrow slit, painting your pumping digits liberally with his release — even staining the lapels of your robe in messy spots. It lasted so long that Rafayel started seeing stars sparkling around the edges of his blurring vision; making everything appear fuzzy like static. "Nggh—too much—ah! Aaa—hhh! Nnhhfff... Khhffffcking hell... Can't believe—still going—"

"Don't hold back now, just ride it out, nothing wrong with it," you murmured fervently, brushing some hair back from his sweat-soaked temple and — then — kisses, so many kisses. "I know you wanted this so badly, it's okay... You deserve this. Let go for me, yeah? Can't you let go for me? All this stress will go away. Isn't that nice?"

What came out instead was an embarrassingly high moan, hoarse with overuse, entirely at odds with the self-assuredness he'd wanted to project with each thrust of his hips, spurred onwards by instinct alone in a mad dash for euphoria.

Just how pent-up was he?

He couldn't recall the last time he'd felt pleasure this acute, sharp as shrapnel beneath the layers of desire, making him so out of it that he wasn't even aware of the embarrassing mess he made like he’d just wet himself being cleaned up with a tissue by you.

And it still wasn't nearly enough.

He surged forward, wound his arm around your waist and tossed you to the side gently so your back lay flush against the sheets before following suit in a tangle of limbs that ended with you under him — where he belonged: cradled between your thighs, seated fully inside their heated clasp as he hovered above you — one elbow propped beside your shoulder while the other wandered aimlessly downwards and undid the trusty knot holding your robe together in one go.

"Rafa—"

“Sorry, I'm sorry, I can't, I'm so thirsty," he said, as he raised the lube-and-come-sodden hand of yours up to his mouth to lap at the trails trickling over your wrist; sucking on your fingertips in apology — no trace of shame coloring his cheeks as he did, far too focused on the task of cleaning them thoroughly to be distracted by something as trivial as embarrassment. He didn’t even taste himself. Just the blueberry.

So engrossed in it that he didn’t even notice you burning holes with your gaze at his lips sealing around your thumb while he ran his tongue underneath it in short, quick flicks until it was glistening once more, except this time with spit instead of lubricant.

All the while, he traced the clean strip of skin revealed by the parted folds of your robe with a searing hand, starting from the valley of your cleavage between your breasts all the way down the slight convex curve of your torso leading towards the V that marked the point where your thighs began, drawing delicate circles into your navel, slipping downward inch by tantalizing inch in search for hidden oasis.

Taking notice of how wrecked you looked through the curtains of your fingers splayed over his eyes and forehead, Rafayel rewarded you an equally debauched looked as his lips curled into a smirk against your palm.

A loud, viscous pop of your wetness echoed in the room when his fingers tenderly made contact — positively dripping for him. Your mouth flew open upon feeling him draw his forefinger's pad gently against your entrance, lingering teasingly at the seams in an excruciating crawl, tracing lightly around it as you pulsed hungrily against his fingertip.

"So thirsty," he mumbled absentmindedly to himself — mouth watering.

Rafayel pushed open your legs by the backs of your thighs to allow his head better access. If he was on a normal day, he would plant feverish kisses on the insides of your quaking knees and thighs and mark you everywhere, made it more sensual, more teasing, but he was borderline parched — not to mention more impatient than a driver stuck behind a cyclist in a one -lane road.

You yelped at his mouth diving between your legs in reckless abandon. His tongue lapped up your slick in deep, obscene flicks, then plunged inside into the warm haven awaiting him inside, devouring your sweet nectar in loud slurps, uncaring of how sloppy and unrestrained he was currently acting; far too hungry to concern himself over anything save for indulging greedily in your flavor.

"Rafayel, shit, that feels—oh my god..." He had to push your hips down by splaying his hand along the plane of your stomach as you arched helplessly, otherwise you would have simply lifted right off from his greed ravaging you without mercy or restraint. "That's so—you're so—fuck! What—what’s gotten into you? Ahh...!"

Any hope of responding to that died the second your hand tangled itself tightly into his hair and tugged to bring him impossibly closer against you, his head blanking. It felt so good when your heel planted itself onto his shoulder blade and pressed insistently there in a silent plea for more, sending ripples of heat fanning out across his nerve endings in their wake.

Without hesitation, he latched his lips around the swollen bud peaking proudly from beneath a layer of velveteen flesh and flicked upwards, suckling hard before closing around it fully — then rolled his tongue in circles around its rim with the intent to render your world spinning madly with each passing stroke. The fingers locked around your trembling thighs kneaded deeply into their skin, coaxing the delicious, involuntary spasms coursing throughout you until the only thing you knew was the blissful torment his hot mouth wrought.

"You're so delectable on my tongue, did you know? The prettiest moans come pouring out from your lovely lips when I'm between your legs like this," he said, the sentences pieced together like beads on a pearl necklace fragment by fragment between licks and sucks, sounding just short of reverence. "Your taste drives me wild, I swear it's addictive... Am I making it up to you yet? Please say yes. Tell me it's working."

"Yesyesyesyesss—" A sharp inhale cut off anything else you tried to babble further as Rafayel rewarded you with another generous helping of his enthusiasm by diving back in and running his tongue in earnest up through your center. "You feel amazing, you — feel — so — g-good—"

"—don't think that's enough, though. Didn't you call me incompetent earlier?"

"What," you choked out angrily when a puff of warm breaths skated dangerously close to where you were most sensitive. "Oh my god—"

"I hold grudges, cutie. You taught me that," he said in a sing-song reply, lighthearted in tone, nearly drowned out by the thready groans bleeding through.

"I apologized already — what more do you want? Stop teasing, Rafayel!"

A pregnant pause followed as he stared up at you from between your legs, and saw your eyes widen with realization at just what you'd requested.

"As you wish," he relented, a dark edge to his mischievous grin when he rose back up and braced his knees against the mattress better, pulling your hips tight into the cradle of his thighs until one of your legs was thrown over his shoulder. "Have it your way — and don't forget you asked for this."

The slow sink inside your wet heat was traitorously misleading: a gentle, sweet meeting at first that masked what was brewing underneath.

A dragged out whine fanned his flames as you threw your head back. “You asshole—”

"I could have made you come once, twice..." he said, in a smooth purr that dripped sinfully past his lips.

Your mouth fell open on a silent gasp; the first wave of pleasure rolling through you upon being filled suddenly in one deep plunge. Your torso twisted to allow you to hide your face into the curve of his forearm draped next to your shoulder.

"You know I love taking my time with you," he continued, pausing to bury his face into your hair to breathe you in deeply, adjusting your leg to fall from his shoulder straight onto his hip. You took advantage of Rafayel getting close, grabbing onto his back so quickly that you missed the first time and yanked his shirt down to bunch halfway down his midsection and get stuck at his elbows. "And you just had to take that from me. I don't know which one of us is greedier... "

An apology was voiced, muffled by the crook of his elbow, almost incoherent by your gasps.

He cupped your chin and made you look at him. “Are you comfortable? Not hurting you, am I?”

Your throat clicked audibly. Then you shook your head rapidly in answer to both inquiries: yes — no — everything was okay — and Rafayel breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

And then, out of nowhere your fingers started moving around the expanse of his upper back, and before he could question the non-sexual way it came across when he was literally inside you, you said, "You're sweating."

"Yeah...?" Confusion muddled his hazy mind clouded with dull pleasure begging for him to start moving again, but you looked at him with wide, eager expectation dancing behind your expectant eyes — as if you couldn't quite believe what you'd seen.

"No — your temperature. It's still high but you're sweating now," you told him excitedly. "Rafayel — that's huge! This means your body is cooling itself down!"

He huffed.

"Of course it is, I've got the hottest woman in the world under me," he said with a roll of his hips, earning an enthusiastic moan from you in the process. Your arms snaked themselves around the back of his neck tighter until both forearms crossed at their crease, palms moving upwards in an intoxicating drag through the back of his skull. "You the cure to all of this..."

His forehead dropped unceremoniously yours where it stayed, and he sucked in an uneven, shaky groan that tapered into something resembling a whine as he started rutting steadily against you, driving into that spot where you liked it the best with growing desperation with the occasional staccato grunt at the fluttering squeeze and murmured encouragement.

At some point, his mouth wandered towards your pulse, scraped his teeth against it gingerly before latching on it in an open-mouthed kiss that was hard enough to bruise.

You tilted your chin skywards with a sigh to give him better access and tangled your fingers encouragingly deeper into his hair, and something inside him sparked awake in response, a fiery need demanding him to paint every inch of your skin violet, rose and mauve so that it may glow evermore brightly for everyone to see —

"Way too beautiful for your own good... Driving me crazy... Every single day... Couldn't keep my hands off you the moment I got in here..." he hissed furiously as though he were possessed, snapping his hips harder upon finding the angle he desired, searching relentlessly for something within you both to satisfy the frenzied race to the peak taking control of him completely; searing kisses littering everywhere he could reach along the underside of your chin and neck whilst spewing senseless litanies into your skin in between them. "Can't believe I could have this forever... Right? Say I can have this forever. It'll drive me insane if you don't, I swear—"

"Forever," you echoed hoarsely, your nails digging tightly into his scalp as his pace increased once more. "Y-you can have me forever—anytime, wherever—"

Your assurances came with a startled cry of ecstasy as he sank his teeth into the juncture connecting your shoulder and collarbone in a bite that bordered on a savage instinct to ensure he was there, he'd been there, and would always be there. "You're not leaving, are you? Aren't gonna leave me anytime soon, right?

Every syllable was marked with a measured grind into you as if determined to force every word inside your head by burying it deep in your core — imprint it permanently into your brain; until the only thing filling your thoughts was him and him alone. "Not letting you — I'm not letting you. I can’t let you go, it’s too late — too late. Say it. Say it.”

"As — many times as I ne-ed to," you panted underneath him, arching upwards so beautifully for him as his grip loosened marginally to let you find that perfect angle that caused your back to bow like a perfectly tuned instrument in his hands; singing nothing but divine music. "'S not changing, ever. Won't change... Agh!"

His hips bucked in answer to your nails sinking deep into the skin of his shoulders as though clawing for dear life. "Yeah? Yeah? Promise—?"

All you could do was sob into his mouth hungrily swallowing yours — a mess of moans falling endlessly past your lips swallowed whole, accompanied with plaps and slaps of wet thrusting. There'd never be a time when he wasn't craving the taste of your flesh burning scorching white hot against his own, craving more and more until everything blurred into a haze of delirium.

"Tell me... Tell me—hah, tell me, princess. Let me hear it..." His chest rumbled deep within where yours rubbed deliciously against his bare flesh with each fervent roll of his body. Even then, it wasn't nearly enough; couldn't possibly be, not with how ravenously thirsty he was for anything and everything having to do with you: your sounds, your expressions, those intoxicating stares filled with nothing but need for him and only him. Not while his stomach twisted itself in knots tight enough to tie sails and yet remained impossibly empty at the same time, yearning for the sweet relief of gratification flowing freely and quenching his deepest thirst. "Wanna hear you, gotta hear you say it—"

"I'm right here, m'here, not going anywhere, not leaving... I'myours, just don't let go, don't let go of me—"

He heard it as though you were underwater; faint, muffled underneath the thick fog clouding his senses, so indistinct yet simultaneously loud enough to drown out anything else within reach.

Every coherent thought vanished from his mind, melting into thin ribbons streaming across an ocean of red flames, then bursting forth anew into embers scattering throughout his vision in a dizzying display, igniting behind his eyelids with blinding light every time he blinked them closed. When he opened them, new constellations blossomed instantaneously; bright orange ones with maroon tinges shining bright among the black canvas.

"M'not gonna—! Can't let go—couldn't even if I tried. They wouldn't even be able to pry you away from my cold, dead hands."

More vivid blotches appeared before him at random intervals, painting his desert landscape in abstract patterns shifting so erratically they threatened to form fractals at any moment, jagged shapes overlapping and warping themselves until they resembled colorful stains splattered across walls in chaotic messes; or perhaps simply the shadows of clouds skirting the edges of his sight drifting past without a care — all blending together and merging seamlessly as though water droplets bleeding into fine lines until none could tell where one ended and the others began.

"Gonna be... gonna be stuck with me for life," Rafayel said, sounding entirely half out of his mind with the way he was babbling endearments (something about a bride) in-between little laps that trailed upwards along your quivering sternum toward your heaving chest; kissing you so fervently as though possessed, driven wholly by base instincts demanding he give in to whatever compulsion overtook him. "Always been mine. Always. Always—can't ever leave, yeah? I won't forgive you—won't forgive you this time—"

"Rafayel, I'm gonna come, please..." you whispered hoarsely against the crown of his head nestled between your breasts, your hands grasping onto his shoulders helplessly in an attempt at anchoring yourself. "I can't keep going, I'll fall apart. Please, don’t stop, don’t stop—"

One of his fingers slid down to repeatedly flick through your swollen folds, teasing and circling around your clit while his tongue swirled around a nipple; pulling and sucking hungrily with fervent desire, giving a pointed twist once he'd latched on.

"Come for me, then, do it, c'mon, cream all around me, let me have it, let me have this — you can do it, I’ll help you along.” His lower body lifted suddenly, pulling back until only his cockhead remained caught inside; followed by a quiet pop indicating his lips breaking contact from where they were buried in your chest. "I need you so bad I can hardly stand it anymore... Wanna feel you — feel all of you — need all of you..."

All it took was one sudden shift after a steady build-up of rhythm of shallow, quick thrusts: the smallest rotation of his pelvis and thrust straightwards, hips knocking against yours in a violent shove of flesh meeting slick flesh for you to fly apart spectacularly when he buried himself into that specific area right below your cervix.

With a shuddering breath that dissolved instantly into a shrill cry tearing through your throat, your thighs locked tight around his waist — holding him prisoner while your nails sank fiercely into his scratched back as your entire body trembled uncontrollably through the aftermath.

“Yeah, there you go, cutie.” A comforting, grounding caress landed on your forehead, tracing the arc of its curve towards the back of your ear; then repeating itself multiple times in slow, unhurried strokes — to remind you he wasn't going anywhere, anytime soon. “There you are, that was beautiful. You got me seeing stars.”

"It's... It's snowing outside... In the desert," you said faintly, eyelids slow in their blinking, and Rafayel thought how utterly gorgeous you looked, all worn down and exhausted and so drunk in your post-orgasmic euphoria to talk nonsensically about what was happening outside.

"Yeah," he agreed, equally hushed as he peppered a trail of soft kisses across the bridge of your nose. You closed your teary lashes instinctively against the ticklish sensation. "It's so soft... and beautiful..."

You were the snow in his desert. Though, too blissed out to pick up on what he was implying.

Too busy stiffening up when you felt his cock jump inside you.

"You... you're still hard?"

“I didn’t come in the first place, whoops. Busy being too competent, I guess,” he said breezily, tilting his hips so that he pressed deep inside, directly into the tender spot inside you where pleasure flared to life unbidden.

"Let me... Let me rest, fuck, give me a minute..." Your hands scrambled for purchase against his scarred back; anchoring yourself by clawing surface level trenches down along its expanse and dragging red tracks as he continued his grinding in torturously slow and shallow rolls. "Need — I need to catch my breath, you're gonna make me pass out, shit, hold on — !"

Rafayel had you for three more times after that.

The first was the short prologue to what was coming, picked up from where he’d left off in the same position — head buried in your neck, making you tightly embrace him like he’d fly off the earth if he wasn’t held. No sooner did his hips start bucking roughly against yours before he spent himself inside in long pulses that coated you inside in heated spurts, sending sparks rippling out into your limbs from where you clenched weakly around him through your own release that hadn’t yet run its full course.

The prettiest sounds in the whole entire world spilled from him as he pulled out with a schlick, dripping his neglect-thickened seed onto the sheets, and you were naive as to think this was it. You both had indulged yourselves enough for the night, fucked through the absence-abstaining makes the heart fonder phenomenon, it had been fantastic to witness him get so serious. Surely now would be a good time to cool off and step into the bath together now that you’d been able to make him sweat and the sex-heavy humidity clinging thickly to your body was getting more comfortable the more you became aware of it. The room was absolutely boiling, stuffier than a sauna like he’d projected all the heat trapped inside his body everywhere. Perhaps opening up a window wouldn’t hurt…

“That was one,” he said then, staring down at his flushed erection straining proudly between his legs like a compass needle pointed north — the faint strand of semen connecting his tip and stomach swaying and snapping apart. “This isn’t anywhere near enough.”

To your shock, Rafayel got off the bed, hauled you in by your legs until your bottom half was dangling from the bed, and folded you completely in half with no warning. Your legs were pushed against your chest and were hooked over his shoulders, and the speed of with which all of it happened punched out a wheeze from you.

"Can I? Are you okay?" he asked urgently, patting your thigh rapidly twice, pausing — then adding another firm slap there before you nodded hurriedly in confirmation rather than a verbal response, because fuck, his weight holding you down felt absolutely incredible like this.

Your ankles started bobbing in sync with his hip thrusts as he drove deep inside your heat, the sink easy, smooth and soft and the mess you both made between your legs pouring out and splattering everywhere as he kept mumbling, “I can’t stop, I’m sorry, I can’t stop, can’t stop—”

This round lasted longer, though it was the worst frenzy you’d seen Rafayel in. Nothing was slow about it, he was mercilessly pistoning himself into you and unpredictably switching between shallow and deep that had your clit being scraped against and A-spot drilled into. You couldn’t even keep your eyes open from how intense pleasure was kneading you violently like a dough. If it wasn’t for his mouth gluing itself onto yours, the entire floor and the poor downstairs guests probably would have heard what was happening with how loud his moaning became — because he was downright voluntarily overstimulating himself.

With one particularly desperate sob, Rafayel finally buried himself to the hilt within you — throbbing — in harsh jets of liquid fire with jerking, abrupt twitches of his hips, milking himself into your body as he found yet another release that was as intense and concentrated as the previous. You cried brokenly, shuddering as that final thrust abused your clit over the edge of orgasm number two, involuntarily flinching and trying to get away when he pushed all the accumulated, positively flowing stringy mess right back into your puffy cunt with a strange, entranced look on his face. You had to slap his hand away and kick his weight off you, powerless and exhausted and fully feeling like your vagina was gaping and would never close back up.

A soft kiss on your cheek brought you back to earth.

“Still alive?” he croaked, gently maneuvering you higher up the bed and laying you back comfortably. You had to avoid the giant, wet and shining spot that had to be dripping down on the floor at the edge of the bed, face burning as Rafayel’s sweat-drenched forehead leaned against yours. “I’m not going easy on you… I have to say I’m impressed how good you’re taking it.”

You realized, once more with feeling, that he was rock-hard against your hip despite having already come three separate times — two of which had filled you to the point of pouring out of you — and had no sign of calming down any time soon.

He was beyond insatiable.

Though the third and final time was far sweeter, the pace much slower and drawn out as though he’d suddenly regained some sense and clarity. By that time, you were growing deliriously tired, the earlier carnal fucking accommodated itself to you by morphing into tender lovemaking. Rafayel had you on your side, comfortably able to hug pillows and anchor yourself, while straddling your thigh and hooking your other calf over his waist and held it there firmly, out from your space to let you breathe with his back straight. Just looking down at you with obvious, sensual longing to lean down for kisses the entire time and looking so fucked out had been enough to rekindle your desire.

He was driving himself languidly into you, either eyes closed and head thrown back, or focused dead-on at the spot between where he was slipping in and out of you — watching your cunt eagerly swallow his white-coated cock and attempt to suck him right back in each time he pulled out until only his tip remained buried. Over and over.

And eventually, his shaky breaths and sweet sighs started turning into fast-paced, restrained moans. You saw him hanging on the precipice of wanting to go fast again, the tension his body pulled taut like a bowstring about to snap.

At one point, your robe and his shirt had found themselves slingshotted into the far, opposite corners of the room at some point but he still had his pants and was positively drenched in sweat like he’d just taken a bath and shining under the dim lighting.

"Drained all of my stamina, I'm empty, completely dry... I’m gonna need an IV drip. I can’t believe it. This is crazy, you know... I could die happy like this... But I wanna come. I wan—nnah come inside you so bad again, wanna fill you up—make you full with me—"

He went completely motionless and stayed burrowed in you when your palms cupped his face gently, forcing him to look down at you with his shiny eyes. "You've got to calm down first."

“I don’t think I can,” he murmured, panting, “I really can’t. You feel so—”

Your thumbs stroked the outer corners of his eyes with aching tenderness. “We’ll stop and try to calm you down a bit continuing then, okay? Try for me. No need to rush when we have time to ourselves. No one’s going anywhere.”

He stumbled and nearly fell to his elbows on top of you. “Tell me to,” he said, in a begging voice. “You can just tell me to calm down. Anything you want, anything. You know I’ll listen.”

All these months of living with the revelation about the bond and it still came as a shock to you, but you figured if it was for his own good...

So you ordered him: "Calm down and relax, Rafayel. Everything’s fine, you’re okay."

And god, did he listen well.

You were shocked, as you always were each time, to see just how willingly compliant he was. Seeing his body literally change its chemistry to conform itself to your desires and let go of all tension was unbelievable. You immediately felt bad that you’d forced it on him somehow like some admitted, invasive tranquilizer, because you could have made him relax naturally, with your own labor, a glass of water and massage, maybe, gradually work him through it—

“There’s nothing to worry about. Don’t think about it too much. Just focus on me, yeah?” A quiet command that lacked any real intent to order accompanied an equally soft kiss planted softly against the corner of your mouth, and all thoughts went flying out of the window when you saw how mellowly at peace he was, gazing dreamily at you without the slightest care in the world.

After that, everything became a blur once again. But a pleasant one. Slow, like molasses trickling lazily throughout your bloodstream at room temperature — soothing all aches into pleasure-flavored coziness at being joined, no rampant race towards a climax involved. There was no concept of time whatsoever: just the two of you together.

After your pillow talk about what he believed inspired him — what he wanted would, you internally filled in the blanks — and how he was running out of reserves exclusively saved up for the purposes of his art, you had to make it clear to him that there would be no pain involved in your relationship.

You didn’t know if he expected to be hurt by you in the future or implied he had no problem with that happening, but you couldn’t even tolerate him saying those things for the sake of love, or whatever it was. Him being intimately familiar and nonchalant with the concept bothered you down to the bones.

Not only were you trying to work around the huge rock he’d just dropped on top of your heart with the revelation that Aridum had to represent pure suffering to him as a Lemurian, you were also slightly upset he’d wanted to subject himself to it because he was lost more beautiful things in life had made their way into his life to inspire him as well. His paintings, all of them, had taken a new context and an additional layer of tragedy with that revelation, despite the fact that he’d basically said you made him draw from a different fountain and clogged up the other one.

It was a bittersweet happiness to hear Rafayel wanting to explore brighter, happier sides of life together when the sketch he showed you he was working on while you were sleeping depicted a man drowning in the sea and a figure beckoning him from above, close to the surface. Something still very painful.

“That’s one bleak drawing.”

“Depends on what you see.”

“I see a dying man hallucinating. Maybe that’s someone close to him and his brain is comforting him with a vision. I don’t know.”

“Interesting take. Maybe it’s not just a man at all. Maybe it’s a reunion. It looks peaceful, doesn’t it?”

Now you looked again, it did look peaceful. Just like Rafayel was right now, next to you on the bed with his forehead almost touching yours.

"I'd like to think he isn't drowning, then."

Rafayel just smiled.

#love and deepspace #rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #rafayel smut #lads rafayel x reader #lads rafayel x you #l&ds rafayel x reader #lnds rafayel x reader #rafayel #intertidal zone #lads rafayel #l&ds rafayel #lnds rafayel #lads #lnds #l&ds

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emilydorp · 23 days ago

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Way to ruin a poetic picture. I’ll respond in tags cuz I don’t wanna do negative stuff but hmm.

people who think everything g dragon does is a gtop reference piss me off. no katie just because gd takes a shit doesn’t mean a reunion is happening just because seunghyun does the same thing

#I agree..? I’ve seen some delulu stuff (not that I don’t join it’s just that I don’t take myself seriously)#It’s called being GTOP trash and it’s been around for long (and Kwon Jiyong has never helped us stop cuz he’s used to be an active gtopper)#((Seunghyun was active too for a while lmao))#Maybe still is even tho the fandom is kinda crazy (and dead) rn I never know with them.. don’t be out here insulting the fandom’s silly way #BUT! He’s been liking reels that SHOW that he’s doing certain things PURPOSELY to reference Tabi MULTIPLE TIMES and it’s always random #So he quite literally eggs the GTOP community on to BE this delusional (even liking a post saying he references TOP with a GOAL in mind)#Honestly Tabi and GTOP’s community needs a bit of a ‘cleanse’ at the moment imo.. many people don’t seem to understand their ship’s dynamic #Like.. I see people call GTOP a Kdrama. That’s GROSS.. ESPECIALLY after the ENTIRE concept of the Kwon Jiyong album #Which is that people treat his life like a tv show and that it’s suffocating him to such an extent that he left the industry #But also #Just ignore it and don’t be in those communities (cuz you’re clearly in those communities despite not liking the ship) :))#Noooooooo need to tag the ship and vent bro.. why are you doing that it’s embarrassing af just stay out??#when we have concrete evidence of Jiyong enjoying (ENJOYING) this level of speculation (but some things are too far even then imo)#(But most of that delusion is kept on Twitter&Tumblr where most people agree they don’t go anymore and therefore most likely wouldn’t see)#It’s called having fun and being delusional without disturbing an idol’s daily life :)) no need to complain.. just move along..#The only reason people are doing all this is cuz of his Instagram likes and he KNOWS that and KEEPS going #There’s literally no need to be here.. last time I saw that kinda interrupting of fandom was years ago and it wasn’t cute even then sorry #GTOP

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borathae · 8 months ago

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↳ Index [Day 31 - Werewolves]

Pairing: Alpha Dom!Jungkook x f. Omega sub!Reader

Genre: childhood best friends to enemies to lovers!AU, werewolf!AU

Warnings: Kook is kinda cold at first, it is implied that OC gets sold into a forced marriage where she will be tortured and assaulted (not to Kook but a villain character hahaha), yeah...her future is not looking good, or is it?, Koo might have a plan :----)

Kinks: the trope of "just the tip" and "we shouldn't be doing this", yeah besties i went there, sex in a shed in the forest, sex by the bonfire, nudity, naked cuddling for warmth *wink wink*, he is bigger and stronger than her, size & muscle & strength kink, he pins her down, fuck i'm literally so small when it comes to him like bro please i have so many thots, hahah sorry i'm really into him haahah, he pins her wrists & puts his hand over her mouth to silence her, huge werwolf dick, knotting, multiple orgasms for both, "just the tip" in spooning position, clit massages, rough penetrative sex in pronebone & doggy style, he has her in a headlock at one point, breeding for the sake of scent marking her, so much fucking cum oh lord, dirty talk, he has fangs, he bites her shoulder, he growls, what if i was weak?? what then??, tears, eye contact, this is emotional & has plot and i wanna write more about them, cuddly & safe aftercare, the plot in this is so good omfg

Wordcount: 11.5k

a/n: Click here if you wanna see his dick. I have zero (0) Z E R O knowledge of the workings of the omegaverse. i know that there’s alphas and betas and omegas but that’s it. and that there is heat and knots and slick and scenting(?) but how the dynamics work or what ABO each means? no clue. so if this is inaccurate, bear with me and let's see it as my interpretation of werwolves instead. Okay? Okay. Jjssjjs i also added this idea to the mix ps: i actually don't wanna talk about this, i need to recover first BRO GOODBYE this was kinktober 2024 besties FJJDF what a way to end it tbfh

The storm caught you by surprise. You wouldn’t particularly mind it if it wasn’t for the company you have to keep.

Jeon Jungkook. A stubborn, self-centred peacock of a man who thinks he is something just because he is the son of the alpha.

Now, to perhaps understand the situation a little better, one might need what the literary world calls backstory.

You lived in a small mountain town far away from any big human city. The town was surrounded by high walls and visitors rarely found their way to it. It was wanted by the townspeople because you weren’t particularly human. Most humans would call you demons, but you like to call yourselves werewolves. You lived in a pack and the town was your lair.

You can be human but also turn into a wolf by choice. Some choose to keep some of their wolfish features such as their golden eyes or sharp fangs, while others looked entirely human when they walked on two legs.

Jeon Jungkook was the son of the pack alpha and therefore heir of the title. His mother was an alpha as well, which naturally gave him the alpha gen. He was stronger and faster than the other wolves in the pack and he had control over his body during the full moon. He never hid his fangs and showed his golden eyes whenever he was provoked. He earned his pack tattoos when he was twelve after killing three enemy wolves and when he turned eighteen, he earned the pack piercings after fulfilling the maturity rituals within a day. Something only his father managed to do before him.

Ever since that day, Jungkook became even more obnoxious and unlikable than he already was.

You weren’t so lucky. Born as an omega into a normal family with normal siblings in a normal house, your life has been pretty…normal. You are the same age as Jungkook, which naturally made you go to the same classes from elementary to high school. And throughout your academic career, you never learned to like him.

He was an alpha while you were an omega. You were the only one like this from your family, but they never treated you differently. You were a beloved and cherished family member and therefore lived a normal life until your older brother made a mistake and you had to carry the consequences.

He killed the promised omega wife of the enemy’s alpha’s son. The warring alpha wanted to slaughter the entire town at first, but Jungkook’s father persuaded him to take revenge another way. Take one of the village’s omegas and marry her to his son. “She will be complacent and quiet. Once she is married, she will be your property. You can take out your anger on her.” So Jungkook’s father told him and the enemy alpha agreed happily. One night later, you were dragged from your home with no way to escape your future. You were born this way, it wasn’t your fault and now it would be your death sentence. You cursed your brother that night who begged to be taken in your stead. You told him to choke on it. It was the last thing you said to him and probably will ever say to him. You already started to regret it.

Jungkook was ordered to make sure that you would arrive at the enemy village safe and sound. It has been three days ever since that night and all your hatred for anyone and anything has been directed solely at him.

“The rain’s annoying me. Let’s take shelter”, Jungkook says dryly.

“No.”

Jungkook glares at you.

“Yes”, he hisses, grabbing your arm by your elbow to drag you to a shed nearby. “I’m not gonna walk in the rain. Besides, it’s late. We need to rest.”

“Let go of me”, you protest, stumbling after him. There isn’t much that you can do. He is stronger and bigger and because of his status, he naturally has almost instinctive control over your actions. You could fight against these instincts, but it’s a lot easier not to.

“Would you rather get sick in the rain?”

“Maybe, yes. Maybe I’ll get sick enough to die. At least like this, I won’t be sold into torture”, you spit, ripping yourself free from his grasp. Again, all your hatred and anger is directed towards him, so it is easy to fight your instincts right now.

Jungkook gawks at you in surprise.

“I mean it”, you insist.

He frowns. He steps close and lifts you off the ground, throwing you over his shoulder.

“Hey! Let me down, you fuck!” you yell, flashing your fangs and kicking around you.

Jungkook merely shoulders you better and walks, frowning deeply.

“You brought this onto yourself.”

“I hate you. I fucking hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. You big, smelling piece of shit.”

Jungkook kicks the shed open and drops you. You stumble in surprise, but catch yourself pretty quickly. You and he are mere inches away, sharing air. The constant lighting cutting the sky illuminates your angry faces. You and Jungkook have your golden eyes out and show off your fangs. Your bodies are steaming as your increased body heats dry the water.

“I’m gonna let it slip because we were classmates, but insult me again and I will make you be quiet. Understood?” he gnarls.

You step closer, making him taste your words.

“Go kiss my ass.”

You turn your back to him and stomp further into the shed.

The shed wasn’t much bigger than ten square meters. There were tools on each wall and some tools scattered around the ground. Clearly it was meant as storage for woodworkers. One corner had neat stacks of wood and on a table, some blankets were stacked in case some of the workers needed to stay the night.

“Great. That’s luxury, isn’t it?” you grumble.

The door slams closed behind you, making you flinch. You don’t look however, wanting to appear stronger than you feel. In truth, you are scared and alone and heartbroken. You are frightened. You are sad. You are afraid. You are helpless and hopeless. And you are only a little bit angry. As you walked, you couldn’t stop crying. You were happy for the rain because it masked the constant tears running down your face and you were happy for the loud thunder masking your sobs.

You are being sold like property to a man who will torture you for sports. All you want is to be home and to be held and to have someone pay for your fucking therapy because, goddamn, you are going to need a hell lot of therapy if you should survive this.

Jungkook is the last person you want to be with right now. He lacks empathy and kindness and has a tendency to impulsive anger. You are waiting for him to hurt you after slamming the door, frozen on the spot.

But it doesn’t come. Instead, he swerves past you to get firewood. You can only watch him, frozen like a scared little girl despite having long moved past your second decade on this cruel earth.

Jungkook uses his claws to ignite the fire by scratching them over a stone. He blows into the amber until it forms flames, then he stands up. He hooks his fingers in his shirt and takes it off.

You gasp and look away. You don’t know what he is going to do but it scares you. Is he going to test you out now? Make sure that the alpha is going to get a good delivery?

“Relax. I need to dry my clothes and I can’t do that on my body. I’ll catch a cold otherwise.”

“Oh.”

Jungkook scoffs and starts unbuckling his belt. You watch his tattooed fingers work. He is wearing heavy silver rings on them. Yep, your people can handle silver without pain. It’s only a myth that it hurts you. Just as garlic being lethal for vampires is a myth. Humans like to tell these tales to sleep better at night.

Jungkook begins taking off his pants, meeting your gawking eyes.

“Stop staring and bring the blankets instead.”

“Oh, uhm. Sorry.”

You instinctively obey.

“Make a bed by the fire. Away from the door.”

You obey again.

Afterwards you lift your head, having to gasp and stare. What? Stare? Why can’t you look away?

He is completely naked, currently hanging up his clothes on a chair. You should want to look away but you can’t. His body is sculpted, his muscles well defined. He currently has his back turned to you. It is so big and broad, contrasting against his small waist. Shit, his legs and butt are so big and sculpted in comparison to it. His back is covered scars. Slashes, bite marks, cuts. Some seem to have dug very deep when fresh.

“Just spit it out”, Jungkook hisses, rolling his shoulders which makes his back muscles shift and flex.

“What?”

“I can feel you staring. Just say what you wanna say.”

“Your back. It’s covered in scars.”

Jungkook touches his own back, tracing the scars he can reach.

“I guess it is.”

“Who did this to you?”

“Too many people to count.”

“What happened to them?”

“The fact that I’m still here and they’re not, should be answer enough. Shouldn’t it?”

You gulp.

Jungkook turns.

You gulp even harder. Look away! You know that no matter how hard you beg your eyes, they won’t look away. It is like they are enchanted.

His pecs are big, clearly sculpted and strong. His stomach is defined, carrying scars as well. But what truly catches your eyes is his cock. Sitting under a dark, masculine bush of pubes, it glistens in the shine of the fire. It is big, even soft, a little tanner than the rest of his skin and sitting against a pair of big, plumb balls made for breeding. So this is what the cock of an alpha looks like. The effect it has on you is embarrassing. You feel slick build up in your holes and saliva collect in your mouth.

“Quit your staring. It’s like you’ve never seen a dick before.”

You shake out of your trance, looking away in embarrassment. Your face feels on fire. Holy fuck, what is wrong with you?

“You have seen dick before, right? Weren’t you and Tae a thing in high school?” he talks as he gets under the blanket.

“Uh, yeah, uh. We were.”

“And knowing Tae, he fucked you. Didn’t he?”

You turn away in embarrassment, rubbing the side of your neck. Of course he did, but Jungkook doesn’t need to know that.

He figures it out instantly however, glancing at your middle when you aren’t looking. Just for a second, nothing more.

“So stop being weird about it”, he says and lies down.

You shrink. Jungkook studies you. You are trembling in your wet, cold clothes. He pities you.

“Get naked and hang your clothes up to dry”, he orders.

You want to move in obedience at first, but then stop. You are too scared to obey instinctively.

“No. Close your eyes.”

Jungkook groans and closes his eyes.

“You’re so stuck up. You should practice being naked in front of other people. I heard that Alpha Urquard likes for his pack to watch wedding nights.”

You bite down tears. Great. Not only will you be assaulted, it will happen in front of god knows how many people. What if you just throw yourself onto one of the sharp tools? It would be a bitch way to go, but it’s better than what will happen to you.

You ogle the pitchfork. Maybe you could do it. Maybe.

“Hey!”

You snap out of it. You whip around, meeting Jungkook’s eyes.

“Hurry up and come here.”

“What?”

“Come here. It’s better than over there.”

You ogle the pitchfork then his darkened face. Did he figure you out?

“I’m not gonna repeat myself. Get out of your wet clothes and come to me.”

“Ple-please close your eyes.”

Jungkook sighs in defeat and obeys. With shaking fingers, you get naked. With trembling knees, you walk to his side. With weak muscles, you get under the blanket next to him. There is only one blanket and you try your fucking hardest not to touch his body in any kind of way. He left you the spot closer by the fire so you were warmer and he could oversee the door.

Jungkook, who senses your presence, opens his eyes. He studies your face, then your body. You have the blanket pulled up to your neck, shivering uncontrollably. Even now, you seem plagued by the cold.

He furrows his brows in distaste and closes the distance. He manages to put his arm around you before your quiet beg freezes him.

“Please don’t hurt me.”

He moves away, studying you in shock. Your eyes are squeezed shut, your fingers are trembling as you grasp the blanket.

“Why would I hurt you?”

The honest confusion in his voice forces you to open your eyes.

The fire casts deep shadows into his face as much as it illuminates other parts of it. His wet hair is drying slowly, sticking to his wrinkled forehead. He is furrowing his brows which explains the wrinkles.

“Why would I hurt you?” he repeats his question with more urgency.

“I don’t know.”

“I was ordered to make sure that you arrive unharmed to Urquard. The last thing I’ll do is hurt you.”

“Please don’t.”

“Please don’t?”

“Don’t make sure that I arrive safely.”

Jungkook blinks in surprise. Such vulnerability isn’t what he expected from the once feisty, rude woman of before. You are tiny in fear, trembling uncontrollably and begging him with greyed, hopeless eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re gonna be an alpha’s wife. That’s every omega’s dream”, he snarls, sounding weirdly jealous.

You burst into tears instantly, turning your back to him as you curl into a small ball. You wail loudly, unable to pretend any longer. You don’t want to be married off. You don’t want it.

“No, uh… stop crying. I, I’m ordering you to stop crying”, he panics, hissing his words which only makes you cry harder.

He stares for a while, fumbling with his words. In the end he doesn’t know what to say, turning off his brain to speak from his heart instead.

“Don’t cry, it’s gonna be okay”, he says softly, rubbing your shoulder.

His touch is tender and soothing. You sob despite it or perhaps because of it. It feels so weird to receive because it is nice.

“Hey, it’s okay”, he tells you, draping his arm over you. Like this, your bodies are touching under the blanket. He feels so warm against your skin. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“It’s not gonna be okay. I’m being sold like a pig to a man who likes to watch his daughters in law get raped in front of the entire pack and who will use every second of his life to torture me.” You shrink into yourself. “I just wanna die. I’m so scared.”

“Hey no, don’t say that. Don’t be scared, I’m here.”

“I heard that Urquard killed his first wife by ramming a medal hook into her stomach and hanging her like this. All because she couldn’t give him a child with the alpha gen. Please just kill me, please.”

“I’m not gonna kill you, ___.”

The last time Jungkook said your name, you and he were both eleven and played adventurers in the forest. He celebrated his twelfth birthday two weeks later and another two weeks later, he killed those three wolves and got his tattoos. He stopped playing with you and stopped saying your name. Quite frankly, he stopped playing with any children since that day, saying stuff like “a man wouldn’t play stupid stuff” or “my father says that it’s weak to play” and he became quiet and distant. Maybe he became sadder as well and lonelier.

Your name from his tongue after almost fifteen years forces you to turn in his arms. For just a second, the same innocent and playful boy looks back at you before you blink and come back to reality. His features and eyes are still the same shape and colour but he seemed to have grown into them. His left cheek carries a scar these days and his brows are furrowed more than they are relaxed.

“I’m not gonna kill you, ___. And I’m not gonna let you kill yourself either.”

“So you would rather see me sold to a monster?” You squeeze out tears of anger and frustration. “I hate you so much. You sadistic, heartless piece of shit.”

Jungkook frowns deeper.

“You alphas are all the same. You think just because you are stronger than the rest of us, you can push us around like cattle. We aren’t cattle. We are people, we live normal and good lives. We are nothing special but that’s good. We’re boring and mundane but we love deeply. Unlike you disgusting, selfish alphas who see us as nothing but merchandise.”

“Are you done now?”

“I’ve only started. You are heartless, selfish, self-absorbed, apathetic and a snob. At the spot where your heart once was, a rotten piece of coal is sitting and when you talk, plants die out of spite.”

“Anything else you like to add?”

“You are the worst person to ever exist. You are elitist and stubborn and way too obsessed with status. And you…” Your eyes fill with tears. “...you broke my heart before I even knew what heartbreak was.”

Jungkook’s eyes darken in an unfamiliar emotion. Guilt? Regret? More anger?

“We did everything together until one day, you decided that I wasn’t good enough anymore. For fuck’s sake, we were twelve and you acted like I was embarrassing for doing stuff kids our age were allowed to do.”

“You think that I had a choice?” He finally speaks up and you get a feeling that it was your turn to listen. “I stopped being a kid in my father’s eyes the day I killed those wolves. I didn’t wanna push you away, but father made me.”

“What?”

“I became his heir that day, I sealed my fucking fate. I had to stop playing a-and doing kid’s stuff. He forced me to train day in and out. I had to be the perfect man. I was twelve, for fuck’s sake. I was a fucking kid who wanted to play adventurers in the forest with, with his….with his best friend.”

The silence which follows after his confession is deafening. Fifteen years of hating him. Fifteen years of thinking that he hated you. And all this time, he only acted like this because his father made him. You meet his emotional eyes, feeling emotional yourself.

“I was your best friend?” you whisper.

He nods his head, biting down on his lower lip to stop it from trembling.

“I miss you, ___”, he presses out.

You feel lost for words. You are so shaken in fact that you can’t even find it in you to cry. Fifteen years. Fifteen years of hating him for what he did and wishing for an apology you thought would never come and here it is. His confession. His apology.

“It’s been fifteen years and I still do. I miss you and I’m sorry.” He cups your face, wiping away the remnants of tears. “I’m so sorry.”

You stare. And stare. And stare.

“Please say something”, he whispers.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Just anything, please.”

“You’re the most selfish piece of shit I have ever seen.”

Jungkook’s face falls in shock. His eyes show how much your words hurt him.

“Why tell me your stupid apology now? Why confess to me now? Knowing that I will be sold into a life of sex slavery and torture?” You hit his chest. “Why tell me now when you literally deliver me to my fucking death? You piece of shit, you’re selfish and cruel and I want you dead.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. You and your entire family and the rest of the pack. Die. All of you just die.”

You hit him with more vigour. More and more and more.

“Enough”, he stops you, pinning your wrists into the ground and with it, rendering you helpless, “stop hitting me, please.”

You spit at his face.

Jungkook flinches back. He sits up and wipes it away.

“What the fuck? You spat at me. Why would you do that?”

“Go to hell and shove your sappy confession up your sadistic ass”, you hiss. You feel no ounce of remorse for what you did.

Jungkook wipes your spit into the blanket and moves quickly. He puts your wrists together and pins them above your head. Before you can spit again, he puts his other hand over your mouth, rending your legs useless as well by slinging one of his muscular legs over yours.

There is no fabric between your bodies. You are skin against skin. Raw and naked and hot. You can feel his dick against you and you know that he can feel your tits against his arm. You are rendered useless, vulnerable to whatever he plans to do to you now that spat at him. You are scared, but you are also droopy. It is that same droopiness you felt when you looked at his naked body. Except stronger and more unbearable. You are hotter and there is slick gathering in your holes. You can barely breathe, but maybe this is because of his hand over your mouth.

“Stop fighting me and listen”, Jungkook talks with his lips close to your face. You can’t stop staring at them. You fight him while your mind goes droopy at the sight of his lips moving. “You can either go to your new life or listen. Are you gonna listen?”

You nod your head.

“Good. I’m gonna pull my hand away now and you won’t spit at my face again. Promise?”

You nod hesitantly.

“Good. I trust your word.”

He pulls his hand away, keeping his arm around you. It lies exactly over your tits, rubbing against your nipples. You know for a fact that he is able to feel it. You curl your fingers, trying so hard not to get affected by his closeness. Or to make a sound for that matter.

“I said this stuff to you because I wanna make it right between us. Your brother fucked up, but what Urquard did in retaliation is crazy and what father allowed is insane. If you want me to, I won’t bring you to him.”

“What? But…your father promised.”

“I don’t care. It’s barbaric that omega trading is still a thing. You are right, you are people not cattle.”

“If he finds out that you refuse, he will disown you.”

“I have a plan for that.”

“Urquard will kill you.”

“That’s why I have a plan.”

“What plan?”

“It’s gonna sound insane.”

“Just tell me please. I don’t wanna be sold.”

“The only way I can free you of this pact is if you get marked by another alpha. You’re unclaimed right now, but if you were to be marked by an alpha other than Urquard’s son, then the pact would be invalid.”

“What do you mean with marked?”

He hesitates.

“Tell me.”

“An alpha would have to put his dick into you.”

“So assault? I would have to be assaulted?”

“Not if you wanted it.”

“Huh?”

“Not if it’s with someone you trust. Someone who’s gonna be careful and gentle and who’s gonna make it nice for you.”

“And who should that be? Last time I checked, I’m not really friends with many…”

Your eyes meet Jungkook’s. He seems shy all of a sudden.

“Oh.”

You gasp for air.

“Oh.”

“I know it’s crazy. I thought of other ways. I’ve been plotting ever since we left town. That’s why I volunteered. To give us time, to give me time to think of something. I thought of lots of stuff, but they all ended in hypothetical death or enslavement of our pack. The only peaceful option was this.”

“You volunteered to bring me?”

He nods his head, “anyone else would have been too scared of or too loyal to my dad. I know you’re scared, but I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

“And you thought of this?”

“It’s the only way. We kill Urquard and his sons? Their pack comes after us. We run away? Their pack is gonna punish our pack. We kill everyone? Impossible we’d die and destine our pack to agony. It’s only death and pain u-unless you get marked by an alpha.”

“But I would have to be with you afterwards.”

“Only if you want to. We can pretend, make everyone think that it’s real. You wouldn’t have to be with me ever again.”

“Oh my god, this is insane.”

“I know. I’m sorry. The choice is yours. I promise.”

You study his face. You are still trapped under him, sharing heat. Skin against skin. arm against chest and cock against hip. He is semi hard by now, smearing slick on your skin. The fact that he is affected by this - by you - doesn’t make it easier to stay calm. You are glad for his leg over yours because it forces your legs to be closed and therefore hide the masses of slick having accumulated by now. His hair is still damp, hanging into his face messily. His fingers feel so strong and protective around your wrists. You swear that each time he breathes out and you inhale it, you feel high. You are so attracted to him right now.

Truth be told, you always thought that he was handsome beyond comparison. He has a mesmerizing aura and a captivating smile. His physique is your dream physique and his face often caught your attention in a crowd. You were utterly and insanely attracted to him which made your hatred for him grow deeper. He betrayed you, but he is still haunting your thoughts. It was unbearable until right now.

“I’m scared. I never did it with an alpha before”, you confess, suddenly feeling so vulnerable.

And Jungkook takes that vulnerability, cradling it in his safe palm just as he cradles your cheek the same way. His eyes softened, his voice did too.

“Don’t be scared. I’ll be gentle. I promise”, he almost whispers the words, tracing your brow and temple between cradling your cheek.

“I don’t know you like that.”

“Neither do I you. It’s gonna be a one time thing.”

“I’m scared. I’ve been scared ever since all of this started.”

“Don’t be. I’m here. I won’t let them touch you.”

“But you’ll touch me?” you ask in a whisper, lifting the inner corners of your brows.

Jungkook has a hard time staying calm when you look at him with such puppy eyes.

“If you let me, I will.”

You exhale shakily, squirming under him.

“I’m scared.”

He lets go of your wrists to cradle your other cheek. You lean into the touch, barely wanting to keep your eyes open. Your arms stay in their submissive position naturally.

“Just the tip. That’s all it takes. Just the tip for a few seconds so you take on my scent and then it’ll be over”, he says.

“Just the tip?”

“Yes, just the tip. Nothing more. I promise.”

You are going to do something which you thought never to do. But if it saves your life, you would do anything. Even something as crazy as allow Jungkook to stick his tip into you.

“Okay. Just the tip.”

Jungkook exhales shakily, moving closer for a kiss like it was instinct before he stops himself. You shudder, craving nothing more than what he denies both of you.

“We shouldn’t be doing this”, he breathes.

“What?”

“Kiss.” He lets the word dance over your lips, running his thumb under your lips as his eyes stare. “We shouldn’t.”

“No, we shouldn’t”, you whimper, chasing him.

Moments of craving and yearning where both of you try so hard to kiss the other. But you shouldn’t. Just the tip, nothing more.

“Roll to your side, please”, Jungkook breaks the electric silence, guiding you with his hand on your shoulder until your back faces his chest.

You can see the fire and the rest of the shed like this, but not Jungkook.

“Why like this?”

“If I look at your face, I’ll stick it in completely. I can’t do this to you.”

“Oh.”

Jungkook closes the distance, connecting his hand with your hip. He guides it up your body, travelling along your waist and arm. His touch leaves goosebumps where it goes. His palm is slightly calloused from fighting but incredibly tender in how it touches you. You feel yourself breathe heavier and heavier the longer he touches you.

He reaches your shoulder, closing the last of the distance by lowering his lips to your back.

“Ah”, you let out quietly, tensing up. Your eyes are widened comically big, staring into the bright flames. He is kissing your naked skin. What the fuck.

Jungkook’s eyes are closed in contrast. His head is foggy, but he tries to fight these feelings. You smell so good that it is very difficult to do so.

His hand is still on your shoulder at first but moves to your waist when he guides his kisses to said shoulder.

“Oh god”, you whisper, sighing afterwards.

Jungkook feels droopy from the sound, digging his fingers into the softness of your side. He shouldn’t be doing this. Just the tip. That’s what he said. And yet here he is, kissing your soft skin as if it was his right to do so. He shouldn’t be doing this, but he can’t stop. He traces and holds your side and stomach, telling himself that he only does it to relax you. He kisses every inch of your exposed back and shoulder, telling himself that he only does it to calm you down. When in truth he does all of this because he wants to make it nice for you. And maybe he wants to be a source of tenderness after what you had to go through.

Lies. These are still lies. He fucking does this because he wants to. He fucking does it because he wants to know how it is to touch you. Taehyung talked when you and he were high school sweethearts. Oh, Taehyung talked and Jungkook had to listen and secretly seethe with jealousy. It should be him, he thought back then, he would know how to treat you right.

You had no idea of these thoughts. You still haven’t as you lie here next to the warm fire while Jungkook touches you oh so carefully. You don’t know if you’re allowed to close your eyes. Just the tip, you agreed on. Can you close your eyes for that?

But it feels so good. His lips are soft, while his piercings are hard in contrast. His touch is currently dancing up the middle of your torso slowly. You fight the shivers wanting to run through you.

You lose the fight a moment later when he pulls you against his strong chest and kisses your neck.

You whimper, trembling like crazy. You arch into him, craning your neck to give him more of it. Your heart skips beats under his lips. Jungkook grips the blanket to stop his hand from cradling your tits.

“Fuck, I shouldn’t be doing this”, he presses out under his breath, mouthing at your neck hungrily. “I shouldn’t….do…this.”

He drags his lips to your jawline and sucks. Your eyes close.

You mewl, rolling your hips back into him. His cock slides between your legs, rubbing between your puffy folds. He trembles in shock, gripping your hip to stop your wiggles.

“Don’t do this. Don’t act like this when it is supposed to mean nothing.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it.”

“Mhhm I know. You can’t, but I can. I won’t do it again, I’m sorry.”

You swallow your begs, not wanting to appear weak or desperate. It is so difficult not to beg when you have his cock between your legs. Hugged by your folds and exchanging slick. He feels hot and his veins are pulsing desperately. You have never before felt so stupidly horny than you do right now. Quite frankly, he might be forcing you to go into impromptu heat if he keeps being like this.

“Just the tip, yeah? Just the tip”, he whispers as he puts his arm under your head so you have something comfortable to rest on. You practically melt into him, biting back tears. You are being held and it feels so good. So safe and warm.

He kisses your neck and cheek, whispering his words.

“Are you comfortable? Are you ready?”

“Yeah”, you sigh, pushing your hips back.

Jungkook slides his other hand between your bodies, using it to align his cock with your dripping entrance. Just the tip, he reminds himself, nothing more. Don’t be greedy, keep calm. This doesn’t mean anything.

“Last chance”, he says, wanting to stall time so he can calm down.

“I trust you.”

Jungkook bites back his moan, having to take a deep breath before he can act. You are messing him up without knowing. With a racing pulse, he applies pressure on your puffy cunt and slips inside.

You squeak, shaking against your will. You convulse around him, gasping repeatedly. He went in so easily, despite his size.

Jungkook growls, “fuck, holy fuck”, he gets out and bruises your hip as he grips it for support. It takes everything inside him not to push it all the way in. Jungkook genuinely has a hard time not to moan. You are so wet.

Judging from your tremors and the way you fight for air, it is just as difficult for you.

“Only a few more second”, he forces his voice to sound as normal as possible. He wants to fuck you, but knows that he shouldn’t.

“Mh-hm”, you squeak out, nodding your head. You want him to fuck you.

Jungkook closes his hand to a fist, growing his claws to dig them into his own palm. The pain keeps him from acting up. He wouldn’t be able to handle it otherwise.

Jungkook always hoped that he would marry you one day. There it is. It’s out there. Jungkook had feelings for you for decades. In his dreams, you marry him and he can spend the rest of his days spoiling you rotten. He would be your protector against any danger, your best friend to laugh with, your remedy for your heats and the lover you can be yourself with.

Being with you like this is everything he ever wished for. You are so soft and warm around him, your slick is so wet. He knows that, deeper inside, it would be so much more. You'd be so warm, so soft. Jungkook gulps down his desire for more, otherwise he would do things he would regret.

“I think it should be good”, he presses out. He can’t do it anymore. One more second and he would push in all the way. He can’t do this to you. You trust him and he can’t abuse this trust.

“Really?”

You turn your head, looking up at him in droopy devotion. Jungkook whimpers, instantly cradling your cheek. He furrows his brows, throbbing inside you. He fights the urge to kiss you, to rest his forehead against yours, to bury himself deep inside you.

“Please don’t look at me.”

“Jungkook.”

His name hasn’t rolled off your tongue ever since he left you at the playground. It almost brings tears to his eyes, forcing his arm around you tighter.

“I can’t do this”, he drops his forehead against yours “I think I remembered that I need to put in all of it. It’s not gonna work otherwise.”

He is lying, because he can’t accept the truth yet. That he is selfish and totally addicted to you.

“Please do.”

“No. No we shouldn’t be doing this”, he fights it still, shaking his head which makes his nose rub against yours.

“Please”, your words tickle his lips, “save me. Whatever it takes, save me.”

“Urgh”, he growls through gritted teeth.

“Please.”

Jungkook lifts his head. He wants to look into your eyes as he does it. He wants to see the utter bliss in your eyes as he turns your relationship status from ex childhood best friends to two adults reunited.

He rolls his hips, feeding your warmth his length inch by inch. Your brows furrow and lift, your lids flutter, your mouth falls open.

“A-ah”, you squeak out.

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m all here”, he whispers. He closes his arm around you, cradling you in a gentle headlock.

You close your fingers around his lower arm, spilling tears from your eyes.

“Does it hurt?”

You shake your head.

“But?”

“So…filled out. So big.”

“I know. I’m big, but you’re taking me so well.”

You whimper. Jungkook feels so insanely protective over you right now.

“Yes, you are. Taking me so well”, he insists, brushing the back of his hand down your cheek.

Jungkook continues until he bottoms out. He shudders, choking down a whimper. You feel so good. He never ever felt like this before. It feels like coming home which is insane because he was never with you like this.

“___”, your name comes out of him against his will.

“Jungkook”, you answer him, clenching around him.

“Stay still, please.”

“Okay”, you whimper, looking at his lips.

The pull is magnetic. Jungkook draws closer with parted lips, you meet him with parted lips. Once you kiss, it will be over for you and him. There will be no coming back from this.

“No”, he croaks, putting his hand over your mouth. The headlock tightens like this, giving you such a sense of being protected that your walls clench against your will.

“We shouldn’t kiss. Never”, he rasps weakly, mouthing at his own hand right where your lips lie beneath. You close your eyes, trying to move your lips under his hand. It is starting to feel cruel to be denied his kiss. Especially when memories of your past come back to you.

You remember that it was a group of eight kids and you were doing “dares” to see who is the coolest. Taehyung was dared to prank call his mom and he actually did. He pretended to be a grown up insurance clerk and once he hung up, you really thought that he managed to prank his mom (he didn’t hide his phone number and had a childlike voice). Jimin, another friend, was dared to climb a tree. Which he did and he was sooo cool for it. They were silly, childish dares who did no harm but made you feel so cool. Then it came to you and you were dared to kiss Jungkook. Which you did. In a childlike, innocent way but which made you and him feel so grown up for a moment.

The memory is haunting you right now, making you want to redo it in a grown up, mature way. You open your eyes, meeting Jungkook’s gaze. Judging from the foggy desperation in them, he is haunted by the same memory.

“Please get out of my head”, he gets out.

You whimper his name behind his hand. Jungkook furrows his brows, grinding his teeth.

“No please. Stop it”, he croaks, squeezing his eyes shut.

You want to fight it as well, of course you do. You swore to hate him forever and now you want nothing else than his kiss. You want to fight it, but your hands move against your will. They rest themselves over Jungkook’s hand and try to dig between your face and his palm.

He growls, huffing out air. The only thing keeping your hips from joining the impossible fight is his hand on it. Shit, now he is concentrating on down below. Your puffy walls around him, so soft and warm. Being inside you, Jungkook swears he will never be cold again. Or maybe he will be, maybe he will never find warmth again once this stops, once he has to slip out and pretend that it meant nothing.

What will happen afterwards? He is so needy and he knows that you are too. What will happen? Are you going to lie next to each other, wet and needy and force your bodies to calm down? Or maybe he will need to excuse himself to outside, fuck his own fist as the loud thunder masks his desperate moans while inside the shed you most definitely would touch yourself as well?

Jungkook was so lost in his haunted thoughts that he realises too late that you managed to tug his hand away. Your lips brush his’.

Jungkook moans from the bottom of his heart, going in for more at first. He even rolls his hips into you. Like instinct. Like it is meant to happen.

“No”, he pushes you away, slips out, breaks the moment. “We shouldn’t be doing this. Not that far.”

You sob, shrinking into yourself.

“Please”, you whimper your words, staring at him with desperate, sad eyes. You lift your hips, begging him silently.

“I won’t be able to stop if I do it again. I can’t do this to you.”

“Please”, you beg.

“Do you even know what an alpha does when he fucks? I won’t be able to stop until I bred you. I-I’ll knot you and, and you won’t be able to get me out until I’m soft again.”

“I know.”

“This could take hours. You will feel out of control and vulnerable.”

“You said that you will protect me. That I-I’m safe with you.”

“___”, he chokes out and crawls to you. He picks you up in his strong arms, holding you against his chest. His heart is racing like crazy against your back. “Stop me. I beg you. I can’t pretend any longer that this means nothing to me. You have to stop this.”

You reach up and twist his hair, pulling him down to you.

“We shouldn’t-”

You silence him with a kiss.

Jungkook trembles, resting his weight against you as the kiss renders his body useless for a moment. You are kissing him. You stopped this stupid farce for you and him. You sealed your fates. Jungkook knows that it won’t be the same after tonight. He will never fucking give you up.

He breaks the kiss, but stay close.

“You shouldn’t have done this.”

“Please. More.”

“Are you even hearing me?” he hisses.

“Yes. Please, more.”

“Fuck, we really shouldn’t, but maybe I…I have to move it a few times? To really mark you?”

“Yes, sounds good, mark me please. I don’t wanna be sold.”

“I-I’ll do it just for that. To make sure.”

“Yes. Okay”, you sigh and melt into him, lifting your leg.

Jungkook slides his hand under it instantly.

“Let me do it. Relax.”

You let your muscles relax, allowing him to carry your leg’s weight. He does it so easily, tracing your hairline with his fingertips as he looks down at you. He moves his hips so his cock would slip between your folds, working you up to what was coming by grinding back and forth. He really drags out the movements, sending trembles through your legs each time his thick tip rubs your swollen clit.

He exhales shakily, whispering his thoughts.

“You’re so wet. I have never felt slick so warm and, and wet before.”

You look up at him with shy, nervous puppy eyes, making him want to protect you forever.

“Is it bad?”

“No, fuck no”, he puts his arm around your chest, pulling you up to him until he can rest his forehead against yours. “It’s perfect, baby.”

“Baby?”

“I…” he drops you, hips stilling in shock. He doesn’t know what to say. Anything he could say feels like too little of an apology.

You however increase the lethalness of your puppy eyes, reaching down to try and move his hips again.

“Please. More.”

“We’re only doing this to save you, right?” He asks, picking up a rhythm again. It is the same as before but way more arousing because he purposefully makes sure that his tip slips into you every now and then. He starts off with just a little poke, increasing the inches more and more. But it stays just the tip, for now, don’t be mistaken. If he slips inside it should happen accidentally. He likes to tell himself if it happens like this, it will mean that it wasn’t his fault.

“Yes, only to save me” you lull your words, getting droopier and droopier. Each time he has his tip inside you, it feels so good. Before he slips out and you feel sad, until of course he drags his cock over your clit instead.

You can’t do this for long anymore and Jungkook seems to share your feelings. The tip he buries in you starts to go way past your entrance and it seems to stay longer inside. His golden eyes never break contact, his fingers rub your arm as he holds you so close.

He slips into you again. So deep.

“Mhhhhm” he lets out in a rumble, furrowing his brows.

You whimper, lifting your brows.

Deeper. Deeper. Deeper. He won’t be able to escape like this.

Deeper.

He bottoms out.

You moan, eyelids fluttering and lips chasing his kiss.

He shakes his head, talking as he falls into the kiss.

“We really shouldn’t be doing this.”

You kiss and Jungkook’s cock doesn’t leave you again. It stays buried deep inside you, reshaping your walls as his hips move. Slowly for now, daring not to be too rough with you. Because being rough makes it real. Maybe if he keeps his movements tiny enough, it will still count as being nothing of importance.

Because that’s what this is, right? Something that doesn’t mean anything, something that won’t change who you and he are. This is what those needy, hungry tongue kisses mean, this is what the desperate touches mean, this is what the exchanging of warm slick means. Nothing. Because if those things meant something, it would force Jungkook to admit that he is doing This for himself. Of course he does it to save you, but if it meant something, he would have to admit that he is also doing this for himself.

But it doesn’t mean anything, right? Right?

You break the kiss for air, looking up at him submissively and droopy.

“It feels so good”, you whisper.

“Close your eyes, please.”

You obey and Jungkook has to come to the realisation that it makes no difference. This fucking means something. Holy fuck, he is done for.

“Maybe I have to make you cum?”

“What?” you ask, eyes still closed.

“I think I need to make you cum once. Then you’ll be marked.”

“Please do. I trust you.”

Trust. He thought that he would never earn it again and yet here he is. With your weakened, trembling body in his hold as you trust him to take good care of you.

“Mhhm shit”, he presses out, biting down on his own tongue to calm himself. Be tender with her, he thinks, you swore to be a gentle alpha so fucking get it together.

He moves you into another position, draping your leg over his hip so you wouldn’t have to use your muscles. You are so open and spread like this, allowing his big cock entrance. He slides his hand to your clit and takes it between his thumb and middle finger to massage it.

“A-ha”, you let out, arching your back and lifting your hips.

“Ssssh, relax. I’m here.”

“Please, deeper.”

Jungkook buries his cock deep inside you and stays there, circling his hips. He is so big and long that he stimulates both your g-spot and your cervix. He is so gentle that it doesn’t hurt. It just feels so good that your fangs grow against your will and you leak masses of new slick.

“Like this? Am I making it nice for you?”

“So nice”, you mewl, nodding your head vigorously.

Jungkook is gazing at you as it happens. He watches every change of expression on your face, fighting the urge to call you beautiful. Because that’s what you are. Beautiful. You would deserve to know but he is scared of the consequences. It would mean the fluttering of his heart is real.

“Is so nice”, you sigh, writhing happily. It breaks him.

“You’re beautiful”, he says, moaning softly when you tighten and arch your back. So you liked it. His cock throbs inside you, leaking into you needily. “Yeah that’s right, you’re beautiful. So fucking beautiful. Taking me so well, feeling so good on my cock.”

“Ah, aaaah”, your moans are so loud, your pussy so fucking wet and your clit so swollen.

Jungkook fucks you gently, massaging your spot of pleasure with his long, skilled fingers. He can feel your heartbeat in your back, as much as he can feel you rub against his nipples.

The blanket over your bodies is so hot, making you and him sweat wherever you are touching. He can’t deny it anymore that this is real, that this means something. This means fucking everything to him.

“You’re such a good omega, taking me so well.”

“You’re making me cum”, you croak, grasping his arm for support, “please, can I cum?”

“Yes, baby. You can. Cum for me.”

“Jungkook”, you gasp, ripping your eyes open to stare in shock as his gentle touches bring you over the edge.

Your eyes flicker golden, you moan silently with an open mouth.

“That’s it, cum for your alpha. Let me mark you, that’s it.”

He has a hard time saying these words to you. His thoughts are running wild. This is the face you make when you have an orgasm. Never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined this to be a face he gets to see. And it’s so beautiful that he treads the moment your high stops and he has to pull out. He doesn’t want to pull out. He needs more of you. He needs you like fucking crazy.

“More please”, and then your beg releases him. You are down from your high, yet still so hungry for more. You feel so fulfilled with him that you don’t want this to stop.

“What?” he croaks.

“More please, more.”

“If I do this, I won’t stop until I cum too.”

“I know.”

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I have to cum inside you to mark you?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

The pretend continues. The fucking charades that this is only to save you from your fate, that you and he aren’t doing this because it feels so good to both of you.

“Please Jungkook, fuck me properly.”

“Are you sure?” he almost squeaks the words because he has such a hard time controlling his urges.

“Yes. Please.”

“Holy fuck. ___ urgh.”

Your needy beg does the rest. His animalistic instincts take over.

Jungkook growls, grabbing you roughly to flip you onto your stomach and therefore pin you down. He straddles you from behind. His right hand slips to the back of your head, his left hand has a possessive grip on your hip. His legs cage in your legs, keeping them squeezed together as he drills his thick cock into your pussy. You are so tight like this, jerking him off in such a maddening way.

You scream up as you didn’t expect him to take on such a punishing pace instantly, but you aren’t complaining. It feels so good to take him. He fucks you so well. His cock is so filling, making you feel whole.

“I’m not holding back now. For you, just for you. Is this good for you? Do you like this?”, he growls through gritted fangs, shifting his eyes between your face and his cock.

“Yeaa”, you sob, clawing at the ground helplessly. You were aware that Jungkook has been an adult for years, but this is still changing how you see him. Whenever you thought of him, you saw that twelve year old boy calling you immature for playing. That boy is gone as if he never existed. Jungkook is a fucking adult and he is rewriting the image in your mind one heavy stroke at a time.

“You should have never seen me like this. Fuck, this shouldn’t happen”, Jungkook spits, high on your body. He is embarrassed by his actions, but can’t stop them. “But I can’t stop. Holy fuck, I need you so fucking bad.” He needs to fuck you. You are so small and weak right now, so goddamn vulnerable. Once so unclaimed until he took you.

You are his.

Jungkook growls, pinning you harder into the ground.

You are his.

You reach behind yourself because his hand on your head hurts. He grabs your wrist instantly, using it to pin your arm against your back. You wail up, kicking the ground as best as possible as you writhe in your imprisonment.

“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t see me like this. Not you. I’m sorry.”

He apologises, knowing that he won’t be able to stop until you are claimed. The thought makes him crazy. He is claiming you. The girl who was his first kiss, his best friend who always came to him when she needed help, the woman who counts on him to protect her from her fate and the wife he always hoped to have one day. And he is claiming her. He is marking her, making you his for anyone to smell.

Jungkook drills you harder. He pulls out all the way to his tip just to thrust into you sloppily. He does it over and over again, reminding your dripping pussy of his size with each possessive thrust.

And you take it with grateful sobs, existing only for him right now. You would never recover if he stopped right now. You need him to finish what he started even if it ruins you in the process.

“We really shouldn’t be doing this, fuck, this shouldn’t happen”, Jungkook gets out, gawking at where he buries himself in you.

Your slick is slowly taking on a milky colour from the intense friction. It sticks to his veiny shaft and his dark pubes, smearing all over your ass and his thighs as well.

If this shouldn’t happen, why does it feel so good? If this shouldn’t happen, why does it look so hot? If this shouldn’t happen, why does he not want to stop?

Jungkook scrunches his face in anger. He lets go of your arm so he can grip your hips with both hands. He pulls them up until you are kneeling. Your face is still buried in the ground, your back is arched.

You shake and convulse instantly, sobbing in embarrassment because the open position of your legs forces your slick to run out of you.

“Holy fuck”, he gets out, staring at it with blown out pupils, “holy fuck, ___.”

“I’m sorry, please don’t judge me”, you beg, trying so hard to keep it inside with clenches around his cock.

“Never. Holy fuck, I could never.”

“I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. Relax, baby. Don’t fight it”, he says, knowing that you and he shouldn’t be doing this.

You obey instinctively. You relax around him, releasing the slick you so desperately wanted to hide from him. It begins squirting out of you messily and audibly, marking him yours.

“Yes”, he growls and begins pulling your hips onto his cock possessively, thrusting into you at the same time. He does it with one hand because the other he slips between your legs to pinch your clit. Gently of course, keeping her between two fingers to massage her in circular motions.

“Let me help you.”

You wail and shake, releasing more and more of your pretty slick. It runs down your thighs, covers his legs, smears all over your ass and his stomach.

“Relax, that’s it. My pretty omega shouldn’t keep it inside. It’s not good for you.”

“Jungkook, I can’t do this”, you sob.

“I know. We can’t do this, we never should have.”

“No”, you wail, “no. I have to cum again.”

“Whenever you want to. Your alpha’s right here, baby.”

“Jungkook!” you scream, breaking apart as if you never orgasmed before. It feels so good.

“Holy fuck baby, ah!” Jungkook yelps, hips stuttering in shock, “you feel so good, what the fuck ah! Ah! I can’t control myself. Baby!”

Jungkook growls and lays himself over you. He holds you up with one hand around you, biting down on your shoulder as his body breaks. You sob from the pain of the bite, loving every second of it.

And then it hits you.

His seed.

His thick, hot seed.

It shoots out of him with such strength that you feel punched in the gut. The effect is instant. You lose control over yourself. Quite literally, you lose control. You can still talk, using it to scream his name as you orgasm in a way you have never experienced before.

The first one was intense but familiar. This right now? You didn’t even know that your body could feel this way. It is truly, seriously, religious. It is as if you finally found your purpose in life. And in a sense you did. You found your alpha. He finally claimed you properly. You are his’. You aren’t unclaimed anymore. Nobody ever educated on this, so you have no idea that these religious, soul fulfilling feelings mean that you changed forever, but you don’t mind right now. You are just riding on these feelings, screaming his name and milking him dry.

Jungkook whimpers. He truly, honestly whimpers from the bottom of his heart, collapsing on top of you. He knocks you into the ground like that, burying you under his weight but he couldn’t stop it from happening.

He never experienced this feeling either. He had sex with people, but it never felt like This before. He orgasmed in them but it never felt like this. It feels as if his seed finally has purpose. That’s how it feels. Like his efforts and all the rutting he is doing has fucking purpose.

And then it happens. Something that he was only told could happen to him, finally happens to him. His knot swells. He actually fucking grows a knot and has to writhe on top of you, burying his nose deep in your hair as he sobs your name.

You sob as well, insides suddenly feeling like bursting. His knot is so big and thick that it should feel like an intruder but it doesn’t. It feels like the best drug ever. You didn’t even know that you could stretch this far. The amount of stimulation it gives you as it rubs against your walls is otherworldly, making you chase one orgasm after the other.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me. Ah! ___!” Jungkook yelps, having to orgasm again as your tight walls stimulate his knot. The amount of sensitivity he feels on it is insane.

His hands slide together with yours, holding them tightly as he pins them into the ground. His tears fall into your hair, your own tears soak the blanket.

“I can’t stop”, you get out, shaking in fear, “I can’t stop cumming!”

“Me neither.”

“I’m scared. I’m so scared”, you sob, riding on the unfamiliar, scary sensations.

“Don’t be scared, I’m here. I’m here”, he talks you through it, shaking beyond saving.

You aren’t even moving much. There are no thrusts, no sloppy wiggles. Just and you and him, actually stuck together because of his knot while he pumps one cumshot after the other into you. There is no movement and yet it feels better than the most passionate rutting session you each had. No movement and yet you are fulfilled beyond comparison. Is this how it feels to find your mate? Is this what it is?

Did “we shouldn’t be doing this” turn into the finding of your other half? Was “we shouldn’t be doing this” fate’s way of protecting you from what will happen once you gave in? Or was there ever a “we shouldn’t be doing this” strong enough that could have prevented you from doing this?

Whatever it might be, it is too late to think about the what ifs now. The reality is that you and he can’t stop climaxing, lost in the most addicting and intense pleasure you and he ever found yourselves in. It is never ending. When he climaxes, you have to too which sets him off again, triggering your need to as well. It is a vicious, never ending, orgasmic cycle.

“This feels so good”, he croaks out, writhing on top of you, “does it feel-”

“Yes! Yes! Oh god please Kook not again. Kook!”

“Kook”, Jungkook repeats the nickname in a whimper, curling his toes as another orgasm hits him as well. He never thought to hear this name from you again. He can’t handle it any other way than filling you with more of him.

There is so much of him inside you by now, having no way to escape because of his knot that your body reacts in the only way it knows how to survive. It opens up for his seed to go deeper. It trickles into the deepest parts of your sex organs, warming you from the inside out. It is like he is alive inside you, feeding you with the strongest drug you ever took. You think that you black out for a moment. You are still aware of what is happening to you, but it is hidden behind a thick layer of blurriness.

“Eh”, you let out, falling into the darkness gladly. It feels so good to do. There is something because you are aware of your orgasm, but there is also nothing. It is as if you are standing next to your body, watching it shake and tremble as he makes a home inside you.

And then there is nothing. Truly nothing. No more orgasmic pleasure, no more watching yourself. Just darkness.

“___? Hey, ___? Holy fuck, what’s wrong with you? ___, open your eyes please”, Jungkook’s distraught voice comes closer and closer, his hand on your face becomes clearer and clearer, “please ___, open your eyes, please. Oh god, what have I done? I should never have done this. I- Oh god ___ please, I’m sorry. Wake up, please.”

He shakes your head gently. It brings you back to reality. Your body regains the ability to feel.

“Jungkook”, you whimper, opening your eyes. You writhe instantly, throbbing around his knot happily.

“___ hey. Holy fuck, thank god. Hey”, he says, dropping his forehead against your temple and kissing the side of your face desperately, “I’m so glad that you’re back. I thought that I killed you.”

“No, just made me black out.”

“Why? Does it hurt? Are you in lots of pain?”

“No, just haven’t felt so good before. Ever. Kook, I”, you suddenly have to whimper your words, “I feel your cum inside my uterus. It’s so warm and alive and….right.”

“It is?” He whimpers as well, feeling weakened in emotion.

You nod your head. Jungkook sobs quietly, using the hold he has on your hand to guide your arm under your body and against your chest. Like this, he rolls your bodies to their sides, instantly cradling you against his chest while his trembling lips kiss any part of you that he can reach.

Your face, your neck, your shoulder, your arm, your back and the bite mark he left, your face again. Over and over he kisses each inch of you, whispering your name every now and then as if he is trying to make sure that he remembers who made him feel like this. As if he is trying to make his brain memorise who it was who made him experience his first knot.

He is still swollen, keeping everything inside you safely. It is still so intense, but suddenly it feels more emotionally intense than physically. Enough time must have passed for the fire to reduce the logs by lot. And all of a sudden you and he don’t feel the uncontrollable need to orgasm anymore. You still want to be close, moving your hips in emotionally needy wiggles in hopes of keeping his knot alive for as long as possible, but it is not to chase another orgasm. You want this to last because it feels so safe.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me. I don’t want this to end”, Jungkook confesses, holding you protectively.

“Me neither. I feel so safe like this.”

“Holy fuck, ___. What did we do?” he presses out, kissing your cheek over and over again.

“I don’t know.”

“I never knotted before. I never felt like this. Holy fuck, ___.”

“What is gonna happen to us now?”

“I don’t know. All I know is that I can’t let you go again. Ever. I don’t wanna fucking share you. Never. I’m trying so hard not to tell you that you’re mine ‘cause I promised you that this would never happen again.”

“Please don’t.”

“What?”

You turn your head, leaning deeper into his embrace. Like this, you feel his racing heart against your shoulder and you are entirely protected in his arms. His knotted cock throbs inside you as your eyes meet. The same playful, gentle boy of the past looks back at you, except that his once boyish features are mature and aged up. A gentle, adoring man stares back at you and you can’t seem to find your way out of his galaxy eyes.

“Please don’t promise me that this won’t happen again.” You cradle his cheek. “Don’t hold back on telling me that I’m yours.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying. You’re high from my cum, these aren’t your real feelings.”

“Why shouldn’t they be?”

“___, we-”

You put your thumb on his lips.

“We shouldn’t have done this, I know. You kept telling me as we kept doing this.”

Jungkook gives up in a sigh, having to chuckle afterwards. You giggle, cupping his cheek again.

“Just the tip. That’s what we agreed on. Just the tip”, he says.

You clench around his knot, touching your bloated stomach. You instantly guide his hand to it, wanting him to feel what he did to you. He purrs deeply, biting down on his lower lip. You grin goofily.

“Just the tip indeed.”

He laughs softly. You snicker and stub his nose with your own.

“This is the messiest and deepest tip I have ever given”, he jokes, making you laugh.

“Oh god, this was funny.”

“Mhm, I’m pretty funny”, he says and nuzzles his nose into your neck to tickle you gently.

You squeak and giggle, feeling happy beyond comparison. Jungkook ends his loving attack with kisses to your ear.

You sigh, melting into the affection. You and he lace fingers, using the position to melt closer.

Your droopy eyes stare into the flames while Jungkook relaxes you with soft kisses all over your neck, shoulder and back.

The thunderstorm stopped outside. It is already a little brighter. Fuck, so you were really trapped in this orgasmic state for a few hours. It felt as if so little time passed as it was happening.

“What is gonna happen now?” you whisper.

“Now? We’re gonna cuddle and I’ll be kissing you until you’re asleep.”

“I mean after that. Do we have to show Urquard that I’m claimed?”

“I guess. I haven’t thought that far into the future yet. But yes, he will probably want proof that you’re marked.”

“I’m scared. Do I have to get naked in front of him? And his pack? Will he put something in me to get a scent?”

“He can try if he wants to die.” Jungkook pulls you closer possessively. “You’re under my protection now. Okay? You won’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with and I’ll hunt down anyone who dares to overstep your boundaries. Even Urquard and his pack.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I promise you.”

You close your eyes, spilling tears.

“Thank you.”

You never thought it possible to have your dreams fulfilled by Jungkook and yet here you are. You are being held and comforted by Jungkook and it feels like home.

“Don’t thank me. You’re mine. My darling ___ to keep safe. You have my body to protect you and my heart to find a home in.”

There is deep rooted honesty in his words, but you are suddenly too sleepy to ask him what he meant by them. There will still be another time. This wasn’t just a one time thing after all.

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kurokawaia · 1 month ago

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HICKEY, PLEASE? 彡 Bakugou, Shoto, Deku

| MDNI - 18+ | WARNINGS :: innocent female reader and Pro Hero versions of Izuku, Bakugou, and Shoto. soft D/s dynamics, praise kink, possessive behavior, emotionally intense intimacy, first-time, mention of blood, and power imbalance due to experience and age. Reader is shy, inexperienced, and emotionally submissive.+ more? MINI ONESHOTS. total wc :: 2.8k+

SYNOPSIS. Asking bakugou, shoto, deku and shinsou to give you a hickey >.< | part 1 (aizawa, dabi, hawks)

BAKUGOU

After a long day patrolling and keeping the community safe, when Bakugou got home, what he didn't expect to see was you acting all weird. And it didn't stop for hours. If you were anything right now, it had to be jumpy, that would be the only way to describe it. He noticed instantly, it's hard not to notice when you are usually so sweet and easy going around him, so the sudden change had his mind reeling, not knowing if he's done something wrong.

You two went through eating dinner, relaxing on the couch, snuggling up with eachother and if there was one thing Bakugou noticed was how jumpy you were whenever he touched you. Now you sat across him on his bed, knees tucked up to your chest, stealing glances at him while he was taking his hoodie off. He does run on the hotter side.

Bakugou was on his phone briefly, most likely replying or looking at the group chat, or having a quick check of his emails, but it wasn't too long before he caught you staring. He was confused because you looked away like you had something to hide and got caught. He wondered if it was because he had taken his hoodie off, but that couldn't be the case because you've seen him shirtless many times.

"The hell's wrong with you?" he finally grunted, tossing his phone to the side, making a dull clank agasint the bedside table.

Your cheeks heat up, and you mentally curse. He was your boyfriend, and you can't even ask him something so simple, something that he has, in fact, even done before. You are weak when it comes to Katsuki, though. "Nothing! Don't worry about it, Kats', really," you replied, a gentle smile rising on your lips while you shook your head.

"You're a shit liar," he says with a small scoff before a smirk raised on his lips.

You let out an annoyed groan. You can't get anything past him. Your throat felt dry. You wanted to ask for it, but you couldn't even manage to form the words. How would you even ask Katsuki to give you a hickey? What if he thought the idea was stupid? Which isn't the case at all, as he has given you multiple before, but that was in the heat of the moment type of behaviour, asking for one specifically is a different thing in its entirety.

Bakugou slumps down onto the bed in front of you, specifically. He lies over your legs, propping his chin on a balanced elbow. How can you not confess when he's looking up at you like that? You can't even move either. You thread your arms over his shoulder, one of your hands playing with the hair at the base of his neck.

"C'mon, what you' hiding, princess?" Bakugou hummed, watching you carefully. "Entertain me."

"Well, I just wanted to ask for something," you start in an unbothered tone, looking away from him briefly, shrugging your shoulders. "But it doesn't matter anymore, it's dumb."

"Nothing you want is dumb, baby," he said, giving your bare thigh a little pinch, causing you to pout at him from the sudden action.

"What about the time I asked you to get me a duck?" I retort, removing my arms from around his shoulder, folding them below my chest. "You said that was dumb."

He rolls his eyes. "That was a dumb question. Where would we put it? We live in an apartment right now, baby. You were having duck fever because you saw a lady feed them pea water or whatever the fuck it was. "

"Yeah, but still," you mumble. A few moments passed, and you swore he could hear your heart beating. In a quieter voice, you continued, "I kinda wanted you to give me a hickey."

There was a heavy pause while Bakugou's eyes widened before he let out a laugh. "You embarrassed now? That's fucking hilarious."

Your cheeks heated up as your jaw dropped in shock, "I knew you would act like that!

"Just joking, baby," he replied, his laugh dying out as he reached for your palm, placing a slow kiss before pulling away. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood, or I would be fucking you deep right now. You want me to show everyone who you belong to?"

His words struck nothing but pure heat and butterflies within your body. "I do," you replied, your heart beating faster as Bakugou raised himself off your body.

Your heart was in your throat when he hooked a finger under your chin and forced you to look up at him. "Yeah, I thought so." His hands were already sliding around your waist, hauling you onto his lap roughly. You squeaked as he shoved your hair back, baring your neck.

"Hold still, baby," he muttered right against your skin, breath hot. "Gonna make it real fuckin' obvious."

"I wouldn't want anything else, Kats'," you replied in a teasing tone, causing him to smirk in response before he slowly went in for your neck. You let out a shaky sigh at the contact, your reaction only made him more desperate to mark you. He thought you were stupid for being so hesitant to ask him for something like this.

Once he had you straddling his lap, Bakugou didn't waste time. His big hands gripped your hips possessively, keeping you pinned as he leaned in, his mouth ghosting over your neck without touching yet.

"Tch," Bakugou muttered. "Listen to you. Gettin' worked up over nothin'..."

But you weren't imagining the way his breathing was getting heavier, too. Slowly, torturously slow, he let his lips brush the sensitive spot just below your ear, just barely touching you, sending a shiver skittering down your spine. You gasped softly, hands clutching at his shoulders.

"That good already? Shit, baby," he mumbled before a groan slipped past his lips at the feeling of your arousal soaking his sweats and your cunt subtly pressing hard against his hardening cock. Without much warning, he couldn't take it any longer with moving slow, that's not how he does things, not at all, and you know it better than anyone.

His lips make full contact with your neck, sucking deep and slow, teeth grazing your skin enough to make you whimper. His tongue soothed the spot after, only to suck again, rougher this time. You buried your face in his shoulder, overwhelmed. Fuck, this is exactly what you wanted, to have Bakugou worship you with his touch and kisses. Exactly what you want.

"Don't hide," he growled, tugging you back by the hair so you had to bare your throat to him again, a moan falling past your lips at the sudden action, your core getting more heated by the second. "I wanna hear you."

The wet sounds of him marking you filled the room, your soft little noises only spurring him on. When he finally pulled back, he stared at the dark bruise blooming on your neck and smirked.

"Look at that shit," he rasped with a smirk. "Perfect."

Then he kissed the bruise sweetly, making you melt into him all over again. Bakugou stared at the bruise he'd left on your neck like he was proud of it, his lips glistening and his eyes filled with need, need to consume you whole.

"Tch. You're lucky I've got control, baby," he muttered, brushing his thumb under your chin to tilt your face back up. "You don't even know what you're asking for... But you want it anyway, don't you? Want me to ruin you a little?"

You nodded shyly, face burning. That broke something in him. "Fuck. Alright, c'mere." He kissed you hard, devouring you, tugging you fully into his lap with a grunt. His hands slid under your thighs, up your shirt, tracing over soft skin. You gasped into his mouth, squirming.

"You gonna be good f'me?" he growled against your lips, tugging your lower one between his teeth. "Let me take my time with you?"

You nodded, dazed. "Words."

"Yes," you whispered. "I'll be good, Katsuki."

"Yeah? Let's test that."

SHOTO

Shoto didn't miss a thing about you, especially when you acted a little strange. He may be dense, but he isn't that dense. Tonight, you hovered close, so close he could feel the warmth of your body without you actually touching him.

You weren't as talkative, which was odd because usually you would be yapping his ear off, not that he minded, he loves hearing your voice. Every time he turned his head, you seemed to be watching him and then darting your gaze away, guilty.

He tilted his head slightly. "Is something wrong?" he asked softly.

You jumped a little, startled. "No, no! Nothing's wrong!" you squeaked.

He watched you in silence for a moment longer before setting down his tea and patting the empty spot beside him on the bed. You hesitated, then shyly sat down, your hands bunching nervously in your lap. Why are you even nervous, what of? Shoto never judges you, in fact you're probably the one who judges him in that silly teasing way.

Shoto didn't push you to answer right away, he knew it was something that was bothering you, so he isn't going to force it out of you. After what felt like an eternity, you managed to finally get out, "Can I ask you something...? It's kinda dumb, though."

He tilts his head slightly, confused. He thought he had made it clear time and time again that it didn't matter what you asked him, or what you say, he isn't going to make fun of you (that badly). He turned toward you fully, giving you his complete attention. "You can ask me anything."

"I was wondering if you could... um... Fuck, this is embarrassing," you swallowed, it's really hard to say this out loud. Shoto was intrigued by what you had to say, what could you possibly be embarrassed about? "Could you... Give me a hickey?"

Shoto blinked once, then twice, a soft laugh fell past his lips before they made a gentle smile. "Embarrassed about that? You don't have to be, you just need to ask, you know that I'll give you anything," he murmurs. "Is that what you really want?"

"Yeah," you replied slowly, despite Shoto telling you you shouldn't be embarrassed, you couldn't help but be so. Your usual confidence has gone right out the window. His hand came up, cupping the side of your neck so gently you shivered under his touch. His palm was cold, his left hand, and it made you gasp softly.

"You trust me to do that?" he questions, slowly leaning in closer. Shoto's thumb traced the sensitive skin where he planned to leave his mark.

"Yes," you breathed. "You've done it before, and it feels really good."

"Good," he whispered. Then his lips pressed to your neck, soft at first, almost reverent, before slowly, slowly he applied more pressure, teasing the skin until you whimpered softly in his arms. This is exactly what you wanted. Not harshly, but deep enough that you felt it all the way down to your toes. His warm tongue soothed between sucks, coaxing the blood to the surface.

"You’re mine," he whispered against your throat, and you melted completely into him.

You clung to his sleeves, overwhelmed by how good it felt, not just the physical sensation but the intimacy of it, the way Shoto held you, touched you, wanted you. You love him so much that it makes your brain go into shambles, he causes you not to think straight.

"You look so pretty, sweetheart," he whispered against your neck. You whimpered, melting into his arms as he left a perfect mark right where your collarbone dipped. When he finally pulled away, his cheeks were pink, and his breathing was slightly uneven. "You’re beautiful," he whispered again, kissing the new bruise.

Shoto pulled back from your throat, breathing heavily, and you don't miss the unmistaklabe flush coating his cheeks, he's so beautiful. You blinked up at him, flustered, and covered the spot he’d marked with your hand instinctively.

He gently pulled it away. “Don’t hide it,” he said. “It's what you wanted, isn't it?"

Your heart skipped. His hand found your waist, signalling you to stand, and he guided you back until your spine met the mattress. “I want you to feel good,” he murmured, kneeling over you. “But I want to go slow… I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“You already do,” you admitted breathlessly. “But I like it…”

His lips parted, and he gave a shaky laugh. “You're going to destroy me.” His hands, warm now, slid up your thighs under your skirt.

“Tell me if anything feels too much,” he whispered. “And I’ll stop. But I need to… I need to see all of you.”

MIDORIYA

Midoriya came home from patrol past midnight, his hero suit rumpled and his hair damp from a light rain. You’d waited up for him, wrapped in one of his hoodies and sitting on the couch, trying to pretend you hadn’t been imagining his hands on your skin for hours.

You and the girls caught up today, Momo, Jirou, Mina, Ochako, and Tsuyu, and during that catch up, Mina was pestering Jirou about how her and Denki are going and that lead to her revealing some... stuff about them two, intimate stuff and it made your heart pound for hours because all you could think about what Midoriya doing that stuff to you.

He saw you and smiled instantly, though his eyes were heavy with exhaustion.

“You waited up?” he said, slipping off his boots. “You didn’t have to, baby. I would’ve crawled in quietly.”

“I know,” you said, fidgeting. "I wanted to wait for you... I missed you.”

His expression softened even more. “Come here. You’re the sweetest,” he murmured. “I missed you too... So much.”

You padded into his arms, letting him fold you into his chest. “Long day?” you mumbled into his shirt.

“The longest,” His voice was hoarse. “But this makes it worth it.”

You hesitated. Your fingers curled into the front of his uniform. There was something you wanted, but you couldn’t get the words out. Not directly, at least, you were too nervous. So you just tilted your head against his chest… and quietly, you unconsciously were playing the the collar of your shirt, your fingers grazing agasint the skin beneath it, baring just a sliver of your collarbone.

It took him a second. But then you felt it, the way he froze, just slightly. His hand splayed against your back. He pulled away enough to see your face. He looked concerned. “Uh… is everything okay?” he asked quietly.

You swallowed. “I just…” Your hands gripped his shirt, nervous. “I wanted to… ask something. But it’s dumb. You don’t have to.”

“Nothing you want from me is dumb,” he said. “Promise.”

You glanced away. “I… I’ve never had a hickey before. And I was kinda wondering if maybe you could, give me one? I mean, only if you want to! I just... thought about it. A lot. Today. For a while actually.”

You were mortified. But when you glanced back up at him, he was red. Flushed from his cheeks to the tips of his ears.

“I-” he laughed breathlessly, hand flying to the back of his neck. “Wow, um. Yeah. Yeah, I can. I mean, I’d love to. If you want me to. Only if you’re sure. Because I’ve thought about it too. A lot, actually. More than I should, probably-”

He cut himself off, clearing his throat.

“Come here.” He led you to the couch again, gently coaxing you into his lap like you were the most fragile thing in the world. One arm wrapped around your waist, the other cradled the side of your face. “You’re sure?” he asked again. “Because I-I don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. You can say no at any time.”

He cupped your cheek, kissed your lips tenderly, and then gently lowered you onto the couch, hovering over you with so much care, it made your heart flutter.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Please.”

He smiled at your sweetness. Then he bent down and kissed the side of your neck. Once. Twice. You gasped as his tongue traced your skin, warm and wet, and then, you felt it and it made your lower abdomen curl in pleasure. “Izuku-”

His teeth sank in just enough to sting. Not painful, but enough to make your thighs clench around nothing. You whimpered, thighs instinctively pressing together. He froze. Pulled back. “Did I hurt you? Oh God-”

“No,” you gasped. “It- felt really good.”

His breath hitched, shit he was about to loose himself. “Okay. Good. That’s.. really good," he swallowed. He leaned back in. This time, his lips trailed lower, hands beginning to roam, carefully, not wanting to overwhelm you. “I know you’re shy,” he whispered, voice barely above a breath, “but you don’t even realise what you do to me, do you?”

“Izuku…”

“You’re so soft,” he murmured. “So sweet. I think about you when I’m supposed to be focused. I want to take care of you so bad it hurts sometimes.”

You shivered as his fingers ghosted up under your hoodie, the sensation causing you to clasp your hands tighter against his shirt as he continued to leave a mark along your neck. "Izuku, please..." you begged in a breathy exhale, causing him to momentarily slow down. "I need you to take care of me, please."

How is he supposed to control himself around you now?

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

1K notes · View notes

sceletaflores · 6 months ago

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SINK IN ME WITH YOUR DOG TEETH!

ೃ⁀➷ pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

ೃ⁀➷ wc: 7.0k

ೃ⁀➷ contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, established relationship, feral nasty unhinged logan yes god, logan only slightly losing his humanity but like it’s a lot less sad than it sounds, maybe some toxic relationship dynamics but who cares it’s porn, predator/prey dynamics, p in v, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, HEAVY scent kink (like don’t make me say it…but beware of some very subtle armpit stuff), pain kink, biting is just another form of sexual penetration guys, blood, so much come and come talk, creampie, squirting, this is just gross, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

ೃ⁀➷ nat's note: hi…hi y’all…so here’s the winner of the poll and i need everyone to just hear me out for a second! walk with me! this is probably the most unhinged thing i’ve ever written, like omg those tags. this upsetting depravity was inspired by this post by @stupidfuckingwindow and this post by @monimccoythings which both altered the chemical balances of my brain so fiercely i blacked out for a while and when i came to this was in front of me. merry christmas and happy holidays! take this not at all christmas themed fic as my present to you my precious angels. kisses!

dividers by lovely @saradika-graphics!

you notice a strange shift in logan...

There’s something off with Logan.

The changes were subtle, but you’ve been with him long enough now to pick up on them. And while he's always had a raw, untamed edge to him, a sort of wildness simmering just beneath the surface, this feels different.

It started with the way he would go quiet for longer than usual, like his mind was too far away for you to reach—lost to somewhere distant.

Logan has always been quiet, but this was a different kind of silence. Conversations that used to flow with ease now hang in the air, unfinished. All of his responses reduced to nothing but low grunts and clipped words.

And he was more territorial over you, so much more.

His hand has started to linger at the small of your back or the curve of your waist for a lot longer when you’re in public, his strong grip firm enough to remind you—and anyone nearby—that you’re his.

He would fume at even the slightest hint of someone else's interest in you, a low warning growl escaping his throat to anyone who spared you a second glance.

It wasn’t just the physical closeness, though. It was also in the way Logan has started to watch you—his sharp gaze a never ending constant. An all imposing, heavily looming shadow.

There were even times late at night when you thought he was asleep, that you’d find him staring at you in the dark.

Not the usual, protective gaze he’d have when he thought you were vulnerable, but something deeper, more intense. His breathing would be slow, measured, but there was this energy, this tension that hummed between the two of you.

The nights he did manage to sleep, he’d hold you close to him, his grip iron-tight, his face buried in your hair. If you tried to shift away, even for a second, he’d stir, his arms pulling you back with a quiet, possessive growl that sent a shiver down your spine.

There were bite marks on your neck when you'd wake up, small enough to pass off as nothing—at least, that’s what you tried to tell yourself, but each one felt like a brand. They were deeper, more deliberate.

Then there was the scent—his scent.

You swear it’s gotten stronger, more potent. It clings to you like a second skin, lingering in your clothes, your sheets, even your hair. An intoxicating blend of leather and pine and musk that makes your head spin.

Each time you left the house without him, he’d pin you to the mattress and rub himself all over you before begrudgingly let you walk out the door. His hands or his face running along the delicate skin of your neck, of your stomach, of your wrists.

Everywhere.

He was claiming you in ways—new ways—that left you both exhilarated and confused.

There were other things too, smaller but no less odd things that were starting to add up.

More and more of your clothes have slowly started to go missing over the past few weeks. Each morning when you open any of your dresser drawers, it seems like there are less and less filling them.

Shirts, shorts, socks, bras, panties. All things you’ve found shoved under his side of the mattress or tucked under his pillow. The most memorable hiding place was the front pocket of his leather jacket, your favorite pair of panties haphazardly stuffed inside.

You haven’t said anything about it yet, unsure if you should be concerned or amused.

It isn’t like he’s truly hurting anyone.

He’s just acting…strange.

A part of you can’t help but be drawn to it—the new intensity, the new rawness. There was something undeniably magnetic about the way he clings to you, like you're his anchor in a world constantly shifting beneath his feet.

You’ve seen Logan at his worst—bloody, broken, and lost. But this? It’s never been like this before.

Whatever it is, it has its claws in him deep, and by extension, you.

You just got home from a run, barely walking through the door and kicking your shoes off when a call of your name rings out from the bedroom.

Logan’s tone stops you in your tracks—low and rough, like gravel crunching underfoot.

Your reaction is nearly instant, breath hitching in your chest, heart skipping a beat as a warmth that has nothing to do with the temperature outside starts to pulse through you steadily.

It’s like you’ve become reprogrammed to respond to him this way, your body reacting before your mind can even catch up as his deep, familiar voice rolls over the sweaty expanse of your skin.

You drop your bag at your feet and slowly make your way to the bedroom, a bead of sweat trailing down your temple as you push the door open.

All the curtains are closed, the only light in the room a yellow glow that shines from your bedside lamp.

Logan is sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his palms, but there’s nothing casual about his posture.

His gaze is locked on you, dark and intense, tracking every step you take, like a lion stalking a gazelle as it drinks from a watering hole.

“Didn’t tell me where you were going.” His eyes gleam as the lamp’s rays reflect off of them, his pupils dilated so he can see you better in the darkness that shrouds your room.

You swallow hard, trying to be as nonchalant as you can as your feet carry you to your dresser. “I went for a run,” you reply, your voice a little too steady, a little too casual.

You tug open the top drawer, rifling around for a clean shirt with a little more focus than necessary to distract yourself from the way his eyes burn a hole into your back.

“You didn’t tell me,” Logan repeats, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. “You know I don’t like it when I don’t know where my girl is.”

There’s a sharp edge to his words, but it’s not anger—it’s something far more primal.

The energy in the room crackles like a storm about to break, and you feel it in your bones, in the way your skin prickles under his gaze.

"I was only gone for an hour," you say, your voice measured, careful. "You were still asleep when I left, I didn’t want to wake you."

You chance a glance over your shoulder, and the sight of him steals the air from your lungs.

Logan hasn’t moved an inch from his perch on the edge of the bed, but the sheer force of his presence keeps you rooted in place, heart hammering in your chest.

“Hmm, that’s real sweet, baby,” he drawls, sitting up straighter now, leaning forward.

The motion makes him seem larger somehow, shoulders broad and imposing in the dim light. His tongue drags slowly across his bottom lip, and the way his gaze rakes over you feels like a physical touch, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

Your fingers still in the drawer, fabric slipping from your grasp as your pulse pounds in your ears. You can’t bring yourself to look away from him, caught in the snare of his sharp, predatory focus.

You turn slowly, arms falling to hang limply at your sides. "I wasn't gone long."

Logan tilts his head, a low, amused sound rumbling in his chest as he rises to his feet with a fluid, deliberate ease that makes your stomach flip.

“Didn’t feel that way to me, darlin’.” His voice is a deep, gravelly purr. It sends a shiver down your spine. “Felt like forever.”

His eyes never leave yours as he crosses the room, the green completely swallowed by the dark black of his pupils as they seep into the color like oil spilling out over the surface of a lake.

You’ve never seen him like this before, so hungry.

"Logan," you say slowly, back pressed tightly against your dresser. "You're really starting to freak me out."

Logan hums idly, head cocked to the side as he watches you. "I can hear your heartbeat."

His tone is calmer now, but there’s still a dangerous edge to it, like a knife pressed just lightly enough against the skin not to break it.

Your pulse races, heat simmering in your stomach despite the slight edge of fear clawing its way through your chest.

He stops in front of you, so close that his scent invades your senses strong enough to make your knees feel like they’re about to buckle beneath you.

“There’s nothin’ to be scared of baby,” he mutters quietly, thick arms coming up to cage you against the dresser.

Your hold on the wood tightens, your knuckles turning white with the strength of your grip.

It’s almost chemical, the way you can feel your body start to give in to him. The thought fills you with as much arousal as it does unease, a heady combination that churns in your stomach.

You muster up enough will to breathlessly nod in agreement, a quiet submission.

Logan’s lips quirk into the faintest smirk, his heavy gaze dipping to the curve of your neck, lingering on the rapid flutter of your pulse. “That’s my good girl.”

Any words you might say get caught in your throat as you stare up at Logan, wide eyed and steadily leaking wetness into the gusset of your panties.

His nostrils flare, and a knowing sound rumbles from somewhere dark and low in his chest as his eyes flutter shut on a deep inhale.

Your thighs clench together instinctively, the overwhelming need to be filled wracking through your body like thunder.

When Logan opens his eyes again, there’s no trace of anything but pure animal need. The muscles in his jaw working furiously under his skin in time with the strain of his forearms still caging you in place.

“Yeah…” he trails off slowly, tone both condescending and soothing all at once. “I know you’re not all that scared, honey.”

He leans in, tearing a small whimper from your throat at the way his beard scrapes against your cheek as he crowds you.

His breath fans over the shell of your ear, hot and enticing as they brush against your skin when he speaks again. “I can smell how fuckin’ wet you are.”

Logan’s words send a sharp jolt through you, a broken moan falling from your parted lips as your cheeks heat up so fiercely it’s as if you’ve been slapped.

Your body moves without thinking, pressing up into his hard, unyielding frame like you can’t help it—and maybe you can’t.

“L–Logan…” Your voice trembles, a weak thing that dissolves in your throat as he noses along the skin of your neck.

His hands come down to rest on your waist, palms rough and possessive and warm and a perfect fit where they lay over your curves, anchoring you in place.

“Shhh.” His lips trail down your jaw, leaving wet kisses in their wake. “You don’t gotta say a thing, princess. I know what you need.”

Logan’s hands slip lower, cupping the backs of your thighs with ease before hoisting you onto the dresser like you weigh nothing. The sharp edge of the wood digs into your legs, but you can’t find it in yourself to care about the discomfort.

Your hands go to his shoulders without much of a second thought, nails digging into corded muscle as you try to keep your balance.

Logan’s hands stay on your thighs, his grip strong enough for you to feel the power behind them without hurting you.

He noses along your sweaty skin like a hot-tempered hound, desperately inhaling greedy lungfuls of your scent wherever he can get it.

Behind your ear, in the crook of your neck, along your collarbone, the exposed swell of your breasts, dangerously close to your underarm.

He groans against your shoulder, a full body shiver jolting his frame. “Smell so fuckin’ good darlin’, drives me goddamn crazy.”

You can’t form a coherent thought, let alone a response. His mouth finally finds yours, claiming you with a ferocity that steals your breath.

Logan's tongue slides against yours, a messy, desperate kiss that has you moaning into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer.

It’s filthy, fueled by nothing but raw need and desperation. Spit drips from your chin to trail down the length of your throat until it gathers in the valley of your breasts. Whether it’s his or yours, it doesn’t matter.

It’s a perfect mix of the both of you, lewd and messy in the way it claims your skin.

Logan breaks the kiss with a low moan, his chest heaving the same as yours as you both inhale harsh lungfuls of air.

His lips are red and raw, swollen in a way that your own must mirror. A string of saliva keeps you connected, drooping thinner and thinner in the space between you until it breaks under the weight of gravity.

Logan doesn’t give you long to catch your breath. His lips trail down your jaw and latch onto the sensitive spot just below your ear, teeth scraping against skin before he sucks hard enough to leave a mark.

Your head falls back against the wall as his mouth moves lower, dragging the strap of your sports bra down with his teeth.

The way he’s acting—like a man crazed, like he needs you more than he needs air—has you dizzy with need. But there's a part of you that’s still trying to hold onto some semblance of control, to hold onto something familiar in the chaos.

It’s only then that you realize this may be a bad idea.

Whatever this is, is clearly an accumulation of all the things you’ve noticed over the last couple of weeks.

Maybe indulging Logan will only make things worse, like giving in to him when he’s in such a state could be the tipping point to a much deeper and all consuming issue buried somewhere inside of him.

It can’t possibly be healthy for him to act like this, and it can’t be healthy for you to bask in it as much as you are.

“W–wait.” Your thighs slip shut, hands coming up to push at Logan’s shoulders weakly.

There’s no real force behind your ministrations and you keep your neck bared to him all the while, but he stops anyway, rearing back with a displeased noise.

His face hovers inches from yours, and for a moment, you swear he looks almost pained—his brows furrowing, jaw tightening as though reigning himself in is a Herculean effort.

His hands remain on your thighs, trembling slightly as he keeps himself rooted in place, clearly fighting every instinct roaring through him to just take what he wants.

“You don’t want me to stop, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and gravelly, a stark contrast to the restraint in his expression. His thumbs stroke idly against your skin, his touch soothing even as his words drip with pure, feral confidence. “I can smell the way your pussy’s achin’ for it. I can feel it. You’re shakin’ for me.”

You are—your whole body feels like it’s on the verge of unraveling under his touch, your resolve crumbling faster than you’d like to admit.

Everything you were going to say gets clogged in your brain on the way out, leaving you silent as you hold his gaze.

You don’t even have the capability to feel embarrassed at the way you blanch, lost in the way his scent attacks your senses, in the rough drag of his palms over your bare thighs, in the way your lips still tingle from his kiss.

Logan sighs, long and all suffering as his hands come to rest on both of your shut knees. The impatient raise of his brow paired with the dissatisfied curl of his lips is enough to shake you to the core.

“Now, you gonna show it to me?” His fingers drum along your knee, his patience thinning. “Or am I gonna have to make you.”

And it may sound like one, but you know it’s not a question.

It’s a choice.

Your mind races, hands clenching and unclenching on Logan’s shoulders as you weigh your options. His own hands squeeze your knees, just hard enough to let you feel it in your bones.

You spread your legs.

Logan doesn’t waste a second, dropping to his knees in front of you with a satisfied rumble and a predatory gleam in his eyes. His hands grip your thighs, pushing them even wider. Wide enough to make you feel exposed, vulnerable in the best way.

Your head dips, chin falling to your chest as you watch the way Logan takes up the space between your legs. Your shorts are soaked, fabric so drenched that it’s melded to the shape of your cunt, your puffy folds on display for his greedy eyes.

“Fuck,” Logan breathes, his voice cracking like a whip in the quiet room. His hands find your waistband, and the dull sound of fabric ripping rings out.

The sturdy cotton tears like tissue paper in his hands, the scraps of your shorts falling carelessly to the floor, leaving you in nothing but the light blue panties you slipped on before your run.

The way he gazes at the space between your thighs is feral, unrestrained, like he’s a man starving for his next meal—and you’re it.

“Look at that…” Logan mutters, almost to himself as he runs his knuckle along the wet cotton of your panties. His touch is featherlight, barely any pressure at all, but it’s enough.

Your breath hitches, a sharp intake of air at the teasing touch, and your hips instinctively cant forward, silently begging for more.

Logan's eyes flick up to yours, a dark smirk curling his lips like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you—and how much you're already falling apart.

“Eager fuckin’ thing,” he drawls, voice rough with arousal. He leans forward, his hot breath ghosting over your soaked panties, sending a shiver racing down your spine. “You want me to give your pussy some kisses, baby?”

You open your mouth to respond, but the words never make it out. Logan’s lips press against the damp fabric, placing a kiss right over where your covered clit throbs with need.

Your head falls back to rest on the wall behind you, a shocked moan bursting from your lips.

“Logan.” His name is pulled from your mouth like a plea, but he doesn’t let up, the sharp edge of his teeth scraping over the sensitive bundle of nerves hidden beneath the soaked barrier of your underwear.

“Hmm?” He hums against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your core. “Thought you wanted me to stop?”

The taunt is maddening, the rasp of his voice and the teasing flicks of his tongue combining to unravel you piece by piece.

You shake your head furiously, thighs trembling where they rest on his broad shoulders. “N-no—don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

Logan chuckles darkly, his hands sliding up your thighs to hook his fingers into the thin waistband of your panties.

“That’s more like it,” he taunts. With a single, sharp tug, the ruined fabric joins the scraps of your shorts on the floor.

Logan groans at the sight of your bare cunt, slick with your juices and flushed with arousal. His mouth waters, his tongue running along the sharp points of his canines in anticipation.

You’re already so ready for him.

“You smell so fuckin’ good,” he growls, leaning in to drag his nose along the slick seam of your folds. The deep inhale he takes is obscene, sending a ripple of anticipation through your entire body. “Know that you taste even better.”

Logan licks a broad stripe through your folds, groaning like the taste of you is enough to satisfy him completely. His hands grip your thighs tighter, keeping you spread and utterly at his mercy as he begins to work in earnest.

He alternates between laving the tip of his tongue over your clit and dipping down to fuck into you, his beard scraping along the skin of your thighs in a way that’s almost too much. Your head falls back, hitting the wall with a soft thud as your vision blurs.

“God, Logan.” You squirm on the vanity, but he holds you steady, growling low and deep into your core like your moaning only spurs him on.

“That’s it,” he mutters between licks, his words unmistakably smug. “Make those pretty little sounds for me, baby.”

Logan circles your clit with the flat of his tongue, alternating between firm, deliberate strokes and light, teasing flicks that leave you gasping for air.

You cry out, fingers tangling in his thick, unruly hair as he repeats the motions, your thighs starting to tremble on either side of his head.

Every time your hips buck against him, he growls, the vibrations of it sinking into your skin and amplifying the pleasure coursing through your veins.

“Stay still,” he orders, his voice muffled against your dripping core but no less commanding. His hands tighten on your thighs, holding you in place with an unrelenting grip. “You’re not in charge, sweetheart.”

You whimper, your whole body trembling as you fight the urge to grind against his face. But it’s impossible to stay still when he’s licking into you like a man possessed, his mouth working you over with an intensity that has your vision going hazy.

“I know, you're just so damn needy, aren’t you, baby?” He drawls , pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening with your arousal. “You love this, hmm? Lettin’ me take care of you?”

You can only nod, words failing you as his fingers replace his mouth, sliding through your spit soaked cunt.

“You’re so goddamn pretty down here.” Logan mutters, almost to himself, spreading your puffy, abused folds obscenely wide.

He teases your entrance, fingertips dipping into your warm heat only to retract a second later. You whine, high and embarrassing as your hips twitch with want.

Logan watches your face closely, his expression equal parts smug and adoring as he finally sinks one thick finger inside you, curling it just right.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your head lolling back he adds a second finger, stretching you in a way that has your toes curling. He pumps them slowly at first, each deliberate thrust sending waves of pleasure radiating through your body.

“Takin’ me so well,” Logan murmurs, his thumb brushes over your clit, drawing tight circles that make your thighs tremble. “So tight and wet for me. You’re makin’ me crazy, darlin’.”

Your moans grow louder, unrestrained, as he picks up the pace, his fingers plunging into you with a rhythm that has your skin burning hotter and hotter.

Logan’s mouth returns to you with renewed fervor, tongue and lips working in perfect tandem as he drags you closer to the edge.

He shakes his head back and forth like an animal, his nose rubbing up against your clit deliciously as buries his tongue as deep in your cunt as it’ll go. The coarse hair of his beard scratches the sensitive skin of your inner thighs red and raw.

You can’t think, can’t breathe, your entire world narrowing down to the feel of his mouth on you.

“Logan—” Your voice cracks, your head falling back against the wall as the spring of pleasure inside you winds tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment. “I’m—fuck—I’m so close—”

“Good,” he growls, pumping his fingers in time with the flicks of his tongue. “I can feel you squeezin’ me. I want you to come for me, baby. Wanna taste every fuckin’ drop.”

You’re powerless to resist.

You cry out, thighs clamping shut on either side of his head as you come on his tongue. Your body shakes so violently you knock a few things off the vanity, the distant sound of glass shattering hardly registers.

Logan growls, low and dragged from the back of his throat in such a way that makes it reverberate in the space between your legs. His own arms come up, grip strong and encouraging as he forces your legs around his head even tighter than before.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, licking and sucking and pumping his fingers to drag you through the aftershocks like a man obsessed.

When you finally come back to yourself, panting and trembling, Logan’s holding your shaking thighs apart, his mouth still pressed to you in soft, languid strokes.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, voice rough and gravelly as he presses a final kiss to your oversensitive clit.

Logan’s hands slide up to your hips, gripping tight as he rises to his feet, towering over you with that same dark, predatory gleam in his eyes.

His lips are even redder than before, swollen and slick with your juices. His beard is damp and shining in the low light, and the smug, satisfied smirk on his face sends another pulse of heat through your already spent body.

“Good girl,” he purrs, not even bothering to wipe his mouth before leaning in to capture your lips in a kiss that’s all heat and possession.

You can taste yourself on his tongue, the salt and musk mingling with the raw hunger. It’s filthy and intoxicating, and it leaves you gasping for air when he finally pulls away.

But Logan’s far from finished.

His hands slide under your ass, lifting you off the dresser with ease. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively as he carries you to the bed and tosses you on it with little preamble.

Your back hits the mattress hard enough to have you bouncing on it once, twice, three times before Logan is crawling up to blanket your body with his.

The heavy weight of his metal laced bones sink you into the soft plushness, keeping you stuck beneath him with nowhere to go.

Which you know is exactly where he wants you.

He slots his hips between yours, dragging the straining jut of his cock along your sensitive cunt. You can feel the warmth of him even through the thick material of his sweats, a scalding plane of heat that makes your cunt ache with need.

You can feel the damp patch where his clothed tip nudges against your clit, and you know from that alone he’s already soaked through the cotton with pre-come. His cock leaking like a faucet in the harsh confines of his bottoms while he ate you out.

“Feel that?” Logan asks, voice hoarse as he buries his head in your neck. “That’s all ‘cause of you, baby. Got me drippin’ like I busted a damn pipe.”

The sharp intake of air you suck in at his words does nearly nothing to help your breathlessness, your desperation bleeding through as your frantic hands push at the waistband of his bottoms. “Off. Off.”

Logan huffs a rough laugh against your neck, his warm breath skating across your skin as his lips ghost over your pulse. “So fuckin’ bossy.”

He doesn’t move to help you, not right away, savoring the way your hands fumble and tug, your frustration bubbling over in breathy little gasps.

“You want it that bad, huh?” he teases, the rough timbre of his voice a stark contrast to the gentleness of his lips pressing along your jaw. “Look at you, so damn needy. Can’t even wait for me to get my cock out.”

You only tug harder, patience nonexistent as your fingers curl into the waistband. “Please, Logan. Don’t tease.”

“Alright, alright.” Logan finally gives in, sitting back just enough to push them over his hips, freeing his cock.

It springs free, slapping against his stomach heavy and slick with pre-come, the ruddy tip glistening in the low light.

The sight alone has you clenching around nothing, a devastatingly desperate noise falls from your lips as the ache between your thighs builds to an almost unbearable throb.

He makes quick work of ripping his shirt over his head, carelessly tossing it behind him before he’s back on you.

This time, when he bullies his hips in between yours, there's nothing separating you.

You feel every inch of his cock as it grinds along the seam of your cunt. The velvety skin is almost scalding as it drags against your own, the drool of pre-come only adding more to your own wetness.

Logan presses you into the mattress harder, rutting against your cunt almost desperately as he noses along your damp, overheated skin.

His mouth is everywhere. Sucking marks where the junction of your neck meets your shoulder, lapping up the sweat that pools in the valley of your breasts, licking a filthy stripe across the side of your face that has your cheeks burning.

He buries his nose in the sweaty skin of your underarm, whining and panting like a surly dog all over again. Each breath is hot and wet against you, and it only seems to make him hungrier, greedier. His cock blurts even more pre-come onto your skin with every inhale he takes.

It should gross you out.

It should be utterly mortifying, but the sight of Logan like this only leaves you thrumming with want.

His desperation, the raw, unfiltered way he takes you in—like he can’t get close enough, can’t have enough of you—has your pulse racing and your mind spinning out of control.

You feel his nose press harder against your skin, the heat of his breath fanning over you as he groans, a deep, guttural sound that reverberates right through you.

“Fuck,” he rasps, voice gravelly and broken. “You smell so goddamn good. Can’t help it. Can’t fuckin’—” His hips jerk, the weight of his cock sliding slickly against your cunt, bumping up against your clit in a way that makes you shiver.

“Logan,” you whimper, your hands clutching at his broad shoulders, nails digging into his skin. Your hips lift instinctively, chasing the friction, the relief, the unbearable stretch you know only he can give you. “Please, I can’t take it anymore. I need you—need you so bad.”

He smirks, his lips curling against your skin as he nips at the curve of your jaw. “Need me, huh?” he murmurs, his tone dark and teasing. “Need my cock inside you, stretchin’ you open? Tell me, baby. Tell me how bad you need it.”

“So bad.” Your hips tilt up instinctively, desperate for him to push inside. The head of his cock catches at your entrance, the blunt pressure sending a jolt of electricity through your body. “Need you so bad it hurts. Please—please don’t make me wait.”

Logan growls, a feral sound. “Such a good girl when you beg for me.” he snarls, big hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise so he can flip you on your front, gently manhandling you until you're on all fours. “Gonna fill you up, princess.”

His hands knead the soft flesh of your ass as he lines himself up behind you. The weight of his cock presses against your entrance, slick and ready, and for a moment, he just stays there, teasing.

Your arms shake beneath you, elbows locked as you force yourself to stay still, patient.

The head of his cock nudges against you, spreading your slickness, and your body trembles in anticipation. He sinks himself into you in one deep, unrelenting thrust.

The stretch is instant, the burn delicious as he pushes inside, inch by inch, filling you in one fluid, devastating stroke. A choked gasp spills from your lips as he bottoms out, his cock seated so deep you swear you can feel him in your stomach.

“Fuck.” Logan stills, his cock pulsing inside you as he lets you adjust, but the restraint is fleeting.

His hands glide up your back, palms rough and grounding as they map every curve, every quiver of your body. He starts grinding his hips in slow circles, pressing every inch of his cock along your velvety walls.

Your head drops between your arms, brows pinched together as you take in greedy lungfuls of air. You’ll never get used to this, the way Logan fills you so perfectly, no matter how many times it’s been.

“Come on, baby.” Logan leans down to press a soft kiss between your shoulder blades, his lips fever hot. “You wanted to fuck me so bad you could hardly wait. Now’s your chance, fuck me.”

It takes a few long seconds for his words to cunt through the molasses clouding your mind, the small thrust of his hips hinting at what he wants you to do.

You let out a pitiful whimper, hands digging into your bed’s puffy comforter as you start rocking your hips.

You start slow, letting yourself build up a nice, steady rhythm as Logan purrs words of encouragement from behind you. His hands never leave your hips, thumbs rubbing soft circles over your skin as you start to pick up the pace.

“That’s it,” he encourages darkly, giving the rippling muscle of your ass a sharp swat. “Find the fuckin’ spot, baby. Write your name on this cock, tell everyone who it belongs to.”

You cry out at the sting of his palm, bouncing yourself on his length impossibly faster. Your arms burn under the strain of your movements, but you can’t stop chasing the high of pleasure that shoots up your spine.

The sound of skin on skin fills the room, a lewd slap slap slap as you fuck yourself on Logan’s cock like he’s a replacement for the cheap suction cup dildo collecting dust in a box hidden away in your closet—like he’s nothing but a expertly shaped lump of silicon molded solely for your pleasure.

You can feel yourself getting close to the edge, and in nearly no time at all. The telltale coil buried deep in your belly winding tighter and tighter as you work yourself on Logan’s cock hard enough that the cheap frame of your bed thumps against the wall.

It might be embarrassing if you weren’t so far gone already, so fuck drunk that the too loud moans falling from your lips hardly phase you.

It's like there's nothing but the feel of Logan inside you, bumping against that spot inside you that has stars shining behind your closed eyes.

“Close already?” Logan taunts from behind you, voice just the tiniest but breathless, but the way his cock pulses and jerks where it’s sheathed in your cunt lets you know he’s right there with you. “I know you are, honey. I can feel how she’s squeezin’ me, so damn tight.”

His hands dig into your hips, not even waiting for a response as he starts thrusting in time with your bounces. He pounds into you, hips snapping against your ass hard enough to sting.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come too baby,” he bites out, the rhythm of his hips getting sloppier. “Gonna come so fuckin’ hard, fill you up so good. Shit–”

Logan pulls out enough that only the thick tip of his cock stays sheathed in the warmth of your cunt, his body falling to hunch over yours as he pumps his come into you with a feral growl.

You whine at the feeling of his release filling you, painting your insides with spurt after spurt of thick come. It’s so much, it’s always so much. A rush of warmth that floods your insides each time without fail.

And just like that, the feeling alone has you coming.

Your back arches as your cunt gushes over the tip of his cock, drenching his thighs and the rest of his shaft in your essence. You think you may scream, but it’s hard to tell over the white noise rushing through your ears.

Your arms finally buckle under you as Logan helps you ride out the last few tremors of your orgasm with a few slow rocks of his hips, and your spent body collapses onto the mattress.

Logan’s low noises of pleasure barely register as your chest heaves almost violently, your lungs desperately trying to get as much air as they possibly can.

But you barely have time to catch your breath before Logan plants his knees back firmly on the mattress and starts thrusting, again.

“Logan!” Your hands scramble for purchase on the mussed sheets of your bed, the overstimulation making your legs kick out frantically.

“You thought we were done?” Logan asks, his tone equal parts amused and mocking. “You popped twice already, baby. S’only fair that you let me catch up.”

With no warning, he takes you in his arms, pulling his cock out just long enough to flip you on your back. He throws your legs over his shoulders before plunging back inside your fucked open cunt with a filthy squelch.

He feels even bigger like this, yet your body swallows his cock like it’s nothing. The spongy warmth of your walls melding to the shape of him like it’s what you were made for.

The coarse hair of his happy trail drags across your clit each time he thrusts, adding to the blistering feeling where the knife's edge of too much too much too much meets not nearly enough.

His come stuffed in your trembling cunt only makes it all the more filthy, his cock plunging inside you and coming back out slick and wet on every thrust.

Your lips fall open on a broken moan, eyes screwing shut as you work your cunt around him, feeling the way his release gets fucked deeper and deeper inside you.

Logan notices, of course he does.

A dark chuckle rumbles against your own as he leans down enough to whisper into your slack mouth. “You like havin’ someone come in your pussy, baby?”

You moan into his mouth unabashedly, loudly. Both of your eyes burning as tears threaten to fall down the flushed skin of your cheeks, your throat going dry and scratchy in the best way possible.

“Shit–” Your hands claw at the rippling muscles of his back desperately, nails digging into his skin hard enough that you feel the unmistakable slickness of his blood coating the tips of your fingers.

The pain spurs him on, his head tips down on a low groan and his eyes squeezing together for a split second before he’s spewing filth again.

“You want some more?” Logan asks, tone going dark like he already knows the answer as his hips speed up impossible faster. “You want me to come again?”

You don’t respond, you can’t respond. You can barely make a coherent thought.

All you can manage are whiny moans that fall from your slack lips, broken little uh uh uh’s that get punched out with each new thrust. Your nails rake down his back mercilessly, leaving behind deep red welts that heal as you go.

“Yeah, I know you do.” He turns his head to nip at the skin over the delicate bone of your ankle where it bounces near his head, sharp teeth digging in enough to have you whining pitifully. “You love havin’ a messy fuckin’ pussy, don’t you? Love being stuffed so full of my come you can’t even hold it all, huh?”

His words hit you like a physical blow, lighting up your body from the inside out. Your thighs shake where they’re wrapped around his hips, ankles locking over his lower back so he couldn’t pull out if he wanted to.

His come mixes with your juices to coat his cock, completely drenched all slick and shiny in the dull light of your bedroom. It drips down almost leisurely compared to the near feral snap of his hips, trailing all the way down his length to his heavy balls.

“Yes.” He groans, reverent. “Give it to me, baby. Wanna feel you come on my cock again, feels so fuckin’ good. Can’t ever get enough—”

You’ve never heard him like this, so high of pleasure that his speech slurs and his words all meld together into one filthy stream of ramblings that has you sinking your nails even deeper into his back and coming on his cock with a loud wail.

Your cunt convulses around him, shaking with the force of your release, milking him.

“Fuck, princess.” Logan pitches forward, his sweaty torso covering yours as he keeps fucking into your shaking body, desperately chasing his own release.

Finally, with a muted roar of your name, he sinks his teeth into the tender skin of your neck and comes for you.

You cry out at the sharp sting of his teeth bearing down hard enough to draw blood, your vision whiting out with the pleasure of being claimed in every way imaginable.

Logan’s hips only stop when he’s drained of every last drop, his body shaking where it lays over yours. He laps at the broken skin of your neck, a soft gesture that isn’t quite an apology for making you bleed—because you know that he isn’t sorry whatsoever—but it’s nice nonetheless.

Your arms come up to circle around his neck, eyes fluttering shut as the exhaustion hits you all at once. You get lost in the steady rhythm of Logan catching his breath, in the way his heart pounds against his ribcage where his chest is pressed to your own, in the way his fingers twitch and flex on your hips.

The last thing you hear as you drift off, his come starting to leak down your thighs in thick streams of white, is a hushed whisper of “I got you, baby. I’m right here, I’m always right here.”

It puts you at ease, all the worry you felt over the last few weeks slipping from your mind like grains of sand through your fingers.

Maybe, this new side of Logan isn’t so bad after all.

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