#When in doubt...fire-punch to the face | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

faebled-stories · 6 months ago

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The Longest Month

Kinkvember Day 30: Orgasm Control/NNN

Kiss of life Natty (Anatchaya Suputtipong) x Male reader

21.8k words

AN: Last day of Kinkvember 🥹🥹 (might be a little rough on the editing, please forgive me)

Halloween night was alive with excitement. The crisp autumn air carried the sound of laughter, music, and the occasional howl of costumed revelers. Porchlights flickered over carved pumpkins, their grins twisted and glowing, while the streets buzzed with groups hopping from one party to the next. Inside your home, though, the atmosphere was calm and quiet, a comforting contrast to the chaos outside.

Natty stood by the door, dressed casually in fitted jeans and a snug sweater, her hair tied back in a way that framed her face perfectly. She smiled as she adjusted her bag over her shoulder. "I’m heading out with the girls," she said, her tone light and cheerful. "Just a little Halloween fun, nothing wild."

You nodded, a warm smile tugging at your lips as you stepped closer, placing a kiss on her forehead. “Have fun,” you said, your voice soft but sincere. “Call me if you need anything.”

She grinned, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before slipping out the door. The soft click of it closing behind her left the house quiet again. For a while, you settled into the stillness, content to let the evening pass uneventfully. The trust between you was implicit—Natty had always been honest, and you’d always respected her freedom.

But as the minutes stretched into hours, an uneasy feeling began to creep in. It was subtle at first, a whisper of doubt that you tried to shake off. She’d said she was with her girlfriends. There was no reason to worry. Yet the stillness of the house suddenly felt heavy, oppressive, as if something was just slightly out of place.

The buzz of your phone snapped you out of your thoughts. You picked it up, your brow furrowing as you saw the name: a friend of yours who worked as a bartender downtown. Opening the message, your stomach tightened at the words.

“Didn’t know Natty was hitting the scene tonight. She’s here at Platinum—hard to miss in that outfit.”

You stared at the text, your mind racing. Platinum? She hadn’t said anything about going to a club. The unease bloomed into suspicion as you quickly typed back.

“What outfit?”

The response came almost instantly, and when you read it, the words landed like a punch.

“Catwoman vibes, but damn, man… It’s a lot. Skin-tight, zipper low, fake tail. People are definitely looking. ”

Your jaw clenched as you reread the message, disbelief and frustration battling for dominance. She hadn’t just gone somewhere else—she’d lied. And she was wearing something that sounded far removed from her usual playful confidence, something designed to draw attention. Strangers were ogling her.

You didn’t bother replying. The anger was cold and focused, sharpening your resolve as you grabbed your jacket. The night air bit at your skin as you stepped outside, but the chill only fueled the fire simmering in your chest. You didn’t rush, your stride purposeful as you made your way, thoughts churning.

The trust you’d built, the respect you’d shown her freedom—tonight, she’d crossed a line. And by the time you reached the glowing lights of the club, you knew exactly what needed to happen.

Platinum was everything you expected—a pulsing epicenter of energy, where music pounded through the walls and spilled onto the street. The air inside was heavy with heat, a mixture of sweat, alcohol, and perfume that clung to your skin. Strobe lights sliced through the crowd, casting fleeting glimpses of costumed bodies pressed together in a chaotic dance.

You pushed your way through the throng of people, your eyes scanning the crowd. And then you saw her.

Natty was on the dance floor, her body moving to the rhythm of the music. She wore a skintight black spandex one-piece, the zipper pulled low enough to reveal the swell of her breasts. Fake cat ears perched on her head, and a thin decorative tail swayed with her movements. The outfit clung to her curves like a second skin, catching the light with every turn.

She was laughing, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol, her lips parted as she threw herself into the moment. Strangers circled her, their eyes lingering too long, leaning in too close. She seemed utterly carefree, completely unaware of the storm brewing in you as you watched from the edge of the crowd.

She hadn’t told you about this. She hadn’t mentioned a club, or an outfit that looked like this. She had lied.

Your emotions churned—anger, disappointment, the sharp edge of control you always held carefully in balance. But you didn’t react impulsively. Instead, you moved through the crowd with purpose, your gaze fixed on her.

The crowd buzzed around her, bodies swaying in chaotic rhythm, the pulsing music drowning out everything else. Strobe lights flashed in bursts, illuminating her in snapshots—a vision of confidence and teasing allure. Her laughter was bright, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol, as she leaned toward a stranger who was speaking too close. The low zipper of her costume shimmered under the lights, her every move a magnet for attention.

You stepped closer, your presence cutting through the sea of people. The noise and chaos dulled in your mind, every ounce of focus fixed on her. As you approached, she didn’t notice at first, lost in the moment, the music, and the hazy buzz in her veins. But when you reached out and tapped her shoulder, everything shifted.

She turned to you, her laughter faltering. Wide eyes met yours, the realization hitting her instantly. The flush of the alcohol drained from her face, replaced by something colder—guilt, fear, and the dawning understanding of exactly what was happening. The crowd around her seemed to fade into the background, her focus locked entirely on you.

Her lips parted as though she might say something, but no words came. She froze, her body stiff, the haze of alcohol lifting just enough to make the weight of the situation clear.

“We’re going home,” you said, your voice low and steady, cutting through the music with effortless authority.

The words were simple, but their effect was immediate. Her mouth snapped shut, and she nodded quickly, her head dipping in quiet submission. You didn’t wait for her to respond further. Without another word, you turned and began walking toward the exit, not sparing her another glance, not even taking her wrist to guide her. You didn’t need to. You knew she’d follow.

Behind you, her heels clicked against the sticky floor as she scrambled to keep up, weaving through the crowd. No one around her seemed to notice the shift in her demeanor, but you could feel it. The weight of her guilt, her submission, radiated in every hurried step as she followed you out of the club without needing to be told twice.

The crisp night air hit like a slap, the stark contrast to the heat and chaos inside. It was quieter out here, the muffled thump of the music still audible but distant. The autumn chill bit at your skin, but you barely noticed. Natty stayed close, her head bowed, her breath visible in the cold air. Her fake cat ears tilted slightly to one side, askew and crooked, as if even they reflected her subdued state.

She didn’t speak, and neither did you. The silence hung between you, heavy and suffocating, a clear signal that words weren’t needed. You led the way to the car, your steps purposeful, your jaw tight. Natty trailed behind, her head low, her shoulders hunched slightly as though trying to shrink under the weight of her own guilt. It wasn’t just her steps that were submissive—it was everything about her now, the way her presence shrank under your unwavering authority.

When you reached the car, your movements were calm, almost mechanical. You walked to her side, your expression neutral as you opened the passenger door for her. She hesitated for just a moment, her wide eyes flicking up to yours, searching for some indication of what you were feeling. But you gave her nothing, your face a mask of quiet control.

She slipped into the seat silently, her body tense as her hands fidgeted with the hem of her costume. The door closed behind her with a soft thud, and the stillness inside the car was oppressive. You moved around to the driver’s side, sliding in and gripping the wheel, but you didn’t start the car right away. Instead, you stared ahead, your jaw set as your thoughts churned.

From the corner of your eye, you could see her shift uncomfortably. Her breathing was uneven, her fingers gripping the fabric of her costume tightly as though it could anchor her. It was clear she was waiting, bracing herself for the storm to come. But you didn’t say a word. You let the silence stretch, thick and heavy, the weight of what had happened settling deeper over both of you.

Finally, you turned the key, the engine rumbling to life. The car pulled out onto the street, the bright lights of the club fading quickly into the rearview mirror. The ride home was long, the silence between you stretching like a taut wire, ready to snap. She glanced at you occasionally, her lips parting as though she wanted to speak, to explain, but she stopped herself each time. The tension in the air was suffocating, every unspoken word weighing her down further.

You didn’t look at her. Your gaze stayed fixed on the road, your hands gripping the wheel tightly. Her silence told you everything. She knew she had crossed a line, knew the trust you’d placed in her had been broken. And now, for the first time tonight, it seemed she understood—she wasn’t just caught. She was yours, completely.

When you arrived home, the quiet of the house was almost deafening. The faint hum of the fridge, the soft click of the front door as it shut behind you, even her hesitant footsteps on the hardwood floor—all of it felt amplified against the heavy stillness. She lingered near the entryway, her body stiff, her hands clenching at her sides. You didn’t say anything, your expression unreadable as you walked toward the living room.

Settling into the couch, you glanced at her, your eyes sharp and commanding. The weight of your gaze was enough to draw her forward, her body moving instinctively as though compelled. She sank to her knees in front of you, the skintight material of her costume creaking softly with her movement. The faint glimmer of the fabric caught the low light of the room, but her focus was entirely on you.

Her head bowed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her breaths came shallow and uneven as she knelt there, waiting for your words, knowing that whatever came next would be entirely in your hands.

The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive. You leaned back slightly, your arms crossed, letting her squirm under the weight of your gaze. Her breathing was uneven, her chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. The subtle tilt of her cat ears seemed to mirror the unease radiating off her as she knelt before you, unable to meet your eyes.

“Explain,” you said finally, your voice low and sharp, cutting through the quiet like a blade.

Her head snapped up for just a moment, her wide, guilty eyes meeting yours before darting away again. She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “I… I didn’t think you’d let me go if I told you about the party. I thought you’d get mad about the outfit, about the people—so I lied.”

Her hands moved restlessly, fidgeting at the zipper of her costume, the nervous gesture small but telling. Her shoulders were tense, her entire posture shrinking under the intensity of your silence. She hesitated before speaking again, her voice growing quieter, more fragile. “It didn’t mean anything. I wasn’t… trying to hide anything important.”

You let the words hang in the air, your expression unchanging as she squirmed. Her breathing hitched, her body trembling slightly as the weight of your silence pressed down on her. Her lip quivered, and she blinked rapidly, clearly fighting back the tears that threatened to spill.

“That’s not the point,” you said finally, your voice cold and deliberate. “It’s not about the outfit. It’s not about the party. It’s about trust. And you broke it.”

Her shoulders slumped further, her head bowing again as the full weight of your words hit her. She nodded faintly, her voice trembling as she whispered, “I’m sorry.” The words were fragile, so faint you almost missed them, and yet they carried the guilt and regret that were written across her face.

“When,” you asked, leaning forward slightly, “have I ever not let you go anywhere?”

Her head snapped up, her eyes wide and glassy. The question caught her off guard, and for a moment, she stared at you as though searching for the answer herself. Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

“When have I forbidden you from wearing the most revealing outfits?” Your voice softened slightly, but the disappointment still lingered in your tone. “When, Natty? Tell me.”

Her lips trembled, and her gaze dropped to her lap. “You haven’t,” she whispered, her voice so quiet it barely reached you.

You nodded slowly, letting the truth sink in for her. “Exactly. I’ve always let you make your own choices. Always given you permission. And yet, you still lied to me. Why?”

The tears she had been holding back finally spilled, rolling down her flushed cheeks. “I… I don’t know,” she choked out, her hands gripping the hem of her costume tightly. “I was stupid. I didn’t want you to be mad, and I—” She broke off, her voice cracking under the weight of her guilt. “I’m sorry.” The words were fragile, so faint you almost missed them, and yet they carried the guilt and regret that were written across her face.

You sighed deeply, letting the moment stretch, the weight of her guilt hanging between you like a tangible presence. Her fidgeting hands, the way her eyes darted to the floor, her lips trembling with barely spoken words—it all told you that she knew the gravity of what she’d done. And yet, the lesson needed to be clear. Trust wasn’t just something taken lightly in your dynamic; it was the foundation upon which everything else rested.

You considered your options carefully, your mind cycling through potential punishments, discarding each one almost as quickly as it appeared. Something physical? No, that wouldn’t linger in the way you needed it to. Silence? Distance? Those would create tension, but not the kind that would truly drive the lesson home. Then, like a light flickering on, the perfect answer surfaced—a punishment so fitting it almost seemed like the universe had handed it to you on a silver platter.

No Nut November.

The trend was a joke to most, a playful challenge making its rounds on the internet. But for Natty, it would be anything but playful. You knew her intimately, perhaps better than she even knew herself. Her teasing confidence, her constant craving for closeness, her love for release—it was part of who she was. Denying her that for an entire month wasn’t just a punishment. It was a torment. Something she would dread deeply and feel every moment of every day. And the timing was flawless.

Your lips curved into a faint smirk as you settled your gaze on her. She hadn’t dared to meet your eyes, her hands twisting nervously at the hem of her skirt as though trying to anchor herself. You let the silence stretch, letting the weight of the moment build until it felt almost suffocating. Then, your voice broke the stillness, calm and deliberate.

“If you’d been honest,” you began slowly, your tone measured, each word sinking deep, “I would have let you go. I wouldn’t have cared about the outfit, the party, or the people. But you lied, Natty. And now, there are consequences.”

Her head snapped up, her wide, fearful eyes locking onto yours. You saw the desperation there, the faint tremor in her lower lip as her mind raced to catch up with your words. “Consequences?” she echoed, her voice barely more than a whisper, the word trembling on her lips as though she were afraid to give it shape.

You straightened in your seat, the decision crystallizing as you delivered it with calm finality. “You’re going a month without cumming,” you said simply. “Starting now.”

Her reaction was immediate. She flinched as though struck, her lips parting in shock, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. “A… a month?” she stammered, her voice pitching higher, the disbelief and panic unmistakable. “No—please, no. I’ll do anything else. Just not that—please!”

You raised a hand, the gesture silencing her instantly. Her mouth snapped shut, her breath catching audibly as her wide eyes remained locked on you, pleading silently. “No exceptions,” you said firmly, your voice steady, brooking no argument. “This isn’t just about the lie. It’s about trust. Trust needs to be earned back.”

For a moment, she was frozen, her chest heaving as she stared at you, her mind clearly working to process the weight of what you’d said. Then, slowly, the fight seemed to drain out of her. Her shoulders slumped, and her gaze dropped to the floor. The first tears shimmered in her eyes, catching the light, but she held them back with visible effort.

Her voice was small, trembling with guilt and something deeper—fear. “I… I understand,” she whispered, the words fragile and full of resignation.

“Good.” Your tone softened just slightly, enough to let her know you weren’t angry anymore, though the weight of your authority remained. “Go to the bedroom. We’re done here.”

She stood slowly, her movements hesitant and stiff, as though her body were fighting against her mind’s compliance. The faint click of her heels on the hardwood floor was the only sound as she retreated down the hallway. Her posture was smaller than usual, her confident aura replaced by something subdued, vulnerable. There was no defiance in her steps, no attempt to bargain further—only quiet acceptance of her fate.

As she disappeared into the bedroom, the sound of rustling sheets filtering back to you, you let out a long breath, running a hand through your hair. The tension in your chest eased slightly, replaced by a calm satisfaction. You weren’t angry anymore. This wasn’t about revenge or punishment for its own sake. It was about re-establishing the foundation that held everything together—trust.

You sank into the couch, the weight of the moment settling over you like a heavy blanket. The balance you’d struck was delicate, but you knew it was necessary. Natty needed this, not just to understand the gravity of her actions but to grow from it. Deep down, you knew she would.

-----

The first few days passed in an uneasy stillness. The house, once filled with Natty’s teasing comments and playful laughter, now seemed quieter, the air heavier. Her usual spark had dimmed, her presence muted in a way that was both unfamiliar and telling. She moved through the rooms carefully, her steps softer, her gaze lowered whenever she passed you. It wasn’t fear—far from it. It was something deeper: submission edged with guilt.

She stayed busy, as though keeping her hands occupied would prevent her thoughts from spiraling. She fetched your coffee before you asked, setting it down with a barely audible, “Here you go.” She folded blankets that didn’t need folding, straightened things that were already straight, her hands fidgeting when there was nothing left to do. Her movements were deliberate, every action laced with a quiet hope that her obedience might earn her reprieve.

When she thought you weren’t watching, she allowed herself quick glances in your direction, her eyes searching for any hint of forgiveness. But when you met her gaze, her expression flickered, and she quickly looked away, her cheeks warming. She brushed against your side tentatively in passing, her fingers grazing your arm or shoulder as if testing the waters. Each time, you remained composed, offering no indication that her efforts were noticed.

The absence of reaction clearly unsettled her. For a moment, it almost seemed like she thought you’d forgotten about her punishment. But even then, the unspoken tension lingered between you, a quiet hum that grew louder with every passing hour.

By the third day, the shift in her behavior was undeniable. The subtle signs of restlessness began to creep in. She wrung her hands more often, her fingers twisting and untwisting as she tried to channel her growing nervous energy. When she sat, her knees bounced slightly, her body refusing to stay still. Her cheeks flushed more frequently, a faint pink that deepened whenever you entered the room. She wasn’t fully aware of it yet, but the need was beginning to stir—a slow, creeping sensation she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

It was most evident when you were close to her. In the kitchen, as you stood near her to reach for something, she froze momentarily, the proximity sending a jolt through her. Her breath hitched, her hands trembling slightly as she tried to keep them occupied with a dish she was already drying.

“Something wrong?” you asked casually, your voice calm but pointed.

“N-no,” she stammered quickly, shaking her head. Her cheeks burned, and she turned away, her movements stiff as she set the dish down. She didn’t look at you, but the tension in her posture told you everything.

Later that evening, as you sat on the couch reading, she lingered in the doorway, clearly uncertain about what to do. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. When she finally stepped forward, she stopped a few feet away, her voice hesitant.

“Do you… need anything?” she asked softly, her words laced with hope.

You didn’t look up, turning a page instead. “No,” you said simply, your tone neutral.

Her shoulders sagged slightly, and she nodded, retreating back to the other room. The disappointment in her expression was brief, but it was there. You watched her go, noting the way her hands brushed against her thighs, as though grounding herself against the slow, creeping need she hadn’t yet put a name to.

As the hours stretched into night, the tension in her body became more visible. When she settled into bed, she shifted restlessly beneath the sheets, her breathing uneven. The faint sound of the fabric rustling was the only indication of her growing discomfort, but it was enough to bring a faint smirk to your lips. She wasn’t fully aware of it yet, but the punishment was beginning to take root. It was slow, deliberate, and exactly as it was meant to be.

Deep down, Natty must have known it too. But she clung to a fragile hope—a thought that if she waited long enough, if she behaved perfectly, you might let it pass without incident. It was wishful thinking, and you could see in her eyes that she already knew the truth.

It was late one evening, the kind of night where the house seemed to hum with a stillness that amplified every creak, every shift in the air. You stepped through the door, the long day weighing on your shoulders, your muscles tight with tension. The faint scent of Natty’s perfume greeted you before the soft shuffle of her footsteps reached your ears. She appeared in the entryway, her eyes bright but edged with a nervous energy that seemed to hover around her like a second skin.

Her smile was warm but hesitant, her hands clasped in front of her as if holding herself in place. She moved closer, her fingers brushing lightly against your arm as she reached for your coat. “Welcome home,” she murmured, her voice quieter than usual, almost cautious.

You nodded, a soft grunt of acknowledgment as you shrugged off your coat. The day’s weight still clung to you, the dull ache in your chest begging for rest. Before you could fully step past her, she moved again, her hand resting lightly on your chest. Then her lips brushed yours.

The kiss started soft, tentative—a whisper of warmth against the chill of the day. Her hands stayed light, one on your chest, the other grazing your shoulder, her body leaning in closer. For a moment, you let her, the subtle press of her mouth drawing you into the moment. She tasted faintly of mint, her lips warm and pliant as the kiss deepened.

She didn’t stop there. Her movements grew bolder, her body pressing flush against yours as her hands began to move. They trailed down to the edges of your collar, her fingertips brushing along your neck before drifting to the first button of your shirt. Her lips parted slightly, her breath mingling with yours, hot and heavy with quiet desperation. The faintest whimper escaped her throat as she tilted her head, pressing harder into the kiss, pouring everything into it.

You let her guide you toward the couch, her steps slow but deliberate. The kiss stayed connected, her lips never leaving yours as she coaxed you backward until the edge of the cushions met the back of your legs. You sank down, and she followed, her knees sliding on either side of your lap as she straddled you. Her hands moved more urgently now, gripping your shirt, her nails scraping lightly against the fabric as her hips shifted just enough to press her body closer.

She kissed you like she was unraveling, her fingers trembling slightly as she worked on the buttons of your shirt. Her breath came faster, her chest rising and falling against yours. For her, the rest of the world had disappeared—there was only you, the connection between you, and the fleeting hope that she could escape the boundaries you had set. Her need was palpable, her body leaning into yours with a quiet desperation that seemed to grow stronger with every passing second.

Then she reached for the hem of her shirt, her fingers curling around the loose fabric and tugging it upward slightly, just enough to reveal a sliver of smooth skin. The motion was subtle, almost hesitant, but it carried with it an unspoken plea. It wasn’t calculated—just instinct, a desperate attempt to bridge the gap between the quiet tension and the simmering need she felt.

And just like that, the moment shifted.

You pulled back, your movement deliberate, breaking the kiss with a soft, almost imperceptible sound. Her breath caught audibly, her lips hovering in the space where yours had been, the warmth of you replaced by a cool absence that felt more striking than any words you could have spoken.

Her eyes fluttered open, and her expression flickered with confusion. Slowly, realization dawned, her cheeks flushing as she started to pull back further. Before she could, you pressed a hand gently to her shoulder—not harsh, but firm enough to still her completely.

“You’re still on punishment,” you said, your tone calm and measured, like a quiet storm.

Her lips parted slightly, a faint sound escaping them, almost like an aborted protest. Her gaze darted downward, her fingers loosening their hold on your shirt. “I wasn’t—” she started, her voice faltering. “I just thought—maybe if…”

You raised an eyebrow, waiting as her words trailed off into nothing. The faint blush on her cheeks deepened, spreading to her neck, her hands falling limply into her lap. She took a deep breath, clearly trying to steady herself. “I didn’t mean to push,” she murmured, her voice quieter now.

Your hand left her shoulder, and you leaned back slightly, studying her. The tension in her posture betrayed her unease, though she stayed seated in your lap, her legs tucked to either side of you. Her lips pressed together faintly, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

“You thought what?” you asked after a beat, your voice calm but edged with quiet authority. “That I’d just forget the boundaries I’ve set? That I’d let this slide?”

Her shoulders slumped slightly, her breathing uneven. “No,” she admitted softly. “I just thought… I don’t know. I thought maybe you’d…” She didn’t finish the sentence, her words dissolving into silence.

You watched her carefully, the weight of your gaze enough to keep her still. After a moment, you guided her gently off your lap. She slid to the floor without resistance, her knees brushing the rug as she sank down in front of you. Her head dipped slightly, her posture shrinking as the realization of her overstep settled in.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, her voice almost too quiet to hear.

You stood, the couch creaking softly as you rose. Without another word, you stepped past her, your movements calm and deliberate. The sound of your footsteps faded as you left her kneeling there, the room suddenly feeling much emptier than before.

She didn’t move, her knees rooted to the spot, her hands resting limply in her lap. Her lips still tingled faintly from the kiss, a reminder of what had been taken away. Even as she stared at the space where you’d been, she couldn’t shake the growing realization: this wasn’t just a punishment. It was a reminder that, no matter what she thought she wanted, you were still in control.

-----

The days stretched into weeks, each one blurring into the next as Natty’s punishment continued. She tried to keep herself busy, focusing on tasks that didn’t need doing—organizing drawers, folding laundry that didn’t need folding—but it wasn’t long before the edges of her composure began to fray. The need was slow, insidious, creeping into her thoughts in moments of stillness until it was all-consuming.

Her usual spark had dulled, replaced by a quiet, simmering tension that followed her everywhere. She hovered near you constantly, her movements soft but deliberate, as though being close to you might ease the ache inside her. Every time you passed, her breath caught, and her gaze lingered on you, her wide eyes betraying the growing desperation she tried so hard to keep hidden.

You caught her once standing in the doorway, her hand resting against the frame as she watched you from a distance. When your eyes met, she flushed, her lips parting as though to say something, but no words came. Instead, she turned away quickly, her shoulders tight with frustration, the sound of her retreating footsteps echoing faintly through the quiet house.

But it wasn’t just the way she lingered. Her body betrayed her in other ways. The subtle tremor in her hands when she handed you your coffee, the way her fingers brushed against yours just a little too long, the way she bit her lip whenever you were close. She moved with an air of quiet submission, her every action laced with the unspoken hope that her obedience might draw you closer, might break the walls of the punishment you’d set.

You didn’t respond. You stayed composed, calm, offering no indication that you even noticed. And it drove her mad.

One evening, you stepped into the bedroom to find Natty perched on the edge of the bed. Her body was tense, shoulders hunched forward as though trying to fold into herself. In her hands, she clutched one of your shirts. The loose fabric was balled tightly, her knuckles whitening from the grip. She raised it to her face, burying her nose in it as her eyes fluttered closed. Her chest rose and fell in uneven, trembling breaths, the motion betraying her quiet desperation.

As she inhaled deeply, the faintest of shudders coursed through her body. The scent was faint but unmistakable—yours. It seemed to wrap around her, filling her senses with a comfort that only deepened the ache inside her. Her fingers curled tighter around the shirt, her grip almost possessive, as though letting go would sever her last tether to reality.

Her mind was a swirl of emotion. The warmth of your scent grounded her, but it also made her keenly aware of how much she missed you, how much she craved what she’d been denied. The ache in her chest spread downward, settling low in her belly, where it twisted and coiled into something almost unbearable. She didn’t know if the shirt soothed her or made the longing worse. All she knew was that she couldn’t stop herself.

Her lips parted slightly, a soft, shaky exhale escaping as she took another deep breath. The blush on her cheeks deepened, spreading to her neck and ears, as her thoughts spiraled. She hated how much she needed this—how much she needed you. The vulnerability stung, but she couldn’t let go, couldn’t stop herself from clinging to the one thing that made her feel closer to you.

“Natty.”

Your voice cut through the quiet like a blade, sharp and firm. Her head snapped up instantly, her wide eyes locking onto yours. The guilt hit her like a wave, and her hands jerked as though the shirt had suddenly burned her. It slipped from her fingers, falling to her lap, but the stain of her actions remained etched across her flushed features.

“I… I wasn’t—” she stammered, her voice cracking as she scrambled to her feet. Her hands fumbled at the fabric in her lap, twisting it nervously as her gaze darted to the floor. The crimson in her cheeks deepened, and her breathing turned uneven, a telltale sign of the storm raging inside her.

You didn’t move, your calm, steady presence only intensifying her discomfort. You didn’t need to say anything else. The silence pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating. She bit her lip, her shoulders slumping as she lowered her head in submission. The weight of your authority hung in the air, undeniable and absolute, until it crushed what little resolve she had left.

For the rest of the week, the cracks in her composure deepened. She lingered near you constantly, finding excuses to hover in your space. When you moved from one room to another, she followed quietly, her steps soft but deliberate. She never said much, but her presence was loud enough. When you passed her, her hand would brush against you, just lightly, as though testing your reaction. When you stood still for too long, she drifted closer, her breath hitching every time you turned in her direction.

Her need became a part of everything she did. The way her eyes flicked toward you incessantly, searching for any sign of indulgence. The subtle way her body leaned toward yours instinctively, drawn by a gravitational pull she couldn’t fight. She stopped trying to hide it—her longing was written into every motion, every glance, every trembling breath.

By the second week, it consumed her completely. Her confidence crumbled under the weight of her desperation, leaving her raw and exposed. Even her voice, when she dared to speak, carried the faintest quaver, as though each word threatened to betray her. The ache was no longer confined to moments of stillness; it was a constant presence, burning beneath her skin, coiling low in her belly, and leaving her trembling.

-----

Natty sat at home one day, scrolling aimlessly through her phone, trying to distract herself from the relentless need that had consumed her for weeks. Her body felt like a tightly coiled spring, every small movement amplifying the ache that lingered low in her belly. The sound of her phone buzzing startled her, and she glanced at the screen.

"Bedroom by the time I’m home. Naked."

The simplicity of the message made her heart race. Her fingers gripped the phone tightly as she reread the words, the weight of your command settling over her like a heavy blanket. Her breath hitched, and a nervous tremor coursed through her. She didn’t even need to think—her body moved on instinct.

She stood quickly, her hands trembling as she began to undress. Each piece of clothing she removed felt like shedding a layer of protection, leaving her vulnerable and exposed. The cool air of the house kissed her bare skin, sending a shiver up her spine. By the time she reached the bed, her heart was pounding so loudly she could hear it in her ears.

Kneeling, she positioned herself carefully, her body already quivering with a mix of nervous anticipation and lingering need. She rested on all fours, her breathing uneven, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she waited. The silence of the house felt deafening, the seconds stretching into eternity. She couldn’t help the thoughts that raced through her mind: Would this be her release? Would you finally touch her, grant her the relief she craved? Or would this be another lesson in patience, another test of her endurance?

The sound of the front door opening made her freeze. Her breath caught, her body tensing as she listened to your deliberate movements. The faint rustle of your belongings being set down sent a thrill through her, each noise heightening her anticipation. She stayed perfectly still, her hands gripping the sheets lightly, her heart threatening to leap from her chest.

When your footsteps finally approached the bedroom, she felt the weight of your presence before you even spoke. The door opened, and your gaze swept over her. She didn’t dare lift her head, but she felt the heat of your eyes on her bare skin. Her body trembled under your scrutiny, the vulnerability making her both anxious and exhilarated.

“Stand up,” your voice broke the silence, calm but commanding.

She rose immediately, though her legs wobbled slightly as she obeyed. She felt utterly exposed under your watchful eyes, her arms twitching as though to cover herself, but she stopped. Your steady gaze and the faint shake of your head froze her in place. Her arms dropped to her sides, her fingers trembling as she fought the urge to shield herself.

“Bathroom,” you instructed, your tone firm and leaving no room for argument. “Stay still.”

Natty moved quickly, her bare feet making no sound as she positioned herself in the bathroom doorway. Her body was taut with nervous energy, her fingers twitching slightly at her sides as she worked to follow your command. Her breathing was already shallow, her lips parted, and her wide eyes tracked your every move.

You began to undress deliberately, unhurried, letting her watch. The soft rustle of fabric filled the room as you slid your shirt from your shoulders, revealing the defined lines of your chest. Her gaze clung to you, her lips pressing together as her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. When your hands moved to your belt, her eyes followed like a magnet, locking onto the motion with an intensity that sent a faint flush across her cheeks.

As you stepped out of your pants, she froze completely. Her gaze darted lower, landing on the growing outline beneath your boxers, and her breath caught audibly. She tried to pull her eyes away, but they kept flicking back, lingering with a desperation she could no longer hide. It was as though everything else in the room had vanished, her world narrowing to just you—your movements, your body, and the aching need she felt burning inside her.

You stepped into the shower without a word, the sound of water cascading over your skin breaking the silence. The steam began to fill the room, curling around her, but her attention never wavered. The glass doors left nothing to the imagination, and her eyes locked onto you again, trailing down your chest to your stomach, and then lower.

Her breathing grew heavier, each rise and fall of her chest more pronounced as her thighs shifted subtly. She pressed them together, a faint, instinctive movement that she clearly hoped would go unnoticed. But it didn’t. You saw every motion, every tremor that betrayed how much effort it took for her to stand still.

“Still,” you said, your voice firm but calm, cutting through the thick haze of her longing.

Her legs froze immediately, though her body trembled slightly with the strain of holding herself back. Her gaze flicked up to your face briefly, an almost guilty glance, before dropping again. It didn’t take long for her eyes to return to the same place, fixed on the growing evidence of your arousal.

The effort to control herself was evident in every line of her frame. Her hands flexed at her sides, her fingers curling and uncurling as though fighting the urge to reach out. Her lips parted again, a faint, shaky exhale escaping as her gaze remained fixed, unable to look away.

When you turned slightly, letting the water run down your back, she shifted almost imperceptibly. Her chest rose and fell quicker now, her thighs pressing together again, the motion more noticeable this time. The faintest glisten of sweat began to form on her skin, mixing with the steam around her, as though her body were reacting to a heat only she could feel.

After finishing your shower, you stepped out, wrapping a towel loosely around your waist. Her eyes followed the motion, flicking downward for just a second too long. When you reached for another towel to dry your hair, her gaze returned, locking onto the outline beneath the fabric.

Her breathing hitched audibly, and she swallowed hard, her throat working visibly. She wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore—her need radiated off her in waves, the desperation plain in the way her lips pressed together, her body trembling with restraint.

“Back to the bed,” you said, your tone steady.

She turned quickly, her body moving as though it could barely keep up with the frantic pace of her mind. Every step toward the bedroom echoed with the quiet desperation she could no longer hide. As she lay back on the bed, her movements were both eager and hesitant, her hands twitching at her sides as though fighting the urge to reach out and pull you closer. Her breathing was shallow, each inhale trembling slightly, her chest rising and falling in uneven rhythms.

When you joined her, her heart raced, the anticipation almost unbearable. Was this it? Had her obedience finally earned her a reprieve? The thought flickered through her mind like a fragile spark, and she clung to it desperately. Maybe this is his way of letting me off early, she thought. Maybe I’ve been good enough.

You didn’t speak, but the weight of your gaze on her was intoxicating. Her body reacted instinctively, her legs parting slightly as you shifted closer. When your hand started at her knee, trailing upward along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, her breath hitched audibly. Her thighs parted further, almost of their own accord, inviting your touch. Her skin quivered beneath your fingers, every nerve ending coming alive as you moved deliberately, your strokes maddeningly slow and controlled.

She bit her lip, a soft whine escaping her as her hips shifted slightly toward your hand, seeking more. Her need was evident now, radiating off her in waves, but the moment her movement betrayed her impatience, you stopped. Your eyes narrowed, and the sternness in your gaze was enough to freeze her in place.

“Good girl,” you murmured, your voice low and even.

The praise sent a visible shiver through her. Her lips parted, a soft gasp escaping as her body reacted involuntarily. A faint sheen of wetness betrayed her growing arousal, glistening faintly in the dim light of the room. The ache inside her deepened, spreading like fire through her veins, and the thought of finally being allowed to release burned brighter in her mind.

Your fingers trailed closer, brushing along the edge of her folds with maddening precision. You never gave her exactly what she needed, staying just millimeters away, the teasing strokes pushing her closer to the edge without letting her fall. Her breaths grew shallow, her chest heaving as her back arched slightly off the bed.

She whimpered, the sound barely audible but filled with a desperation that was impossible to ignore. Her slickness spread, catching the light, her body leaking uncontrollably as her arousal built to a fever pitch.

And then, just as your fingers hovered over the place where her need was most concentrated, you pulled away.

The gasp that escaped her was almost a sob. Her hips jerked upward reflexively, as though her body couldn’t accept the sudden absence of your touch. Her eyes snapped open, wide and pleading, the longing in them unrestrained. She looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, her lips trembling as though she might beg. But the sternness in your gaze silenced whatever words she might have been about to say.

“Go to sleep,” you said, your voice calm and final.

Her heart sank, the weight of your command hitting her like a tidal wave. She stared at you for a long moment, her body frozen, her lips parting slightly as though to protest. But she caught herself, her hands curling into fists at her sides as she nodded shakily. Slowly, she sank back against the mattress, her body sinking into the sheets as though the effort to fight was too much.

You lay down beside her, the bed shifting slightly under your weight. The warmth of your body was close enough to feel but impossibly far from the relief she craved. Her breathing was uneven, her chest rising and falling in trembling rhythms as her legs shifted restlessly beneath the sheets. She pressed her thighs together, her hips rocking slightly in a futile attempt to ease the tension that burned through her like wildfire.

Her eyes fluttered closed, though she knew sleep would be impossible. Her body pulsed with frustration, every nerve ending alight with unfulfilled desire. She could still feel the ghost of your touch on her skin, the teasing brush of your fingers that had come so maddeningly close.

Beside her, you remained composed, your breathing calm, your presence steady and unattainable. The quiet was oppressive, the tension between you palpable as the minutes stretched into hours.

Her mind spiraled as reality sank in—this wasn’t relief. It wasn’t a reprieve. It was another lesson in control, another reminder of who held the power. And as her body burned with the ache of denial, the truth became inescapable: tonight wouldn’t bring her release. It would only deepen the longing that consumed her.

-----

The final week of November arrived, and Natty was barely holding it together. The days had grown heavier, the minutes stretching into what felt like hours as her body and mind simmered with unrelenting tension. The month-long denial had pushed her to her limits, leaving her restless and sensitive to every touch, every glance, every moment in your presence. This wasn’t just a punishment—it was a slow unraveling, and the last week felt like it might break her entirely.

By mid-afternoon, as she paced through the kitchen for the third time that day, her phone buzzed on the counter, cutting through the quiet. She grabbed it quickly, her heart giving a small jolt as she saw the group chat lighting up.

“Eclipse tonight! Drinks on me. You’re coming, right?” Belle’s message was followed by a string of emojis, the energy infectious even through the screen. Natty’s gaze lingered on the words as more messages poured in.

“You better not flake again, Natty!” Julie added with a laughing emoji.

“I’m wearing heels for the first time in a year for this. Be there. No excuses!” chimed Haneul.

The idea of going out with her friends, laughing and dancing the night away, was tempting. For a brief moment, she imagined herself letting loose, the music drowning out her thoughts, her body moving freely in the dim lights of the club. It sounded perfect—exactly what she needed.

And yet, something held her back.

Her gaze lifted from the phone to the living room, where you sat on the couch, scrolling through your phone with your usual calm demeanor. She watched you for a moment, her chest tightening with a strange sense of unease. The thought of leaving the house, of being away from you, felt heavier than it should have. It wasn’t fear, exactly—more like a quiet, unshakable pull to stay near you, as though the distance would only amplify the ache she already felt.

Her phone buzzed again, breaking her thoughts. “Natty, don’t make me beg! 😘 Eclipse is calling your name!” Belle was relentless, as always.

Natty paced the kitchen, her fingers tightening around her phone as her thoughts churned. Her friends wouldn’t understand. They’d tell her she was overthinking it, that a night out was exactly what she needed. But they didn’t know what she was going through. They didn’t know how the last few weeks had left her raw and vulnerable, every nerve in her body on edge. And they didn’t understand the quiet, powerful pull that kept her close to you.

Summoning her courage, she stepped into the living room. “My friends want me to go out,” she said, her voice soft and uncertain.

You looked up briefly, meeting her gaze with an easy calm. “Sure,” you replied, your tone steady. “Go if you want.”

The simplicity of your answer caught her off guard. Her heart skipped a beat, her lips parting in surprise. She had expected… something else. Guidance, hesitation, maybe even a hint of disapproval. Instead, your response was so casual, so sincere, it left her more conflicted than ever.

“You’re… okay with it?” she asked, her tone cautious.

“Of course,” you said, your expression neutral. “If you want to go, you should.”

Natty blinked, caught between disbelief and confusion. Her gaze searched your face, looking for any trace of hesitation, but found none. The ease of your answer left her more conflicted than before, and a strange pang of guilt settled in her chest.

“Really? You don’t mind?” she pressed, her voice quieter now, almost reluctant.

You raised an eyebrow, amused by her persistence. “I don’t mind, Natty. It’s your decision.”

She nodded slowly, retreating a few steps to sit on the chair across from you. Her phone buzzed again, her friends filling the group chat with plans for the night. Outfits, drinks, excitement—it was all there, pulling her in. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, typing out a reply only to erase it again.

She glanced back at you. “You’re… really okay with me going?” she asked again, her voice even softer this time.

You met her gaze evenly. “I said I was. It’s your call, Natty.”

The finality in your words settled over her like a weight. The decision was hers—fully, completely hers—and yet the idea of leaving felt wrong. Her chest tightened, her stomach knotting with a mix of frustration and longing she couldn’t quite place.

With a deep breath, she typed: “Can’t make it, sorry.”

Her finger hovered over the send button, the decision catching in her chest for just a moment before she pressed it. The message disappeared into the chat, and a strange mix of relief and frustration flooded her.

When she looked back at you, she couldn’t help but ask one last time, “You’re really not upset?”

You glanced at her, offering a faint, reassuring smile. “Not at all,” you said simply, returning your attention to your phone.

The sincerity in your tone surprised her, and she sank back into the chair, her phone now dark in her hand. The quiet buzz of the house resumed, but her mind was still spinning. She had made the decision herself—without pressure, without guidance—and as unsettling as that was, a small part of her felt… content.

The thought of staying near you, of not letting that distance grow, settled warmly in her chest. And as she sat there, the sound of your steady breathing grounding her, she knew she’d made the choice she truly wanted.

-----

The evening had settled in, darkness blanketing the world outside as the soft glow of a table lamp cast warm light across the living room. The house was quiet, a serene contrast to the distant hum of the night’s activity beyond the walls. You sat on the couch, lazily flipping through channels, the faint murmur of the television filling the stillness. The simplicity of the moment was grounding, a calm that belied the tension that had simmered between you and Natty over the past weeks.

She lingered in the doorway, hesitant but drawn to you, her phone still clutched tightly in her hand. She hadn’t left the house since your conversation, her friends’ messages still buzzing occasionally in the background, unanswered. Finally, gathering her courage, she stepped into the room, her footsteps soft against the hardwood.

You glanced up from the remote, your eyes meeting hers. Her expression was conflicted, a mix of vulnerability and determination. “Why didn’t you go with your friends?” you asked, your tone calm but curious.

She hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “I…” Her voice faltered for a moment before she took a deep breath. “I just… didn’t feel like going,” she said, though the truth was far more layered. Her eyes darted away, betraying the nerves she tried to suppress.

Your gaze stayed steady, unyielding, as you leaned back slightly. “That’s not an answer, Natty,” you said, your voice firm but not unkind. “Tell me the truth.”

Her shoulders stiffened for a moment before she relented, her gaze flickering back to yours. “I wanted to stay here,” she admitted softly, her cheeks warming with a faint blush. “With you.”

The simplicity of her words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken until now. For a moment, you didn’t respond, letting the weight of her confession linger. Then, slowly, the faintest smile curved your lips, a warm, genuine expression that made her shoulders relax slightly.

“Come here,” you said, your voice steady but soft, a quiet command that carried more weight than the words alone. “Sit on my lap.”

Natty appeared almost immediately, her movements automatic, her body responding before her mind could process. She climbed onto your lap, her thighs straddling yours as she settled against you. The heat of her body radiated through her clothes, her breathing already shallow as your hands found her waist, grounding her.

Your hands didn’t linger long. They slid upward, brushing over the curve of her chest, and she gasped softly, her back arching slightly into your touch. There was no hesitation in the way you began to knead her, your fingers flexing firmly through the thin fabric of her shirt. She let out a soft whimper, her body reacting to every squeeze, her head tilting forward as though offering herself completely.

“Take it off,” you murmured, your voice low but firm.

Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head in one smooth motion. She discarded it to the floor, her chest now bare, rising and falling with her quickened breaths. The faint flush across her skin deepened as your eyes roamed over her, taking in every inch of her exposed form.

Your hands moved back to her now-bare chest, your palms warm against her skin as you groped her fully. She gasped again, louder this time, the sound breaking into a soft moan as your thumbs brushed over the sensitive peaks of her nipples. Her hips shifted instinctively against you, the motion subtle but telling, her body betraying the growing wetness between her legs.

Your lips followed your hands, pressing softly against her neck before trailing lower. The faint scent of her skin filled your senses, sweet and intoxicating as you kissed along her collarbone. She tilted her head back, giving you full access, her body trembling as your mouth continued its slow descent.

When your lips finally closed around one of her nipples, her reaction was immediate. She let out a sharp gasp, her fingers digging into your shoulders as her back arched. You alternated between gentle licks and firmer pressure, your tongue swirling in deliberate, teasing circles. Your other hand remained on her chest, squeezing and kneading with steady precision, while your thumb flicked against the neglected peak.

Her breathing grew erratic, her soft gasps turning into moans as her head tilted forward again, her lips brushing against your ear as she whimpered. “Please…” The word was barely audible, trembling with desperation as her body pressed closer to yours.

You didn’t respond. Instead, you bit down lightly, your teeth grazing against her nipple before soothing the skin with your tongue. Her whole body jolted, her thighs clenching around your lap as another moan escaped her lips. Your free hand slid lower, gripping her hip firmly to keep her steady as her movements grew more frantic.

The wetness between her legs became impossible to ignore, the faint sound of her arousal audible as her hips shifted against you. She was trembling now, completely lost in the moment, her body responding instinctively to every touch, every kiss, every firm squeeze of your hands.

“God,” she whimpered, her voice breaking as her nails raked lightly against your shoulders. “I can’t—”

“Shhh,” you murmured against her skin, your voice low and commanding. “You can.”

Your mouth returned to her chest, alternating between each peak, your tongue and teeth teasing her with perfect precision. She was leaking now, her arousal spreading across the thin fabric of her panties, soaking through to the point where you could feel the dampness against your lap.

Just as she seemed ready to tip over the edge, her hips pressing harder against you, her chest arching fully into your mouth, you pulled back.

The sudden absence of your touch left her gasping, her eyes snapping open in disbelief. Her lips parted, trembling as though she might beg, but the look in your eyes stopped her. Her body stilled, though her thighs continued to tremble, the tension coiling tighter inside her with every second of denial.

You leaned back into the couch, a faint smirk playing on your lips as you let your gaze linger on her flushed skin, the evidence of her arousal impossible to miss.

“You know what I want.” you said, your voice calm but edged with quiet authority.

Her breath hitched audibly, her wide, hazy eyes meeting yours. There was no hesitation now. She shifted off your lap, her hands trembling slightly as they moved to your shorts. Her fingers hooked into the waistband, pulling them down slowly, her lips parting as her focus shifted entirely to you.

As the fabric slid away, revealing the full length of you, Natty's breath hitched audibly. Her gaze locked on you, her wide eyes taking in every inch with unabashed admiration. No matter how many times she saw you like this, she could never fully get over it—the sheer size, the thickness, the way it was always all for her. Her tongue darted out reflexively, wetting her lips as though in anticipation, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.

The faint musk of your arousal filled the air, heady and intoxicating, and she inhaled deeply, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment. Her thighs pressed together, an unconscious response to the ache that flared inside her. When her eyes opened again, they were darker, her pupils blown wide with longing, her lips trembling slightly as she leaned closer.

Her fingers hovered hesitantly before curling around your base, the warmth of her touch sending a faint tremor through her own body. She brought her face closer, her nose brushing lightly against you as she took in your scent again, the rawness of it making her exhale shakily. It consumed her thoughts, every nerve ending alight as the need within her grew unbearable.

For a moment, she lingered there, caught in the haze of her desire, her tongue hovering just above you. Her nails bit softly into your thigh as her other hand rose to her chest, cupping the soft weight of her breast. Then, as though steeling herself, she straightened slightly, her fingers squeezing her softness as she pressed her chest together.

Tilting her head, she let a long string of spit fall onto your shaft, the warm slickness trailing down slowly. Her movements were deliberate, unhurried, each moment stretching with intent as her hands guided her breasts to encase you. The soft, pliant warmth of her skin enveloped your length, her grip firm but yielding as she began to move.

Up and down, her chest stroked along you in a smooth, rhythmic motion, the slickness making every movement glide effortlessly. Her breaths grew heavier, her lips parting as a faint sheen of sweat formed on her forehead. Glancing up, she caught your gaze, her expression a mix of eagerness and awe.

You exhaled deeply, the faintest hint of a groan escaping your lips, and the sound sent a shiver rippling through her. The reaction was electric—Natty’s pace quickened, her movements more determined as her confidence grew. She pressed her breast more firmly against you, adjusting her angle slightly, the friction amplifying the sensations with every pass of her soft skin.

Each brush of her curves against your length elicited a flicker of pleasure across your face, and the sight of it spurred her on. The faint flush that painted her cheeks deepened as her own arousal grew with each passing second. She could feel the dampness between her thighs spreading, the sticky warmth soaking her panties, making the fabric cling to her skin uncomfortably. Her thighs pressed together instinctively, seeking relief she couldn’t allow herself, but she didn’t stop. She wouldn’t. This was for you.

Leaning lower, she brought her face closer, her warm breath ghosting across your tip. Her lips brushed against you, feather-light, a teasing touch that made her breath hitch. For a brief moment, she hovered there, as if savoring the anticipation, before parting her lips and taking the head into her mouth. Her tongue flicked out, circling in slow, deliberate movements that sent jolts of sensation through you. All the while, her chest continued its rhythmic motion, enveloping you in warmth and softness.

Her lips worked in tandem with her breasts, creating an intoxicating combination of sensations. The wet heat of her mouth, the slick pressure of her curves, the eager swirl of her tongue—it was almost overwhelming. Her pace grew more fervent, the urgency in her actions reflecting your mounting tension. She could feel your body responding, the slight tensing of your thighs beneath her hands, the subtle shift in your breathing as it became uneven.

Her own breathing quickened, her moans muffled around your shaft as her arousal reached a fever pitch. Each motion, each sound you made, fueled her further, her movements becoming bolder. She pushed herself harder, faster, the rhythm of her chest and the pressure of her lips in perfect sync. Her thighs quivered, her body trembling with the intensity of the moment.

You groaned deeply, the sound low and primal, vibrating through the air as your hips bucked slightly in response to her movements. Your hands gripped the couch tightly, the pleasure cresting as your breathing turned ragged. “I’m cumming,” you growled, your voice thick with urgency, each word a raw admission of the overwhelming sensation.

Natty’s eyes flicked up to you briefly, her pupils blown wide as she heard the words. A soft, needy whimper escaped her lips, her movements quickening as if she wanted to savor every moment of your release. Her arousal was palpable now, radiating off her in waves. She could feel the wetness between her thighs pooling, soaking through the thin fabric of her panties as the ache inside her reached a fever pitch.

Your body tensed, and the first thick rope of warmth hit her face, splashing across her cheeks and lips. She gasped softly, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment as the sensation registered. Her lips parted, and her breath hitched audibly, her chest rising and falling as the heat of it spread across her skin.

The next wave followed, coating her chest in hot streaks that dripped slowly downward. The sheer amount startled her, her hands faltering momentarily as she adjusted, her fingers instinctively brushing through the mess. Her body reacted instinctively, her thighs pressing together as another involuntary wave of arousal coursed through her. The heat radiating from her own skin was unbearable, her breath shaky as she let out another quiet, trembling moan.

Her chest glistened in the dim light, streaks of your release tracing down to her stomach. The sticky warmth clung to her skin, vivid and undeniable, a testament to how much you had been saving up for her. She trembled under the weight of the moment, her lips parting as she whispered faintly, “Oh my God…” Her voice was soft, filled with a mix of awe and desperation, her gaze dropping to the glistening mess on her chest.

Her hands trembled as they moved, brushing lightly over her curves, smearing the sticky remnants across her skin. The sight only heightened the ache inside her, her thighs quivering as she shifted slightly, her soaked panties clinging to her skin. The desperate need for relief surged again, her body reacting as if the mere act of pleasing you had amplified her own longing tenfold.

You leaned back into the couch, your breathing heavy but steadying as you watched her. A faint smirk played at the corner of your lips, your eyes taking in the sight of her—kneeling before you, her chest heaving, her skin glistening with evidence of your release. She looked wrecked, raw, and utterly yours.

“Clean yourself up,” you said finally, your voice calm but carrying a quiet authority that sent another shiver down her spine.

Her gaze flicked downward, her lips parting slightly as she took in the sight of herself. Thick streaks of your release marked her chest and face, the warmth of it clinging to her skin like a brand. Her hands trembled as they moved upward, her fingertips brushing against her cheek where the first streaks had landed. She paused for a heartbeat, her breath catching in her throat as her fingers lingered.

Then, with deliberate intent, she brought her fingers to her lips. The movement was slow, almost reverent, her eyes fluttering closed as she slipped them into her mouth. Her tongue swirled around each digit, savoring the taste, rich and unmistakable. A soft, audible gulp followed as she swallowed, her breath hitching as the act only deepened the simmering heat coursing through her.

Her hands moved lower, cupping her chest, her fingers gliding over the slickness streaked across her skin. The warmth was still there, a visceral reminder of your dominance. She leaned forward slightly, her breath shallow and uneven as she began to clean herself. Her fingers gathered the remnants, smearing it slightly before bringing it to her lips again. Her movements were unhurried, each touch deliberate, each taste sending a shiver down her spine.

She shifted slightly, lifting one breast toward her mouth. Her tongue darted out, tentative at first, lapping at the streaks she couldn’t reach with her fingers. Her lips closed around the soft curve, sucking gently as she worked to clean every inch of her skin. Her breaths were audible now, short and trembling, her chest heaving as she moved to the other side.

The wet sounds of her tongue and lips filled the room, mingling with the faint rustle of her shifting body. She was methodical, thorough, her cheeks flushed deeper with every motion. The room seemed smaller, hotter, the air thick with the lingering scent of arousal. The tension between you remained palpable, her body trembling with unspent need even as she finished her task.

When she finally straightened, her lips glistened faintly, and her chest was free of the sticky evidence of your climax. Yet the dampness clinging to her inner thighs betrayed her state. The act of cleaning herself had only deepened the ache inside her, the heat between her legs an all-consuming pulse that refused to be ignored.

Her wide eyes flicked up to meet yours briefly, filled with a mix of uncertainty and raw desire, before dropping again. She seemed unable to hold your gaze for long, the intensity too much to bear. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, her fingers twisting together as her breaths remained shallow, her body visibly trembling with need.

She stayed kneeling before you, the soft rise and fall of her chest the only motion. The memory of your pleasure was fresh on her tongue, the weight of your control pressing down on her, and the unrelenting ache inside her burned hotter than ever. Every second in your presence made it harder to endure, the tension in her body coiling tighter, her submission deepening with every unspoken command.

-----

The final days of her punishment dragged on like an endless stretch of time, every moment heavy with unspoken tension. The stillness between you was almost oppressive, each day blurring into the next as the weight of her denial bore down on her. This was the longest Natty had ever gone without release, and it showed in every aspect of her demeanor. Her once-bright spark had dimmed, replaced by a quiet desperation that lingered in her every move.

The ache inside her had become unbearable, growing from a subtle pulse to an all-encompassing fire that clouded her thoughts. Every touch she remembered, every fleeting moment of closeness, replayed in her mind, driving her mad with longing. Even the faintest brush of your presence—a simple passing glance, the sound of your footsteps—sent a shiver down her spine, her body reacting instinctively despite her attempts to suppress it.

You, as always, maintained your calm and composed demeanor. There was no teasing, no deliberate provocation—just an air of quiet control that seemed to magnify her need. The unrelenting steadiness of your presence was both a source of comfort and torment. You gave her no indication of when her punishment might end, leaving her to stew in the tension, her mind spiraling with thoughts she couldn’t escape.

She couldn’t help herself; she gravitated toward you like a moth drawn to a flame. Wherever you went, she found an excuse to be nearby. She lingered in doorways, her wide eyes fixed on you as if waiting for permission to come closer. When you stood in the kitchen, her presence was a constant shadow, her movements soft and tentative as though afraid to disturb the fragile equilibrium.

One evening, the weight of it all seemed to crash over her. You were preparing dinner, your movements calm and deliberate as the scent of garlic and herbs filled the air. She knelt between your legs, her hands resting lightly on your thighs, her head tilted upward as she gazed at you. The tension in her body was palpable, every muscle tight as if she were holding herself together by sheer force of will.

Her wide eyes locked on yours, filled with an unspoken plea that words couldn’t capture. She didn’t dare speak, but the faint parting of her lips, the quick, uneven rise and fall of her chest, and the way her thighs pressed together betrayed the depth of her need. Her hands trembled slightly, her fingers brushing the fabric of your pants as though drawn by an invisible force.

She didn’t move, didn’t dare break the silence, but her gaze flicked downward for a fleeting moment. Her lips parted just slightly, her breathing shallow as her eyes darted back up to meet yours. Her desperation was written into every movement, her body quivering with the effort of staying still.

You glanced down at her, your calm and deliberate movements uninterrupted. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of your lips, a subtle acknowledgment of her state. Finally, you broke the silence, your voice low and steady. “You can use your mouth.”

Her head snapped up, her eyes wide with disbelief. For a moment, she seemed frozen, her body stiff as the words sank in. Then, her expression shifted, gratitude flooding her features as she whispered, “Really?” Her voice was shaky, as if she didn’t trust her own ears, her lips trembling as she waited for confirmation.

You nodded, giving her permission. “Go ahead.”

Her response was immediate, eager, as though this was the reprieve she had been desperately waiting for. Leaning forward, her hands trembled slightly as they moved to your waistband, carefully freeing you. As your length was revealed, her breath hitched audibly, her lips parting as her gaze fixated on you. Her eyes flickered with a mix of awe and raw hunger, the sight of you sending a fresh wave of arousal coursing through her.

She paused for a moment, her face hovering close. The faint musk of your arousal filled her senses, and she inhaled deeply, her thighs pressing together as a shiver rippled through her. The scent alone seemed to heighten the ache inside her, leaving her trembling with need.

Finally, she leaned in, her lips wrapping around you with deliberate care. Her mouth was warm and soft, her tongue swirling in practiced, eager motions. Her hands braced against your thighs, steadying herself as she began to work. Every movement was filled with purpose, her lips and tongue crafting a rhythm that sent jolts of pleasure through you.

Her motions were a mixture of desperation and precision. She wasn’t just focused on bringing you pleasure—she clung to the act itself, as though the act of pleasing you might somehow soothe her own unrelenting need. Her moans vibrated against you, soft and involuntary, her arousal building with each sound you made in response.

A deep groan escaped your lips, and the sound spurred her on. Her pace quickened, her confidence growing as she adjusted to the rhythm she knew would elicit the strongest response. Her cheeks hollowed with each stroke, her tongue working fervently as her lips slid along your length. The way her eyes flicked up to meet yours, filled with anticipation and longing, only added to the intensity.

Then, without pausing, she shifted lower. Her tongue trailed down to your base, her warm breath ghosting over your skin as she carefully took one of your balls into her mouth, sucking gently. The softness of her lips, combined with the light flicks of her tongue, sent a shiver through you. Her hands stayed busy, one stroking your length in a steady rhythm, the other resting on your thigh for balance.

“Just like that,” you murmured, your voice deep and husky, the words sending a faint flush to her cheeks.

Encouraged, she moved to the other side, giving equal attention, her tongue drawing slow, teasing circles before her lips closed around you. Her strokes on your shaft quickened slightly, her fingers curling tighter as she worked both areas with practiced care. The combination of her warm mouth and eager hands created an overwhelming sensation, pulling low groans from your chest.

Her breaths came heavier now, her arousal bleeding into her movements. The slickness of her fingers against your length was steady and deliberate, the wet sound of her efforts filling the quiet room. Her thighs shifted against the floor, her own body reacting instinctively to the act of pleasing you.

After a time, she released you from her mouth with a soft pop, her tongue trailing back up your length, leaving a wet path in her wake. She returned to your shaft, her lips wrapping around you again as though she couldn’t stay away. She took you deeper this time, her tongue pressed firmly against the underside as she bobbed her head, her hands bracing against your thighs to steady herself. Each motion was fluid, precise, and full of intent.

“Look at you,” you said, your voice low and strained. “So eager. So good with that mouth.”

Her pace quickened at your words, her lips sliding up and down as her tongue swirled over your sensitive tip. The vibrations of her soft moans were almost too much, and you groaned deeply, the sound spurring her on further. Her hands gripped your thighs tighter as she adjusted her rhythm, each movement driving you closer to the edge.

You felt the heat rising, the sensation building to an unbearable peak. “I’m close,” you growled, your voice strained as you placed a firm hand on the back of her head.

She took your words as a command, her efforts becoming almost frantic, her mouth enveloping you deeper as her tongue worked with renewed vigor. The vibrations of her soft moans drove you over the edge. As you climaxed, your hand pressed gently but firmly on the back of her head, ensuring there was no space between you.

The first surge of your release hit the back of her throat directly, her eyes widening as she instinctively swallowed. The warmth and thickness filled her mouth entirely, her lips sealing around you as she took everything you gave her. Each pump sent another rush straight to the back of her throat, leaving no room for travel, her swallowing keeping perfect pace with your release.

Her body trembled beneath you, her own arousal spiking as she felt every pulse of your climax. Her hands gripped your thighs tightly, her nails digging in slightly as she fought to keep herself steady. The act of taking you so completely only amplified her own need, the ache inside her growing unbearable.

When the last wave subsided, she lingered, her tongue moving gently against you as if savoring every moment. Slowly, she pulled back, her lips leaving you with a soft, deliberate motion. She gasped softly, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her face flushed and glistening.

Her lips were swollen, her gaze hazy as she looked up at you, the taste of you still on her tongue. Her hands fell to her lap, trembling as her thighs pressed together tightly, the evidence of her arousal undeniable.

Her gaze flicked downward, taking in the sight of your length slick from her efforts and the faint mess left on her lips. Her thighs pressed together tightly, her need still painfully unresolved. She had thought this would help her, that focusing on your pleasure would somehow soothe the ache building inside her. But she was so wrong.

The act of bringing you to release, of hearing your groans and feeling your tension snap, had only sharpened her own longing. The heat inside her was unbearable, the ache now all-consuming. Her body trembled as her lips tingled with the memory of you, the lingering taste of your release on her tongue making her stomach twist with need.

Sitting back on her heels, her hands trembling slightly, she dared to glance back up at you, searching for something—permission, relief, anything. But your calm, steady gaze only reminded her of the boundaries you’d set. Her stomach tightened as the realization settled over her: she was still denied. Nothing had changed. If anything, the fire inside her burned hotter.

Her lips parted as though to speak, but no words came. She remained kneeling, her chest heaving softly, every nerve in her body alight with unspent desire. Her thighs clenched tighter, but it was no use—the longing inside her wasn’t going anywhere. It had only grown.

-----

The tension in the house reached its peak on the second-to-last evening, the air so heavy it felt alive. The soft glow of the television flickered across the room, its muted sound blending with the quiet hum of the house. You sat on the couch, leaning back comfortably, your posture calm and steady despite the storm of emotions swirling between you and Natty.

She lingered nearby, her presence hesitant but drawn to you like a moth to a flame. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of indecision, she approached. Without a word, she lay across your lap, her head resting on your thigh as she curled into herself slightly. The tension in her body was palpable, her breathing shallow and uneven as though the simple act of being close to you was too much.

Your hand moved to her hair instinctively, your fingers threading through the soft strands in slow, deliberate strokes. The touch was gentle but firm, grounding her even as her thoughts spiraled. She exhaled shakily, her chest rising and falling against your lap in uneven rhythm. For a brief moment, she let herself sink into the comfort of your touch, her eyes fluttering shut as the steady motion soothed her frayed nerves.

But the ache inside her didn’t subside—it only grew sharper. Her thighs shifted restlessly, rubbing together as though seeking some kind of relief. The heat in her body was unbearable, the steady press of need building into a relentless thrum that clouded her thoughts. She bit her lip hard, trying to stifle the whimper rising in her throat, but it was a futile effort. Every stroke of your fingers through her hair, every subtle shift of your body beneath hers, only added fuel to the fire.

Her hands curled into loose fists, her nails digging lightly into her palms as she struggled to hold herself together. But it wasn’t enough. The weight of your control, the quiet calm you exuded, drove her to the brink. Finally, she shifted, her body trembling slightly as she propped herself up, turning to straddle your lap instead.

Her thighs pressed into yours as she settled, her hands clutching your chest for balance. Her head bowed for a moment, her breath hitching audibly as she fought to steady herself. When she finally looked up, her eyes met yours, wide and pleading, heavy with unspoken need. Her gaze dropped almost immediately, lingering on your waist, her lips parting slightly as though drawn by a magnetic force.

For a moment, she said nothing, her body frozen as she stewed in the unbearable tension coursing through her. Her hands tightened their grip on your shirt, her fingers trembling as the storm inside her reached a breaking point.

“You’re almost there,” you said finally, your voice calm but deliberate. The words sliced through the silence like a blade, steady and unrelenting.

Her head snapped up, her wide eyes locking onto yours. Her lips quivered, her body trembling against you as though the weight of your gaze alone might shatter her. “I…” she stammered, her voice breaking. “I don’t know if I can. I don’t know how much longer I can—” She cut herself off with a soft sob, her hands curling tighter into the fabric of your shirt. “Please, I’ll do anything. Anything you want, just… I need you.”

Her voice cracked, and her hips shifted slightly as though searching for even the faintest relief. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, her desperation spilling out in frantic, unfiltered words. “I’ll never lie again. I’ll be better—I promise. Just, please…”

You watched her unravel in your lap, the composure she clung to crumbling entirely. Your hand moved to her hair again, threading your fingers through it as you guided her forehead to rest against yours. “Shhh,” you murmured softly, your voice calm and steady. “You’re so close, Natty. Just a little longer.”

Her sobs quieted slightly, though her body still trembled against you. “I’m trying,” she whimpered, her voice breaking with every word. “I’m really trying, but it’s too much. Please… just this once…”

Her thighs trembled as she pressed herself closer, her body seeking yours like it was the only thing grounding her. She let out another soft sob, burying her face in your shoulder as her hands clutched desperately at your shirt.

You pressed a kiss to her temple, the softness of the gesture making her shiver. “My sweet,” you murmured, your voice low and soothing. “You’re doing so well.”

The praise sent a shudder through her, and she clung to you tighter, her cries softening as she tried to steady herself. “I’ll be good,” she whispered brokenly. “I swear, I’ll do anything. I just—”

“Shhh,” you interrupted, your lips brushing against her cheek in a gentle kiss. “I know, I know it’s hard. But you can do this. Just hold on for me.”

Her shoulders shook as she nodded faintly, her sobs quieting further. “Okay,” she whispered shakily, her voice barely audible. She stayed there, sinking deeper into your embrace, letting your steady presence anchor her even as the ache inside her burned hotter with every second.

Your hand continued to stroke her hair, the motion slow and deliberate, a constant reassurance. Her body trembled against you, the heat radiating from her a tangible reminder of the control you still held. Despite the overwhelming need consuming her, she stayed, her trust in you unwavering as she endured the storm.

-----

Now finally the last day of the month has arrived. Natty woke with a feeling she had never experienced before. Her body trembled as she stretched, but instead of relief, she felt an overwhelming tension in every muscle. A deep, relentless ache settled low in her belly, heavier and sharper than before, as though her body itself was protesting the month-long denial. It wasn’t just an ache—it was an all-encompassing sensation that left her feeling sick and shaky, her stomach tight and twisted. Every nerve felt raw, on edge, and her hypersensitivity made her skin prickle even under the lightest touch of the sheets.

She sat up slowly, her hands gripping the edge of the mattress as her head spun slightly. Her thighs pressed together instinctively, and she let out a soft, shaky breath, the tension inside her almost unbearable. Her stomach ached, a dull, throbbing reminder of how long she’d gone without release. It felt like an emptiness and a fullness at the same time, a contradiction that only heightened her frustration. The presence of the plug, which had remained snug all night, only amplified her torment. She could feel it with every small shift of her body—a teasing, maddening fullness that made her hyper aware of herself.

When she finally stood, her legs felt weak, her movements unsteady. Every step sent a faint jolt through her, the plug pressing deeper with even the slightest motion. It was as if her entire body had become a live wire, sparking with every touch, every shift, every breath. She shivered as she made her way out of the bedroom, her hands clutching the fabric of her oversized shirt as though grounding herself against the storm of sensations.

When she stepped into the living room, the light spilling softly through the windows, she found you lounging on the couch, a steaming cup of coffee in hand. You glanced up at her, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of your lips as your gaze swept over her. “Come here,” you said simply, patting your lap. “Lie down.”

Her cheeks flushed instantly, and she hesitated for only a second before obeying. She settled across your lap, her breaths quickening as your hands began to roam along her back, the pressure firm but soothing. Your touch was unhurried, tracing the curve of her spine, lingering lower until your fingers brushed against the waistband of her shorts. Without a word, you hooked your thumbs into the fabric and pulled them down, the cool air making her shiver as it hit her exposed skin.

A soft gasp escaped her lips as she felt your hand glide over her bare cheeks, the warmth of your palm contrasting against the coolness of the air. Her body betrayed her, a faint glisten of arousal catching the light. You chuckled softly, the sound low and teasing. “Dripping already?” you murmured, giving one cheek a firm squeeze. “You’re really something, Natty.”

Her breath hitched, her body quivering as she buried her face in her arms. Before she could respond, she felt something cool and slick press against her other entrance. Her muscles tensed instinctively, her head snapping up as she stammered, “Wait, what are you—?”

“Shh,” you murmured, your voice calm but commanding as you pressed the small plug in slowly. Her breath hitched audibly, her body jerking forward as the sensation hit her all at once. A soft yelp escaped her lips, her walls clenching reflexively as her thighs trembled.

“Hold it,” you instructed firmly, your hand resting lightly on her back. “You’ll keep it there all day.”

“I—I don’t think I can,” she stammered, her face burning with embarrassment and arousal.

“You can,” you replied, your tone leaving no room for argument. “And you will.”

She whimpered softly, her breaths uneven as she adjusted to the sensation. The fullness teased her relentlessly, and every small movement made her hyper aware of its presence. The ache between her legs grew sharper, more insistent, as if her body was begging for relief that wouldn’t come. Even standing felt like a challenge; the plug shifted slightly with each step, sending ripples of sensation through her core.

The day had barely begun, and yet she already felt as though she was teetering on the edge. The plug amplified everything—every touch, every brush of fabric, every faint movement. She couldn’t escape it, and with every moment that passed, the ache inside her burned hotter, making her tremble with the effort of holding herself together. Midnight felt impossibly far away.

You didn’t let her rest today—not for a single moment. The relentless presence of the plug became a constant torment, every shift of her body driving the fullness deeper, teasing her in ways she couldn’t escape. Throughout the day, you made her bend over to “check” that it was still in place, a smug reminder of your control. Each time, your hand slid along her folds, your fingers brushing lightly against her slick, swollen skin. The wetness clung to you, undeniable evidence of her unrelenting arousal.

Her breaths came in sharp gasps during these moments, her body trembling as she struggled to remain still. The faintest touch sent shivers down her spine, her knees threatening to buckle beneath her. She whimpered softly, the sound involuntary, her thighs quivering as the effort of holding herself together grew increasingly futile.

“You’re holding up well,” you teased after one such inspection, your fingers hovering just close enough to make her whimper again. The sound was high and needy, betraying her desperation. “Though it looks like you’re ready to explode already.”

Her cheeks burned a deep crimson, and she turned her face away, unable to meet your amused gaze. Her thighs pressed tightly together, her body shuddering as she struggled to steady her breathing. The plug teased her with every movement, amplifying her sensitivity to unbearable levels, and the ache between her legs became an all-consuming pulse.

But you weren’t done. Your teasing was deliberate and constant, turning the mundane moments of her day into unrelenting torment. A casual grope of her chest as she walked past made her gasp, her nipples hardening under your touch as a jolt of sensation shot through her. Your hand would slide up her shirt without warning, your fingers brushing against her sensitive peaks, leaving her trembling and breathless.

When she bent down to retrieve something, you delivered sharp smacks to her exposed cheeks, the sound echoing through the room as her hips jolted forward. Each time, the plug shifted slightly, pressing deeper inside her, and she let out a strangled moan, her hands gripping whatever surface was nearest for support.

At one point, while she was bent over cleaning the counter, you delivered a particularly firm smack. The force sent the plug pushing deeper, and the sudden wave of sensation made her cry out softly. Her hands clutched the countertop, her knuckles white as her body trembled uncontrollably. Her breaths came in short, uneven bursts, and her legs quaked as she tried—and failed—to regain her composure.

“Careful,” you murmured, leaning close to her ear. Your voice was laced with amusement, dripping with controlled authority. “I wouldn’t want you to lose control now.”

She shuddered, her head dipping as another soft whimper escaped her lips. Her body burned with arousal, her skin tingling as though every nerve ending had come alive. Every teasing touch, every lingering squeeze of your hand left her trembling, her body responding instantly as though begging for more. She was aware of everything—the brush of fabric against her sensitive skin, the cool air that contrasted with the heat radiating from her core, the relentless presence of the plug that made every movement feel like a deliberate act of torment.

By mid-afternoon, she was a trembling mess. Her breaths were shallow and uneven, her body quaking as she navigated the relentless teasing and the ache that had only grown sharper, hotter, with every passing moment. The fullness of the plug heightened her sensitivity, making even the smallest movements feel exaggerated. A shift of her hips, a brush of her thighs—each one sent jolts of need spiraling through her, leaving her gasping and desperate.

Her arousal radiated off her in waves, the heat between her legs becoming an all-consuming ache. It seeped into every part of her, making her feel like she was on the verge of breaking. Every glance from you, every calculated touch, only made it worse. She could barely think about anything else, her mind entirely consumed by the promise of relief she couldn’t yet have.

The promise of midnight was the only thing grounding her, a beacon at the end of her torment. But as the minutes dragged on and each moment stretched longer than the last, she began to wonder just how much more she could take. The hours ahead loomed like an eternity, and her body burned with the need to finally be free.

-----

Once the final moments were minutes away, Natty was a trembling wreck. She couldn’t muster excitement, couldn’t even speak. The month-long denial had consumed her entirely, leaving her a quivering, needy mess. Every step she took sent faint jolts through her hypersensitive body, her thighs slick with a constant reminder of her arousal. Her mind swirled with one singular thought—relief. Midnight was so close, yet it felt infinitely far away.

You watched her silently as she hovered near you, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. The air between you was electric, charged with her desperation and your unshakable calm. Finally, you broke the silence.

“Bedroom,” you said, your voice calm but commanding. “Now.”

She didn’t hesitate. Her trembling hands reached for the hem of her shirt, tugging it over her head in one fluid motion. Her shorts followed, discarded in a heap on the floor, leaving her completely bare before you. There was no need to ask—her eagerness, her desperation, was written across her flushed cheeks and trembling limbs.

Natty lay back on the bed, her legs slightly parted, her body trembling uncontrollably. Every breath she took was shallow and uneven, her body strung tight with anticipation and desperation. Her wide, pleading eyes locked onto yours as you retrieved the wand vibrator from the nightstand, its weight in your hand a promise of what was to come.

“You’ve waited this long,” you murmured, sitting beside her. Your voice was calm, soothing, but carried an unyielding authority. “But understand this—if you cum before midnight, it’s another month.”

Her breath hitched, her body stiffening as the weight of your words sank in. A shudder passed through her, and her lips parted as though to protest, but no sound came. The mere thought of another month was impossible to comprehend. She didn’t even know how she had survived this one. Her stomach churned, and a small, desperate whimper escaped her lips.

“Do you understand, Natty?” you asked, your voice steady but firm.

She nodded quickly, tears welling in her eyes. “Y-yes… I understand.” Her voice cracked, the fear and arousal mingling into a trembling whisper.

With a faint smirk, you picked up the vibrator, letting it press firmly against her swollen clit without turning it on. The weight alone was enough to make her react—a sharp intake of breath followed by a faint whimper as her hips shifted instinctively, seeking more. The glistening slickness between her legs caught the dim light, pooling against the toy and betraying just how close she was to the edge already.

You watched her closely, your calm demeanor a stark contrast to the tremors racking her body. “So needy,” you murmured, your voice low and deliberate. “Leaking onto the sheets, and I haven’t even turned it on.”

Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson, her thighs trembling as she tried to press them together only to fail against your positioning. Her hands gripped the sheets tightly, her knuckles white as she fought the overwhelming tension building inside her. “P-please,” she stammered, her voice trembling and barely audible.

“Not yet,” you said, your tone firm but calm. Your gaze flicked briefly to the clock. “It’s not time.”

Her body jerked slightly at the reminder, her thighs quivering as the pressure from the vibrator sent faint pulses of sensation through her. The seconds stretched endlessly, each one feeling like an eternity as she teetered on the precipice. Her breaths grew more frantic, her chest rising and falling with each shallow gasp, her entire body betraying her desperate need.

Without warning, your free hand moved downward, your fingers brushing lightly over the curve of her ass. You hooked a finger under the base of the plug, tugging gently. The sensation elicited a sharp cry from her, her hips bucking against the pressure. Her arousal spilled out even more, a slick warmth pooling between her thighs and glistening against her skin.

Her moans turned into incoherent whimpers as her body trembled violently. “Oh God—” she gasped, her voice cracking as the mix of sensations overwhelmed her.

You brought your finger to the slick mess, scooping some onto your fingertip. With deliberate slowness, you raised it to your mouth, tasting her arousal. The faint hum of approval you let out sent another shiver through her. “So sweet,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing. “And all mine.”

Her body jerked again, her eyes squeezing shut as her hands clawed desperately at the sheets. The combination of sensations—the press of the vibrator, the tug on the plug, and your deliberate tasting of her—pushed her to the very edge.

Finally, the clock hit 11:59. Without a word, you turned the vibrator on, its low hum filling the room.

The moment the vibrator sprang to life, Natty’s body reacted as if it had been struck by lightning. A high-pitched yelp escaped her lips, her hips jerking against the relentless vibration. Tears filled her eyes as she clutched the sheets, her body writhing uncontrollably, her thighs trembling with effort. The first wave of sensation crashed over her, and she wasn’t ready for the intensity. She quivered like a bowstring pulled too tight, every muscle taut, her chest heaving as she struggled to breathe.

“Hold on,” you commanded, your tone calm but firm.

Her sobs came softly at first, as if she were trying to hold them back, but the effort only made them more pitiful. Her lips parted, trembling, and a faint whimper escaped. Her hands clutched the sheets tightly, her nails digging into the fabric as her entire body quaked beneath the relentless assault of the vibrations.

Her thighs pressed together instinctively, but the relentless pressure of the toy against her swollen clit made every movement a torment. Her hips shifted involuntarily, as though her body were trying to escape and chase the sensation at the same time. Her skin glistened with sweat, her face flushed a deep crimson as tears streaked her cheeks. Her breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps, her chest rising and falling as she struggled against the unbearable tension coiling inside her.

You leaned closer, your hand resting gently on her abdomen, your voice a steady anchor. “You’ve made it this far, Natty,” you murmured, your tone soft but resolute. “You’re stronger than you think.”

Her eyes widened as another wave of sensation crashed over her, her sobs growing louder and more frantic. Her body arched off the bed, the vibrations driving her closer to the edge. “I—” she stammered, her voice cracking as she fought to find her words. “I don’t think I can—I can’t do it! I need to cum!”

“A little more, baby,” you replied firmly, your gaze locking onto hers. “Trust me, you can do this.”

Her body convulsed, her hips grinding helplessly against the unyielding vibrator. The wet sounds of her arousal filled the room, mingling with her desperate cries. Her slickness coated the toy, betraying the depth of her need. She whimpered again, shaking her head as tears flowed freely, her thighs trembling violently.

Finally, you extended your hand to her. “Here,” you said softly, offering it like a lifeline. “Hold on to me.”

Her trembling fingers latched onto yours with surprising strength, gripping as though your hand were the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. Her nails bit into your skin, but you didn’t flinch, letting her anchor herself in the gesture. “You’re halfway there,” you murmured, your voice low and soothing, an oasis of calm amid her chaos.

Her breaths came in ragged bursts, her sobs hitching with every sharp inhale as her body quaked uncontrollably. She clung to your hand as if it were the only solid thing in a world of overwhelming sensation. Her lips moved, trying to form words, but all that escaped were soft, broken whimpers, desperate and raw. The tension in her body was unbearable, her chest heaving as her thighs quaked, every nerve ending alive with unbearable intensity.

You glanced at the clock, your own breath steady as the final stretch approached. Her body tensed further, every muscle pulled taut as though she were a bowstring ready to snap.

“Ten,” you began, your voice calm and deliberate, a grounding presence in her storm.

Natty gasped sharply, her entire body stiffening as the vibrations pushed her closer to the edge. Her nails dug deeper into your hand, her legs trembling as she whimpered softly.

“Nine,” you continued, your eyes locked on her.

She shook her head, her eyes wide and glossy with tears. Her lips trembled as a desperate whimper escaped her throat. “It’s too much,” she whispered, her voice cracking. The relentless hum of the vibrator against her clit made her legs quiver uncontrollably.

“Eight.”

Her back arched, her body bucking involuntarily as she let out a strangled cry. “I—I can’t—I can’t!” she sobbed, her tears streaking down her flushed cheeks.

“You’re stronger than this, Natty,” you said calmly, your voice steady and grounding as you brushed her hair back from her sweat-dampened forehead. “You’ve made it this far.”

“Seven.”

Her breathing turned ragged, each gasp shallow and desperate as her hips jerked against the unyielding pressure. The wetness between her legs spread further, the slick sounds of her arousal filling the room. “Please,” she begged, her voice trembling. “Please—I can’t hold it!”

“Six.”

Her nails raked against your hand, her grip tightening as though holding you was the only thing keeping her grounded. Her sobs grew louder, raw and broken as her body writhed beneath the unrelenting assault. Her thighs quivered violently, every muscle trembling with tension.

“Five.”

She let out a guttural moan, her hips grinding involuntarily against the vibrator. “I’m trying—I swear, I’m trying!” she cried, her voice thick with desperation. Her tears flowed freely now, her face flushed and damp as she clung to your hand with all her strength.

“Four.”

Her breath hitched, each exhale turning into a ragged sob as she whimpered, “I can’t do this! I can’t—I’m going to—” Her hips bucked harder, her thighs trembling uncontrollably as her body convulsed against the sheets.

“Three.”

You leaned closer, your breath brushing warmly against her ear. “You’re so close, Natty,” you murmured softly. “Don’t give up now.”

Her lips parted as if to plead, but the only sound that escaped was a desperate, high-pitched whimper. Her chest heaved as her body fought against the overwhelming pleasure, her tears soaking into the pillow beneath her head.

“Two.”

Her entire frame was trembling violently now, her nails digging into your hand as her body teetered on the brink. “Please,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “Please, I need to—I can’t stop it—I need to—”

“Hold on,” you commanded, your voice calm but firm, grounding her with the unshakable authority in your tone.

“One.”

Your voice remained steady as you carefully balanced the vibrator against her swollen clit, the relentless hum sending vibrations coursing through her. Slowly, deliberately, you pulled your hands away, leaving the toy perfectly poised against her trembling body. At first, she didn’t even notice your absence—her mind was fogged with overwhelming need, her focus entirely consumed by the mounting pressure tearing through her.

“Now, Natty,” you murmured softly, your tone calm yet commanding, slicing through the haze clouding her mind.

Her eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused, just as your hands moved to her chest. Your fingers found her sensitive nipples, pinching them lightly before tugging them upward with deliberate precision. The sharp pull elicited a desperate cry from her lips, her hips bucking instinctively against the vibrator. The motion was reflexive, her body torn between seeking relief from the intensity and craving even more of it.

The sensations converged like a tidal wave—the relentless vibrations teasing her folds, the sharp tug on her swollen nipples, and the persistent fullness of the plug nestled deep inside her, pressing in with every trembling movement. Together, they built into an unrelenting storm of pleasure, crashing through her body and leaving no room for control.

Her body stiffened like a bowstring drawn tight, quivering for a suspended second before breaking. And then she shattered. Her back arched violently off the bed, the tendons in her neck straining as her climax slammed into her with unrelenting force. A scream tore from her throat, raw and guttural, reverberating through the room like a primal release.

“Ahhh! F-FUCK!”, her voice cracking under the weight of the pleasure ripping through her.

Natty’s legs snapped shut involuntarily, trapping the vibrator tightly between her trembling thighs. The added pressure amplified the vibrations to an unbearable intensity, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her already over-sensitized body. Her back arched off the bed, her abs contracting so hard it felt like they might cramp, every muscle in her body taut as a bowstring.

The fullness of the plug in her ass only heightened everything, pressing deeper with every spasm of her climax. It felt like her body was tearing apart and coming together simultaneously, every nerve ending alight with sensations so intense they blurred the line between pleasure and pain. She writhed uncontrollably, her head pressing back into the mattress as her trembling hands clawed at the sheets. Her fingers twisted the fabric into fists, her grip so tight her knuckles turned white, desperate for something—anything—to anchor her in the storm raging through her.

“Oh my God—AGH! FUCK, FUCK!” she wailed, her voice breaking into fractured sobs as wave after wave of climax overwhelmed her. Her thighs quivered violently, her entire lower half slick with arousal as the glistening evidence of her release pooled beneath her. The wet, lewd sounds of her trembling movements only added to the intensity, driving her further into a pleasure so consuming it left her mind blank and incoherent.

Her abs cramped again, the sharp ache blending into the relentless throbbing of her core. Every pulse of her body felt magnified a hundredfold. Her nipples, still under the firm grip of your fingers, sent jolts of electric pleasure-pain through her chest with every tug and pinch. Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks, her sobs turning into hiccupping gasps as she struggled to breathe through the overwhelming sensation.

Her vision blurred, the edges of the room fading into a haze of white-hot pleasure. Her thoughts dissolved entirely, her mind unable to focus on anything but the torrent of ecstasy ripping through her. Another scream tore from her throat as her hips bucked helplessly, her body caught in an unrelenting rhythm that wasn’t hers to control.

Her legs trembled violently, the muscles quaking beneath the strain of holding the vibrator in place. Her toes curled and uncurled, the tension radiating from her core to every extremity. She felt utterly consumed, her body reacting on instinct, every motion drawing out the climax until it seemed endless.

Finally, the vibrations began to ease, but her body didn’t stop. The aftershocks rippled through her, smaller waves of pleasure making her twitch uncontrollably. Her chest heaved as she gasped for air, her breaths ragged and uneven. Her limbs felt heavy, trembling faintly as they fell limply to her sides.

Tears continued to streak down her face, her cheeks stained with the evidence of her release. Her entire body glistened with sweat, her skin flushed and glowing in the dim light of the room. Even as her climax began to fade, the plug’s fullness sent tiny, lingering jolts of pleasure radiating outward, leaving her hypersensitive and raw.

You leaned forward, brushing a strand of damp hair from her forehead with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the intensity she had just endured. Her glassy eyes fluttered open, unfocused and hazy, a soft moan escaping her lips as her gaze found yours. The exhaustion in her face was mingled with something else—a quiet, unspoken gratitude.

“You did it, Natty. You’re incredible,” you murmured softly, your voice a warm balm as you brushed a strand of damp hair away from her flushed face. The praise seemed to wrap around her like a blanket, soothing her trembling form as she melted into the mattress, her body finally surrendering to the sweet, blissful exhaustion.

A shuddering breath escaped her lips, her chest heaving with the effort of coming down from the most intense climax of her life. “Thank you…” she whispered hoarsely, her voice cracking under the weight of her relief. Her words were barely audible, trembling with emotion, as her body sank deeper into the bed. She looked utterly wrecked—her cheeks damp with tears, her thighs still quivering faintly, her entire form radiating the afterglow of release.

You sat beside her, your touch gentle as your hand trailed down her arm, your fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on her damp skin. She flinched slightly, her body still hyper-sensitive, but she didn’t pull away. For the first time in weeks, the relentless ache inside her was gone, replaced by a deep, blissful emptiness. Her head lolled to the side, her eyelids fluttering as she floated in the haze of her release. It was a quiet, almost dreamlike state, her mind too overwhelmed to process anything beyond the moment.

For a time, she simply lay there, her breaths coming in slow, ragged bursts. Her body felt weightless, untethered, her thoughts drifting aimlessly as she savored the sweet relief coursing through her. It was everything she had been waiting for—everything she thought she needed.

But as the haze began to lift, her breaths steadied, and a flicker of awareness returned to her gaze. Her glassy eyes blinked open, meeting yours with a dazed vulnerability. The raw emotion in her expression was undeniable—gratitude, relief, and something else, something that lingered in the shadows of her desire.

At first, she didn’t move, her lips parting slightly as though to speak, but no words came. The stillness between you stretched, heavy and charged, until the quiet became almost unbearable.

Then, she inhaled sharply, her voice soft and trembling. “I… I need more.” you felt the tension between you shift, her words a soft, desperate confession that hung heavy in the air.

“Greedy, aren’t we?” you teased, setting the vibrator aside as you leaned closer. The smirk on your lips held no malice, only satisfaction. Her wide, pleading eyes followed your every move as you began to undress. Each button you loosened, each piece of fabric you shed, only heightened her anticipation. Her breaths came faster, her chest rising and falling as she watched your body come into view, her gaze lingering with raw hunger.

Climbing onto the bed, you positioned yourself between her trembling thighs. She spread her legs instinctively, her body quaking beneath you, her slick folds glistening with arousal as she waited for you to fill her. You lined yourself up with her entrance, pausing just long enough to meet her gaze. The raw desperation in her eyes was enough to send a thrill down your spine.

As you pressed into her, the sound she made was somewhere between a gasp and a cry, her hypersensitive body reacting instantly. The tight, wet heat of her clamped around you, her back arching off the bed as she cried out. Her nails dug into your shoulders, her hands clutching you as though you were the only thing keeping her grounded.

“You waited so well,” you murmured against her ear, your voice thick with approval as your hips began to move with deliberate force. “Now, you get all of me.”

Her sobbing moans filled the room, each thrust drawing a broken, needy sound from her lips. She writhed beneath you, her body impossibly responsive to every motion. Your hands moved to her chest, kneading her soft, full breasts, your thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples with teasing strokes. Each touch sent a jolt through her, her breath hitching sharply as her hips bucked instinctively to meet you. Her thighs quivered on either side of you, trembling with the strain of holding back the overwhelming sensations coursing through her.

Leaning down, your mouth found one of her nipples, tugging it gently between your lips. You sucked softly at first, your tongue swirling around the sensitive peak before you increased the pressure, tugging firmly enough to draw a cry from her throat. Her back arched off the bed, her chest pressing further into your touch as her hands clutched desperately at your shoulders.

The plug inside her added another layer of sensation, shifting slightly with each of your movements. The fullness it brought combined with the relentless drive of your thrusts, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. Her walls fluttered around you, a desperate clench that pulled you deeper as she gasped for air.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” you murmured against her skin, your lips brushing against her nipple as your hands continued to explore her soft curves. “God, I love your tits. Made for me to touch, to taste.”

Your teeth grazed her nipple, tugging lightly before sucking hard enough to make her cry out. “Look at how they react for me,” you growled, your voice thick with need as you pinched the neglected peak between your fingers. “So soft, so full. They’re mine, Natty. All mine.”

Her breath hitched at your words, her thighs trembling as her hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer. “They’re yours,” she whimpered, her voice cracking. “All yours.”

You smirked against her skin, your tongue tracing lazy circles around her sensitive peak before moving to the other. “That’s right,” you growled, your tone possessive. “Every inch of you is mine. Look at how much you need me. Your body can’t hide it.”

Her walls clenched around you again, her moans turning into desperate, high-pitched cries as you continued to drive into her relentlessly. Each thrust sent her spiraling further into ecstasy, her body reacting to every movement with an intensity that bordered on overwhelming.

Shifting your position, you pulled back slightly, your hands sliding down to grip her thighs firmly. With deliberate care, you lifted her legs and pressed them upward, trapping them against her chest. Your knees pinned her in place, holding her completely open and vulnerable in a perfect mating press. The change in angle made her gasp sharply, her wide, hazy eyes locking onto yours.

“You look so fucking good like this,” you murmured, your voice low and dripping with satisfaction. “Completely mine.”

The next thrust sent her screaming, her entire body jolting as you hit that spot deep inside her that made her vision blur. Her nails raked against your arms, her head tossing back against the pillow as her voice broke into desperate cries.

“Right there,” you growled, your eyes locked on her face, watching the way her expression twisted in bliss. “I can feel how much you love it. So fucking tight, clenching around me like you don’t want me to stop.”

Her sobs grew louder, her legs trembling against your chest as her body quaked with every deep, deliberate thrust. You leaned forward slightly, your grip tightening on her thighs as you drove into her harder, deeper, each motion pushing her closer to the edge

“Don’t stop!” she sobbed, her voice breaking as her walls fluttered desperately around you. “Oh, God—please, just—just like that!”

Each powerful thrust jolted her body downward, her back bouncing against the mattress only to rise again to meet you, the force of your movements sending ripples of sensation through her trembling form. The angle of the mating press left her completely at your mercy, her legs pinned upward and her body open to every deep, deliberate motion. Each plunge drove into her so deeply that she gasped, her nails raking frantically across the sheets in a futile attempt to anchor herself.

Her cries climbed in pitch, the tremor in her voice betraying how close she was to unraveling. “Oh my God—ah! Please, please!” she sobbed, her thighs twitching violently as the relentless rhythm pushed her to the edge. The slick sound of your bodies meeting echoed in the room, mingling with her desperate cries, the evidence of her arousal pooling beneath her on the bed.

Her chest heaved, her full, sensitive breasts brushing against your chest with each thrust. The friction only heightened her pleasure, her hardened nipples sending electric jolts through her trembling body every time they grazed against your skin. Her walls clamped down on you rhythmically, pulling you deeper, the overwhelming sensations making her feel as though she might shatter.

Sensing how close she was, you shifted with deliberate precision. Your hands slid from her thighs, snaking beneath her legs until they found the soft, round curves of her ass. You cupped her cheeks firmly, your fingers digging into the plush flesh as you lifted her hips off the mattress slightly. The adjustment pulled her even deeper onto you, the angle driving you into her sweet spot with devastating accuracy. Each thrust sent her body jolting violently against yours, the new position leaving her utterly breathless.

Her cries became incoherent, her head tossing back against the pillow as she writhed beneath you. “Oh—oh fuck!” she screamed, her voice cracking as another wave of sensation tore through her. Her nails scraped down your back, leaving fiery trails in their wake, her trembling fingers clutching at you desperately.

Your mouth descended to one of her taut, begging nipples, capturing it with your lips as your thrusts never faltered. You sucked hard, tugging and flicking your tongue against the sensitive peak in perfect rhythm with your movements. Her back arched sharply, a strangled cry escaping her lips as her entire body seemed to tighten beneath you. The way her walls clenched around you made your own need burn hotter, driving you to push her even further.

“You’re mine,” you murmured against her heated skin, your voice low and possessive. You squeezed her other breast firmly, kneading it with one hand while your fingers rolled her nipple between them, tugging and twisting just enough to make her gasp. Each motion sent another shockwave through her trembling frame, her moans escalating into desperate, high-pitched whimpers.

“Fuck,” you growled, your tone thick with desire as your eyes met hers, hazy and overwhelmed with pleasure. “You’re taking all of me. So tight, so perfect—you were made for this. Made for me.”

Her body answered in kind, her walls fluttering uncontrollably around you as the pressure inside her built to an unbearable peak. Her thighs quaked against your sides, trembling as her body instinctively tried to match your relentless rhythm, every nerve alight with overwhelming sensation.

The fullness inside her was all-consuming. The plug pressed deeply, amplifying every thrust as it heightened the sensation of your length stretching and filling her. The dual pressure left her gasping, her breaths shallow and uneven, her mind reeling as she balanced on the knife’s edge of ecstasy.

When you thrust even deeper, hitting that perfect spot inside her with relentless precision, her body couldn’t take it anymore. Her orgasm hit like a tidal wave, crashing through her with violent force. Her scream tore through the room, raw and guttural, as her walls clamped down on you in an unrelenting grip. “AAGH! Fuck—oh, fuck! I—I can’t—” Her words dissolved into incoherent sobs, her hands scrambling desperately for purchase against your shoulders, pulling you closer as her body shattered beneath you.

Her muscles tensed and released in rapid, uncontrollable spasms, her thighs trembling violently as her body gave itself over to the release she’d been denied for so long. The intensity of her climax rivaled her previous, earth shattering one., her body jerking with each wave as tears streamed down her flushed cheeks. She could feel every inch of you inside her, the fullness making her dizzy as her mind blurred into a haze of white-hot pleasure.

You didn’t stop. Your hands gripped her soft cheeks tighter, lifting her hips slightly as you pressed even deeper into her. The angle drove you against every sensitive nerve inside her, pulling even more desperate cries from her lips. Her walls rippled around you, milking you with each spasm as her release seemed endless, her trembling form unable to settle as the aftershocks kept her teetering on the brink.

Your climax hit like a flood, every pulse of release spilling deep inside her as your body trembled against hers. Each spurt of warmth was thick and heavy, filling her completely, and the sensation drew a sharp, trembling gasp from her lips. Her eyes flew open, wide with shock and arousal, as she clung to you with trembling hands.

“Oh my God,” she whimpered, her voice barely audible, her words catching in her throat as the sensation overwhelmed her. “So much…” Her thighs quivered uncontrollably, pressing tightly against your sides as her oversensitive body reacted to every movement, every pulse.

The heat of your release spread slowly, the fullness consuming her entirely. She could feel the weight of it settling deep inside her, combining with the unyielding presence of the plug to leave her utterly stuffed. Her walls fluttered around you, squeezing reflexively as though her body couldn’t bear to let go of even a drop.

Her breathing hitched as she whimpered again, the faintest shift of her hips causing another jolt of sensation to ripple through her. “I can feel it,” she whispered, her voice cracking, her cheeks flushing even deeper as her hands clung to your arms. “It’s… so much,” she sobbed softly, her words breaking into shaky, uneven breaths.

You didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, you stayed buried inside her, letting the warmth of your bodies meld together. Each faint twitch of her inner walls drew a soft groan from you, the intensity of her aftershocks still gripping you as she trembled beneath you. Her thighs shook against your hips, the muscles twitching as if her body was trying to process the overwhelming fullness.

Your hands slid down her sides, grounding her as she whimpered again, her nails digging faintly into your skin. “I… I can’t believe…” she stammered, her voice trembling as her head fell back against the pillow. Her chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath, the slickness between you evidence of just how thoroughly you’d filled her.

Her body relaxed gradually, the tension in her muscles giving way to the soft, warm haze of afterglow. But even as she melted into you, her oversensitive body still twitched faintly with each aftershock. She blinked slowly, her gaze glassy and unfocused as a faint, dazed smile curved her lips.

Leaning down, you brushed your lips against her damp forehead, your breaths mingling as you murmured, “You were perfect, Natty. Every single part of you.”

Her body slackened beneath you, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. The combination of your warmth inside her, the lingering tension of the plug, and the complete fulfillment of finally letting go left her trembling. Yet, despite her exhaustion, her arms tightened around you, her hands resting against your back as though she was afraid to let you go.

Her lips curled into a faint, exhausted smile, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you…” The words were soft, raw with emotion, her head tilting slightly to nuzzle against your shoulder. Her breath tickled your skin as she sighed deeply, a sound that carried both relief and contentment.

You stayed close, your fingers tracing gentle circles along her thighs, soothing the trembling muscles. The room was still, the quiet filled only with the sound of your breathing and the occasional faint whimper as her body adjusted to the overwhelming sensations still radiating through her. The intimacy of the moment held you both in its grasp, neither of you willing to break the connection.

As your muscles began to relax, you shifted slightly, preparing to pull back. But the moment you started to move, her legs clamped around you, her hands gripping your shoulders with surprising strength. “No,” she whispered, her voice soft but insistent. “Don’t… not yet.”

You stilled, your gaze meeting hers. Her wide, vulnerable eyes held a pleading look that spoke volumes, and you felt her inner walls flutter faintly around you, still pulsing in the aftermath of her climax. “I need this,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “Stay… please.”

You exhaled softly, leaning down to press a tender kiss to her lips. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice warm and reassuring. “I’ll stay.”

Her body relaxed again beneath you, her legs loosening slightly but still holding you close. She shifted just enough to get comfortable, her head nestled into the crook of your neck, her breaths warm against your skin. The intimacy was almost overwhelming, the feeling of being so deeply connected both physically and emotionally grounding you both.

Time seemed to blur as the exhaustion began to take over. Her body molded against yours, her hands resting lightly on your back as her breaths evened out. Despite the fullness she still felt, her body relaxed entirely. It wasn’t discomfort anymore; it was a sense of being whole, of closeness she didn’t want to end.

“Natty,” you murmured softly, brushing your lips against her temple. “I’m just moving us. I’ve got you.”

She hummed in acknowledgment, her voice barely audible as her head nestled further into the crook of your neck. Carefully, you rolled her over, cradling her as you shifted until she was on top of you. The change in position was smoother than expected, her lighter frame settling easily against your chest. She sighed softly, her cheek pressed to your collarbone, her body melting into yours like she belonged there.

“This is better,” you murmured, your hands tracing soothing patterns along her back. “Easier for me to hold you.”

She mumbled something incoherent, her voice thick with exhaustion and satisfaction. The warmth of her breath against your skin made you smile, and you began to pepper soft kisses across her face. You started at her temple, trailing down to her cheek, then across the bridge of her nose. Each kiss was tender, deliberate, a quiet celebration of everything you’d just shared.

“You’re so good, Natty,” you murmured between kisses. “You’ve been incredible.”

She hummed again, the sound low and contented, her lips curving into the faintest smile. Her body relaxed even further against yours, the tension completely melting away as your words wrapped around her.

Your hands moved to her hair, threading through the strands gently as you continued to speak. “You’re everything I need,” you whispered, your voice soft and warm. “I’m so proud of you. So proud of how far you’ve come.”

Her arms tightened around you, her fingers clutching softly at your sides as she sighed deeply. The rise and fall of her chest against yours slowed, her breathing evening out as her exhaustion began to take over. Her head tilted slightly, her lips brushing against your collarbone in a gesture so faint it was almost subconscious.

As her breathing deepened, you felt her weight grow heavier against you, her body finally succumbing to sleep. You wrapped your arms more securely around her, pressing one final kiss to her forehead as her face relaxed into the softest expression of peace.

“Sweet dreams, Natty,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

The room fell into a tranquil stillness, the quiet intimacy wrapping around you both as you closed your eyes. Still connected, still grounded in each other, you let sleep take you, the warmth of her presence the last thing you felt before drifting off.

Afterward, she lay curled against your chest, her body trembling faintly as the intensity of the night ebbed away. Her breaths were soft and uneven, her cheek pressed against your skin, her warmth melding into yours. You brushed a hand through her hair, your fingers threading gently through the damp strands as you pressed a tender kiss to her temple.

“You did it,” you murmured, your voice low and filled with pride. “You made it. And you were perfect.”

Her lips curved into a soft, sleepy smile, her eyes fluttering closed. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice fragile and barely audible, as though speaking too loudly would break the delicate serenity of the moment.

You smirked slightly, the corner of your mouth lifting as your hand drifted to her back, tracing lazy circles against her skin. The rhythmic motion was soothing, grounding her as she nestled closer into your embrace. “Don’t forget this feeling, Natty,” you said, your tone steady but laced with affection. “You earned it.”

A soft hum escaped her lips, her exhaustion pulling her deeper into the comfort of your arms. Her body slackened, her breathing evening out as she surrendered completely, her trust in you evident in every relaxed line of her form.

You lay there quietly, the room settling into a peaceful stillness. The faint scent of her lingered in the air, a reminder of the passion and vulnerability she’d shared with you. A quiet pride swelled in your chest. She had given herself over to you fully, trusted you with every part of herself, and in return, you’d given her everything she had needed—and more.

As she drifted into sleep, her body curled protectively against yours, you held her close, your hand never stopping its soothing motion. For now, the storm was over, and you both could bask in the calm it left behind.

#kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #kpop smut #girl group smut #reader insert #kinkvember #kinkvember 2024 #male reader #kiss of life #kiof #kiss of life natty #kiof natty #kiss of life natty smut #kiof natty smut #natty smut #natty kiss of life #natty kiof #natty x reader #anatchaya suputtipong

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gabseyoo · 5 months ago

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CHOCOLATE & COOKIES — SAKUSA KIYOOMI

content: msby!kiyoomi, female reader, established relationship, reader is on her period. word count: 0,9k.

Kiyoomi was washing the dishes when he heard your footsteps shuffle into the kitchen. His head snapped around, a smile already spreading across his face when he saw you in your crumpled pajamas. You looked cute, no doubt about it, but also kind of… dangerous.

“Hey, babe.” He said, his voice soft in a way reserved just for you.

You didn’t respond. No glance, no acknowledgment. You walked straight past him, heading for the fridge like it held the answer to all your problems. The fridge door hummed open, and you poked around with an intensity that made Kiyoomi pause mid-scrub, sponge in hand.

It was one of those days.

Your period had started yesterday, which explained the bad mood that had been building all week. After years together, Kiyoomi liked to think he had learned how to navigate these stormy seas. But the truth? It caught him off guard every time. You weren’t just sensitive—you were sharp, snappy, and downright scary when the mood struck. And the way you ignored him just now? That stung.

What had he done? He ran through his mental checklist. Nothing came to mind, but the tension in the room told him he was still in trouble.

“Hey. I’m home.” He tried again, drying his hands on a dish towel. “I made pasta.”

“I can see.” You muttered, not even looking up from the fridge.

“I got here an hour ago, but you were asleep.” He added, as if offering evidence of good behavior. “Are you feeling better?”

You’d called him earlier while he was at training, your voice strained as you complained about cramps so bad they’d left you bedridden. He’d felt awful for not being able to come straight home.

“No.”

Okay. Honest, at least. He hesitated. Should he just leave it? No, he couldn’t. The air between you was too tense. “Are you hungry? I can serve you a—”

“Kiyoomi.”

That tone. His name. Just his name. No ‘babe’ no ‘love’ no ‘baby’ not even a begrudging ‘Kiyo’. His chest tightened. His stomach sank.

“Yes, baby?” He asked, trying to sound calm.

“Did you eat my chocolates?”

Shit. He froze. The room suddenly felt about ten degrees hotter. For someone as imposing as Sakusa Kiyoomi—a man who made grown athletes tremble with a single glare—it was ironic how easily two things could scare him: insects, and you. Especially you.

“Um. Yeah. There wasn’t much left, so I thought—”

“Why do you always do this?” You slammed the fridge shut with a force that made him flinch, spinning to face him with fire in your eyes. “You always eat my stuff and don’t even replace it!”

“What? I don’t always—”

“First it was my ice cream. Then my oatmeal—you don’t even like oatmeal, Kiyoomi! And now my chocolates?”

“I just wanted to try it.” He muttered defensively, raising his hands as if to fend off your wrath. “I was going to buy more—”

“When? Tomorrow?” You demanded, your voice cracking, and oh no, now your eyes were glistening with tears.

“Baby, no, don’t cry.” He said quickly, his voice laced with panic. “I’ll buy more. Right now.”

“It’s nine p.m.!” You shot back, your voice wobbling but sharp. “Those were from that chocolate shop we like—they won’t be open! What am I supposed to do tonight?”

Kiyoomi froze. You had a point. And the guilt? It was eating him alive. He’d messed up, and now he was watching his favorite person unravel before his eyes.

You sniffled, and that tiny sound hit him like a punch to the gut. Then your face crumpled, and suddenly, you weren’t just sniffling—you were full-on crying. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you gestured helplessly at the fridge. “I just wanted something sweet! And now there’s nothing!”

Oh dear lord. Kiyoomi pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounded like a plea for strength. This was worse than he thought. But despite the chaos in front of him, despite the rising panic in his chest, he still found you… heartbreakingly adorable.

He stepped closer, hesitant but determined. “Okay. I screwed up. I’ll fix it. Just… give me a second.”

You crossed your arms, glaring up at him. “How?”

Without another word, Kiyoomi walked over to the pantry, pulling out the bag of fancy cookies he’d been saving for himself. These were his cookies. The ones he didn’t share with anyone. Slowly, he placed them on the counter in front of you, as though offering a sacred artifact. “Here. You can have these.”

You froze, staring at the cookies, then back at him, suspicion written all over your face. “You don’t even like sharing those.”

“I know.” He said softly, his dark eyes meeting yours. “But I don’t like seeing you upset more.”

That did it. Your lip trembled, and you started crying harder. “You’re giving me your cookies?” You choked out, as if it was the most romantic gesture anyone had ever made. “You love these cookies.”

Kiyoomi exhaled sharply, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, you’re more important than some cookies.” He paused, watching you sob even harder as you clutched the bag to your chest and went to hug him. “God.” He muttered under his breath, but there was a faint, helpless smile on his lips as he wrapped his arms around you.

“I’ll buy you as much chocolate as you want tomorrow.” He promised, gently smoothing a hand over your head. “And ice cream. And oatmeal. Whatever you want.”

“You’d better.” You said with your cheek against his shirt. “But you’re still on thin ice.”

He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “I know.”

You looked up at him, eyes still a little watery but filled with affection. “Thanks, baby.”

There she is.

“Always.” He murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

#𐀔 — mar wrote this.#— drabbles #— hq #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi x you #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa x reader #sakusa imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #hq sakusa #hq x you #hq x reader #msby fluff #msby x reader

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ravenclaw-for-all-seasons · 3 months ago

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His Soft Spot (2) - Mattheo Riddle

The Slytherin common room was unusually quiet when Mattheo, Theo, and Enzo stumbled through the entrance, adrenaline still pumping through their veins. The three of them were bruised and disheveled, fresh from a fight with a group of Gryffindors that had gotten way out of hand. Enzo was grinning like a maniac despite the blood trickling from his busted lip, while Theo clutched his ribs with a wince, muttering something about how "that bastard threw a punch like a damn troll."

Mattheo, for his part, was still seething. His knuckles were raw and bloodied, his breathing heavy, and the rage still lingered in his chest. But then he saw you.

You were curled up on one of the emerald-green couches by the fire, staring down at a piece of parchment with a miserable expression. Your bottom lip was caught between your teeth, eyes glossy, and the moment Mattheo really looked at you—really saw you—everything else became unimportant.

The fight? Forgotten. His throbbing fists? Irrelevant. His need to prove himself to those Gryffindor bastards? Completely erased.

Because you were upset. And that was the only thing that mattered.

Theo and Enzo were still laughing about the fight when Mattheo abruptly broke away from them and made a beeline toward you. They barely had time to register the shift in his demeanor before he was in front of you, crouching down, his hands resting on either side of your thighs as he peered up at you with concern.

“What’s wrong, princess?” His voice was softer than it had been all day, laced with worry, as if whatever was upsetting you was infinitely more important than anything else in the world.

You blinked up at him, startled by how fast he’d switched from Mattheo the fighter to Mattheo the overprotective boyfriend. Your gaze flickered to his bruised knuckles, and you frowned. “What happened to you?”

Mattheo barely glanced at his hands, waving off your concern like it was nothing. “Not important.” He reached up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear before cupping your cheek, his thumb stroking against your skin. “Tell me what’s wrong, baby.”

From the couch nearby, Theo and Enzo exchanged looks of pure disbelief.

“Are you seeing this?” Enzo muttered under his breath, wiping the blood from his lip.

“Yeah,” Theo whispered back. “We were just literally brawling five minutes ago.”

“I watched him throw a guy into a wall.”

“Now he’s literally caressing her face like she’s a fucking angel.”

Meanwhile, you sighed, glancing down at the parchment in your lap. “I... I got my Charms exam back today,” you admitted, your voice small. “And I—well, I failed.”

Mattheo blinked. That’s it? He had been fully prepared to commit actual murder, but this? This was fixable.

Still, the moment he saw the self-doubt flicker in your eyes, the way you pulled your sleeves over your hands and curled into yourself, his heart clenched. He tilted your chin up gently, forcing you to look at him.

“Who do I need to kill?”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

Mattheo’s gaze darkened, but not with anger toward you—no, his fury was now directed at whoever was responsible for making you feel like this. “Was it someone in class? Did someone distract you and make you fail?” He cracked his knuckles, despite how much his hands already ached. “I swear to Merlin, I’ll handle it. Just say the word, princess.”

From behind, Theo snorted. “Mate, I think she’s upset at herself, not another person.”

Mattheo ignored him completely. “Or was it the professor? You want me to threaten them?” His voice was dead serious, eyes blazing. “I’ll make sure they never fail you again. Give me five minutes—I’ll be back before sunrise.”

Your lips parted in shock. “Mattheo—”

“Azkaban’s just a building, baby.”

“Mattheo, oh my God.”

You let out a half-laugh, half-groan, rubbing your temples as Mattheo’s intensity remained unwavering. But despite the ridiculousness of it, warmth bloomed in your chest. Because here he was—fresh out of a fight, bruised and bleeding—but he was more concerned about your failed exam than the fact that he had literally just assaulted a group of Gryffindors.

Seeing the slight smile tug at your lips, Mattheo exhaled in relief. He pulled you forward, wrapping you in his arms as he sat beside you on the couch. You melted into him, breathing in the scent of smoke, musk, and a hint of blood, letting his presence soothe you.

“You’re too hard on yourself, princess,” he murmured against your hair, his fingers trailing up and down your spine. “One bad grade doesn’t mean anything.”

You sighed. “But—”

“No ‘buts.’ You’re brilliant. You could fail every exam, and I’d still think you’re the smartest person in this castle.” His lips brushed against your forehead, lingering there for a second longer than necessary. “And the most beautiful.”

Theo groaned from the other couch. “You were literally beating the shit out of someone ten minutes ago, and now you’re whispering sweet nothings. I cannot handle this.”

Enzo nodded in agreement. “It’s actually sickening.”

Mattheo lifted his head just enough to glare at them. “Both of you, shut the fuck up.”

Theo raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, we’re just impressed. You flip the switch so fast, it’s like its own form of magic.”

Enzo smirked. “We should’ve brought the Gryffindors here to witness this. They’d never believe it.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes but ignored them, choosing instead to tighten his hold around you. “Ignore those idiots,” he murmured. “I’m serious, princess. You’re incredible. And if you want, I can hex Flitwick’s tea so he starts grading on a curve.”

You giggled, finally feeling the weight of your bad grade start to lift. “You’re ridiculous.”

Mattheo smirked. “Only for you, baby.”

You sighed, letting yourself sink deeper into his embrace. Despite the bruises on his knuckles, the split on his lip, and the remnants of rage still simmering beneath his skin, Mattheo Riddle was yours. And no matter what, he would always be willing to go to war for you.

Even if that war was against your Charms professor.

#slytherin #slytherin boys #hp fandom #hp fanfic #mattheo riddle fanfic #mattheo fluff #mattheo x you #mattheoxreader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #theodore nott #lorenzo berkshire

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transformers-spike · 7 months ago

Note

"Is this why the Autobots are fond of humanity? To indulge their sweet heat cycles? How many human mates has Optimus taken for himself? It seems as though their motives to protect them were never altruistic, much less noble." PLEASE, PLEASE GIVE US A SUB-STORY WHERE THIS TIME IT'S OPTIMUS AND A HUMAN SO IN THEIR HEAT CYCLE PLEASEEEE

Idk am I creating a humans in heat universe for the TF Fandom? I know people like making the bots go through it but I think the humans being affected is so much funnier. Just begging these massive robots to fuck us lmao

How must it feel to burn from the inside out? Betrayed by your own body, rendered unable to function by the fire in your core. You described it as an aching, an insatiable need to appease the hormones overtaking your nerve endings. A mere touch is enough to worsen the ache, it’s what your body dictates in the throes of a heat cycle.

Cybertronians are forged by Primus Himself, their interfaces exist for recreational pleasure and bonding, but your species is biologically programmed to reproduce, like most of the fauna of your planet. It’s a systemic sacrifice, one rendered obsolete by the sentient status of your species. Drugs have been produced to suppress your heats, or at least lessen the effects. Unfortunately, among a dozen varieties of medication, you are either allergic or completely immune to them, leaving you susceptible to your hormonal whims. He is sorry. You must go through so much pain every few months, but you barely show it, brushing off his concerns with a laugh, saying “it is what it is” and moving on as though your body isn’t on a timer. He admires you for it. In spite of your discomfort, you haven’t given up. Once, you told him: “So what if they don’t work on me? I just gotta roll with the punches and hope for the best, it’s been my M.O. since I got the damn thing.” Meeting them for the first time… was turbulent to say the least, but you’re safe and sound, relocated to Jasper, having adjusted to your new life with the help of Agent Fowler. You’ve told them many times you’re infinitely grateful to be in their lives (barring the near death experience at the servos of an Insecticon). For them it’s a pleasure to ease your burden. You’ve eagerly established your consent, although only Arcee is the right size to properly take care of a human. Digits and glossas can only do so much compared to a spike. He tries not to pry, your privacy is yours to divulge at your leisure, but he cannot ignore the charge building up behind his interface when he sees you with the others. Yes, he is an occasional participant, but he will rather cover shifts and allow them some well-deserved respite in your berth. They deserve it. He dares not imagine Arcee’s spike pumping in and out of you, satiating your aching body, filling you to your limit as you beg for more.

Your scent lingers in the air, caressing his sensors, a gentle hand tugging him along by the servo, pulling him in your direction. They try to keep it to themselves, but his team is beyond a doubt intoxicated by your presence alone. Thankfully, it has (almost) never impeded their judgment during missions; perhaps it has even served as motivation to make it back to base in one piece. He tries to ignore the gleam in his old friend’s optics after quelling your urges, if only for a night. Or Bumblebee's praises coming to you as a slow stream of beeps while he nuzzles your face. Or Bulkhead cradling you to his chassis like a precious artifact as you discuss what late night movies you should watch. Or catching Arcee kissing you over the mezzanine and pulling back with a smile she hasn’t worn since Cliffjumper’s death. You bring them together in your own special way, even if you blush and sheepishly deny it, claiming you should be thanking them instead Recent discoveries have yielded an impressive increase in energon and brought forth new opportunities. With unparalleled quantities at their disposal, they can now mass displace. The transformation is no small feat, it exhausts their system and rapidly drains their energon level. But he will not forbid Bumblebee from using it to play with the kids as long as it’s not in excess. Nor to join you during heat cycles. Much like Bulkhead. And Wheeljack. And especially Ratchet. Primus forbid, his old friend has every right to enjoy himself to the fullest after all of his back-breaking work. He’s been meaning to pay you a visit, but he hasn’t found the time until now. In the temporary abode you set up in the base, away from the prying eyes of the kids, you prepare yourself for another heat. Some refurbishing was done to meet your needs (in no small thanks to June Darby and agent Fowler’s financial help); the mattress and the mini fridge was a given, but you’ve added a variety of personal belongings and entertainment; a television, a writing desk, a few “bean bags” here and there, and a pile of old magazines to scrapbook. He wonders if you consider this place your home more than your actual house in Jasper. You greet him while downing a bottle of water, holding up your hand to signal for him to wait. Once emptied, you place it next to the mini fridge, among a wide array of bottled water crates. That would explain the groceries June had brought in with Arcee’s help. As a medical professional she’s especially fretful over your condition, doing her best to prevent the risks of heat cycles, bringing you plenty of calorie dense fuel to combat the massive loss of nutrients. He has not forgotten the fear they experienced when they found you shaking from the deficit, having completely overlooked your hunger in a midst of desperation. In this form, he can appreciate the full extent of your body without fear of hurting you, kneading the supple flesh beneath his digits as you giggle and pull him into you. He does not tower over your reclined form as much as he encases you in a careful hug, hearing the rapid thrum of your human spark directly against his audials; he may sense your pulse rate, but experiencing it is a new wonder of its own. You tell him you missed him and you wish he would let himself go and come out to “obliterate your pussy” more often. He nods and apologizes for his absence even as you shush him and insist he enjoy himself as well. He is… the largest Cybertronian you’ve taken, you remark while adjusting to his size.

“Except maybe Wheeljack,” you add cheekily, already bucking into him. Your composure evaporates as he works you up, not to say that he is much better. He steadies himself over you, charge trickling down his interface as your walls clench around him in a vice-grip. You beg him for more, plead that he frag you until you can’t take it anymore, but he has grown used to your requests and knows when your body has reached its limit. You whimper and claw at his back plates, flush against his frame yet dragging him closer as though to merge your human spark to his.

If only he could.

Slow and steady, he frags you through your overloads, each one adding a new surge of spark down his frame until he comes to his end. You are small and shaking, but in this form he can properly hold you against his chassis and comfort you through the afterglow, bringing you another bottle of water and a Clif bar (chosen for the human scaling a mountain with “If you eat this you can kill God” in big bold letters).

You stir and sit up on shaky knees to accept his offerings. Halfway through your meal, you eye him up and down.

“Are you going to stay some more?” you ask with hopefulness, still chewing on the “ultimate nuts and banana power” concoction advertised on the packaging.

“I’m afraid not, Ratchet has been hard at work deciphering Decepticon encryptions, I will be taking on his duties for the night,” he tries to break it gently, expecting crushed expectations, not your bemused expression looking up at him.

“So you’re sending him my way?” You give a chuckle. “Wish we could have spent more time together, but work is work. Just…” you crawl into his lap and hug him as tight as you can, head resting against his chassis. “Please come back tomorrow. Or after tomorrow. I miss seeing you this way. I won’t get between you and… whatever you have going on, but please visit me more often. You have no idea how nice it feels to be around you.” His gaze softens, glowing faintly against your hair. “So I’ve been told,” he says, a smile on his lips. “As long as it lightens your burden.”

#transformers x reader #transformers x human #transformers prime #optimus prime #tfp optimus #tfp arcee #tfp bulkhead #tfp bumblebee #tfp optimus x reader #tfp ratchet x reader #tfp arcee x reader #tfp bulkhead x reader #tfp bumblebee x reader #omegaverse???#damn the reader gets all that spike #tfp wheeljack x reader #valveplug

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sam-out-of-energy · 6 months ago

Text

The angst, THE ANGST its consuming me

I had to write something based off this ask because oH MY GODD

This already became too long so its a cliffhanger sorry teehee

______

They'd been ambushed.

Upon trying to retrieve materials for Ratchet the entire base had suddenly sounded the alarm for intruders.

Prowl had quickly scooped Jazz from a pile of metal scrap into his servo and then inside his cockpit. They'd ran, making it to the very end of the hangar before mechas had walled them off.

It was a stand-off- well- emphasis on was, as it had taken about two nano-seconds of Prowl and the others standing there against mechas before Vortex had already began tearing robots apart.

Now chaos reigned as the crew, including Prowl, Jazz, Vortex and First aid, were in the ringer, fighting off an overwhelming amount of mechas.

"It's like they knew we were coming!" First aid comm'd Jazz while the two sat inside cockpits that were trembling from the punches, the mech's visors coated in an unhealthy layer of energon and oil.

"These ain't normal mechas either." Jazz replied.

"Explain?" Prowl's voice was eerily casual considering the situation at hand, wrenching an arm off an opposing mecha before kicking them back.

"They're faster! Stronger too-" First aid noted, watching intensely from Vortex's visor, admittedly a little curious.

"No doubt they used Prowl's parts to rebuild them."

"To hell with 'em! Let's be done with this and go-"

Jazz was caught mid-sentence when Prowl shook.

The inside of the cockpit pulsed, like something had struck him, which confused Jazz because for a short while they'd kept a good distance from the mechas.

Then Prowl just....stood. Very still. Very still.

"Prowl? Prowler?" Jazz scooted forwards and grabbed the controls, pushing them but they didn't budge. Nothing did.

"Prowl?! You're not obeyin' my controls-" Jazz questioned.

"I'm- not- obeying- my own controls either-" Prowl choked out, straining his joints with a loud creak.

["Hello Jazz."]

Both the pilot and mecha stiffened.

Jazz's eyes widened. He recognized the voice that suddenly rang out inside Prowl.

"Shockwave?! Where are you! What've you done t' Prowl?!" Jazz jumped up from the pilot seat (not having been strapped in to begin with)

["I am nowhere you need to concern yourself with. I am simply testing out my new technology."]

Jazz looked around. He could hear a muffled First Aid calling out for Vortex in the distance.

["So, Prowl, was it?. Good to know. Now, let's get well acquainted."]

Prowl shook again, sending Jazz tumbling around as the mech bent over, clutching his helm.

Something flashed. Prowl felt electricity buzzing inside of him, phantom pains in his joints. Like his wing was once again broken, like his optics were busted in and losing vision of reality arround him. His body wasn't his and it wouldn't listen to him.

He tried to keep his expression cool at the face of this new threat but his coolness came crashing down when he looked up.

Quintessons. So. Many. Quintessons. Fire, blazing high like a giant barrier.

The realization struck him like his processor's loud ERROR alarm.

He was on Praxus.

No, he was- no-

Prowl felt like hurling.

He felt something inside him twist and turn, something wicked. Something unnatural, something that was definetly not meant to be inside him.

Jazz could do nothing but watch his mech tremble and shake, straining and squirming like something was crawling under his plating.

"J- azz-" Prowl gasped.

"Prowl! I'm here!" Jazz called out, grabbing the controls tigthly despite the fact that they were moving.

"H- elp-"

The plea came out in a stuttered, glitching mess but it was all Prowl needed to say before Jazz began pushing. Pushing, pulling. Whenever the stick moved one way he'd move it back.

"Shockwave, stop! Let him go!" He yelled. He didn't know what sick game the mad scientist was playing but he was not about to let him take Prowl from him.

["It is futile, pilot. Give up."]

Jazz grit his teeth and kept pushing.

Prowl's fight was made easier, so he managed to break free of the illusion for long enough to push with Jazz, taking a step back on his own from the (imaginary) fire surrounding him. (It was all his in his head, surely). Coolant rushed down Prowl's backplates, his motors overexerting themselves to keep control to himself.

["...I see how it must be. Very well, Jazz."]

Prowl was jerked away from his mindscape, straggling, back into the frey, loud echoes of crashing and crumbling of metal plating and concrete. The mechas weren't focusing on him, focusing all their efforts into trying to stop Vortex from tearing down the entire hangar.

Prowl had managed to take two steps forward to go assist before he'd felt more electricity surge through him. Oddly enough, it didn't stop him this time.

What did stop him was the pained scream that carried into Prowl's audials.

Jazz.

"Jazz? Jazz!" Prowl called, stopping and looking down at his chest.

Jazz clutched his head, crying out. Something coursed through him like a painful needle and thread, connecting him to Prowl even more than before, but not in a good way. In a way that hurt, every muscle in his body clenching. It was like he was connecting to a mecha for the first time again, but the feeling of it amplified twicefold.

Then, it was like he saw his own body slump. No, he was slumped. Jazz couldn't move, couldn't speak or scream anymore (In reality he was still screaming).

No, no no no no-

He saw white. A bright light in his eyes. A smell of burning flesh, of ethanol, medical grade liquids in multitudes.

Eyes. He saw faceless masks and he saw so many eyes, shining like the headlights of a car, blinding him into submission, into staying silent despite the aching.

Make it stop, make it stop-

"Stop!! Don't hurt him!"

Prowl demanded, the cockpit echoing with his voice, layered over Jazz's screams.

["I will do what is necessary."]

Prowl called for Jazz's name again, opening the cockpit hatch, desperate to reach in and grab the other, until he realized he was still in the middle of a Vortex vs. Vortex's victims skirmish and pulling Jazz out could only risk him accidentally dropping the other or Jazz being hit by something.

Prowl stepped back from the fight, wracking his processor. He had to do something, something to help!

It was easier with him, Jazz could just use the controls to help him fight against this weird virus, but Jazz? Shockwave was most likely inside Jazz's head due to his connection with Prowl, what could Prowl even do to help?! He couldn't forcefully remove or disconnect Jazz. The other was wriggling and twisting in pain, Prowl's servos were way too big to do anything with him without causing further injury.

An anti-virus, a firewall. Something to block Shockwave out. Prowl had to reboot and rewire his systems for that and all of that had to begin with getting Shockwave to release Jazz.

"Please, stop-" Prowl half-blurted out amidst his panicking. He couldn't tell what was happening to Jazz, but he could feel the other. He felt Jazz clutching the arm rest of the pilot's seat, thrashing and kicking on the cold metal of the cockpit floor. He heard Jazz scream and wail, inaudibly begging for release.

["I will stop when you relinquish control to me."]

"So you can use me?" Prowl snapped, his engine revving from the anger, his optic ridge bent down so hard it almost covered his optics.

["As you wish."]

Jazz went silent.

Prowl heard the thump of a body hitting the floor.

#transformers #maccadam #jazzprowl #mecha pilot jazz au #a little twinge of #texaid

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rainbowsuitcase · 6 months ago

Text

Ice is woken up way too early by insistent knocking on the door of his room. Wondering what could possibly have caught on fire before 0800 in the morning, he opens the door trying to blink sleep out of his eyes and freezes when he's met by a very angry looking Nick Bradshaw.

"I really didn't think you'd stoop that low," Goose scoffs at him.

Ice glances down at himself. He's wearing dark boxers with no embarrassing pattern and the old USNA shirt he sleeps in is a little worn out, sure, but also clean. He knows his hair is a mess but c'mon, he just woke up, whose wouldn't be?

He concludes that he has no idea what Goose is talking about. "Uhm, what?"

"Don't play stupid, Kazansky. You know what you did."

Oh. This is about something in the past.

Ice still has no idea what though. "I... have not had a hangover in quite some time, so yes, I can say I remember just about everything I did lately-"

Goose interrupts him with a hissed, "That's really all you have to say to me?"

"-and I have no idea which of those things could have possibly pissed you off this much."

"Fuck you too, Tom." Oh no, not the first name. "What did Mav ever actually do to you?"

Ice is just more and more confused by the second. Is he still asleep? Is that why nothing's making sense? Mav did... quite a lot to him just a couple days ago, but Ice sincerely doubts Goose actually wants to hear about any of that.

"Uhm- not much lately?" he tries slowly. "Which I guess is actually impressive now that I think about it?"

"I'm not fucking around, Tom," Goose growls, leaning forward to get in his face. "Why did you punch him?"

"I... punched him?" Is this a joke? It's way too early for this.

"I fucking saw the bruise," Goose doesn't sound like he's joking. "Mav's refusing to tell me anything. What the fuck did you do to him?"

Ice tries to take a deep breath but no, he's not lacking oxygen, his lungs feel fine, his head doesn't hurt and this isn't making any sense. "You saw... the bruise?"

"Tom, I swear to God I'm gonna give you a bruise if you don't stop repeating what I'm saying and start answering!"

"Okay!" Ice exclaims, lifting his hands palms up because threats from Mother Goose should never be taken lightly, even by a very confused recipient. "Okay, uhm... what bruise did you see?"

"The one on his hip!" Goose shouts and Ice realizes too late that that was the wrong thing to say. "Is there more than one? What the fuck, man?"

"I- the bruise on Mav's hip-" Ice winces. He can't exactly say he didn't put it there, but he's not sure that admitting it's not really a bruise is such a good idea either.

And thankfully, before he's forced to find out, there's shouting from down the hallway. "Goose!" And that's Maverick running toward them. "Goose, stop! Ice didn't hurt me!"

Goose politely gets out of Ice's face and huffs. "How'd you know I was here?"

Mav is breathing hard, grabbing at his chest - did he run the whole way here? And he's still wearing his sleeping shirt too, with a stain on the collar, though he's taken the time to put on actual pants at least.

Gasping for air, he still does his best to answer. "Well I- I woke up and you weren't there and... You got so pissed last night, it wasn't that hard to figure out. But I swear, Goose-" he straightens up and raises his voice, "-Ice didn't punch me!"

"You don't have to defend him just because we used to be friends." Well, that emphasis hurts. But Ice is sure- he's hoping that they'll be fine once this gets cleared up.

"You can still be friends!" Mav throws his hands up in a frantic gesture. "He didn't do anything to me I didn't want!"

Goose freezes on the spot, anger melting into confusion at record speed. "What?"

And because apparently, Ice before 0800 is in the business of digging graves, he clears his throat. "Yeah, I... didn't exactly make that bruise with my hands."

And because apparently, Mav is a little shit in any and every situation, he meets Goose's wide eyes with a grin. "The one on my thigh, though-"

"Nope!" Goose raises his hands. "No, shut up, I don't need to hear more! I..." he hesitates, looking back at Ice. "I am very sorry for waking you up, Ice. And for yelling at you... And I'm gonna give two some space now! Happy for you both!"

He backs away slowly, giving them two thumbs up until he turns around and sets out at a fast pace.

Ice looks down at Mav and sighs, "That went well. You couldn't have just told him?"

Mav's smile dims. "I didn't think he'd react that badly," he mumbles. "Just wanted to keep you to myself for a while."

That's so damn sweet.

And, well. Mav is here, looking all ruffled and soft from sleep, and there's no one else around.

Ice puts a hand on his shoulder. "You do have me for yourself, Mav." And then he leans down to kiss his boyfriend.

#this is silly #silly plot bunny wouldn't stop following me around #it just wanted to play don't think about it too hard #icemav #tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #nick goose bradshaw #top gun #top gun 1986 #top gun fanfiction

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dramagodesss · 1 month ago

Text

eleven : early flashing

playin' the players

saturday morning. jj’s room.

you wake up to the dull throb of a headache—and the even louder realization that you’re topless, sandwiched between two very familiar shirtless bodies.

jj to your right. rafe to your left. both knocked out. both somehow even hotter asleep, which feels rude, honestly.

you blink, trying to piece it all together. and then it hits you.

a girl puked on you. on your dress. on your favorite bra. your victorias secret bra.

you groan softly, sitting up. yep—still topless.

there’s jj’s cowboy costume from last night crumpled near the bed: a flannel shirt, a ridiculous belt, and a plastic sheriff’s badge.

you grab the flannel, tugging it over your head. it’s huge, smells like cigarettes and jj. great. annoying. you’re not thinking about it.

you step off the bed quietly, only for both boys to stir. of course.

jj’s blue eyes crack open first, all bleary and confused—then rafe’s. both their gazes drop instantly.

yeah. you forgot to pull the damn shirt down.

you adjust it casually, voice bone-dry.

“morning, guys.”

silence. they’re just staring.

“why y’all lookin’ at me like that?” you raise a brow, slipping rafe’s sweatpants off the floor and stepping into them. “i doubt this is the first pair of tits y’all’ve ever seen.”

jj coughs into a pillow, definitely grinning. rafe mutters a low “jesus christ” under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

you adjust the waistband of the sweats and look for your phone.

“anyway, i gotta go. my friends are probably planning my funeral.” you check the mirror—shirt wrinkled, glitter smudged, hair wild. honestly? you’ve looked worse.

“so… nothing happened?” jj asks, voice rough with sleep.

“well, unless one of y’all threw up in my bra, no.” your tone is deadpan.

rafe practically chokes on a laugh. “god. classy.”

you’re already at the door, tossing a wink over your shoulder.

“i’ll send a thank you card for the hospitality.”

and just like that, you’re gone.

barefoot, hungover, swimming in jj’s clothes—and leaving two very confused boys in your wake.

it’s already afternoon when you hear it — a sharp knock against your bedroom window.

you jolt upright in bed, heart racing, the room spinning just a little from your hangover. sunlight’s spilling across the floor in golden stripes, catching the dust in the air. your head’s pounding, you’re half-buried in blankets, and for a second you think you’re hallucinating.

thump thump.

you sit up slowly, groaning, peering toward the noise.

and there he is. jj fucking maybank. on your fire escape.

he taps the glass again, grinning like he’s done something heroic. one hand clutches a gas station plastic bag stuffed full of candy, the other balancing a mason jar filled with... some suspicious neon-orange drink.

you squint at him. “what the hell are you doing?”

he mouths: open up.

you sigh, dragging yourself over to the window and popping the latch. jj ducks inside easily, sneakers scuffing the floor. he’s still got that easy, sunshiney energy even though you know — know — he has hockey practice soon.

“i come bearing gifts,” he says, flashing you a smile that should be illegal.

he holds up the bag first: sour patch kids. twix. peach rings. then the mason jar.

he tosses a mini pack of sour patch kids at you like a reward.

you catch it weakly, flopping back onto your pillows. the motion makes your head spin again. you groan into the blanket.

jj laughs and sits on the edge of your bed like he belongs there — still in sweats and a hoodie, hair messy, looking stupidly good for someone who also got wasted last night.

"drink," he orders, nudging the mason jar toward you.

your face twitches in disaproval.

“scientifically proven. tested on myself. one hundred percent success rate.”

you blink at the drink. “…is it safe?”

jj snorts. “safer than whatever the fuck was in that punch last night.”

you hesitate, then take the jar. it smells citrusy and weirdly fresh — not awful.

“don’t sip it, chug it," he instructs, dropping onto the couch like he owns the place. "you’ll feel alive again in ten minutes. guaranteed."

you eye him suspiciously but do it anyway — chugging half the jar in one go. your mouth puckers at the taste, half lemonade, half mystery, but somehow... not bad.

jj grins, draping his arm across the back of your bed, looking smug.

“told you,” he says.

"oh shut up" you mutter.

he just shrugs, completely unbothered, kicking back so he's lying beside you, one arm tucked under his head.

you both sit there for a beat — the only sounds your breathing and the faint honk of a car outside. the room feels warm and hazy, your headache slowly retreating under the force of jj's hangover potion and the quiet comfort of him just... being there.

he glances over at you, grinning crookedly.

"still look hot, by the way," he says, voice low and teasing. "even with, like, thirty percent brain function."

you toss a pillow at him weakly. "shut up."

he laughs, catching it easily, then props himself up on one elbow to watch you sip the rest of the drink.

you’re halfway through sipping jj’s weird neon-orange hangover drink when you realize he’s no longer sitting beside you.

you blink over the rim of the mason jar.

he’s wandering your room — casual as hell — like he’s on a museum tour. touching shit. poking through your bookshelves. spinning the rings you left on your nightstand. peeking at the polaroids you pinned up on the wall.

"jj," you croak, voice dry from sleep, "what are you doing?"

he glances over his shoulder, completely unbothered, holding up a tiny ceramic frog you picked up at a flea market.

"investigating," he says brightly. "this is prime blackmail material, y/n. don't mind me."

you groan and flop back onto the pillows. "you're such a little shit."

"facts," he agrees, tossing the frog back onto your dresser. (it somehow doesn’t break. miracle.)

he grabs something from the gas station bag he brought — a little orange bottle of tylenol — and saunters back to your bed.

"take two," he says, dropping the bottle onto your lap like he’s your personal nurse. "then i’ll allow you to keep breathing."

you shoot him a deadpan look but pop the pills anyway, chasing them with another gulp of the hangover drink. jj just grins like he’s proud of you.

then — he sits down right beside you again.

not at the edge like a normal person. no. he plops down heavy, hip bumping yours, so close you can feel the heat radiating off him through his hoodie.

you blink up at him.

"what now?" you ask suspiciously.

he shrugs, kicking his feet up onto your bed like it’s his.

"nothin'," he says, stretching lazily. "just keepin' you company. makin' sure you don't die and shit."

his grin softens, just a little. less teasing, more real.

"plus," he says, voice lower, "you looked kinda sad when i climbed through your window. figured i could fix that."

you stare at him — messy blond hair, hoodie half-zipped, socks mismatched — and feel something stupid and warm flicker behind your ribs.

"you're an idiot," you murmur.

"yeah," jj says easily, bumping his shoulder against yours, "but i’m your idiot."

you snort, head thunking against his shoulder as you slump against him.

he smells like dryer sheets and leftover cologne. he’s warm. steady. annoying in a way that feels good.

jj shifts a little, twisting to face you more. his knee brushes yours, his hand finding a casual spot on the bed just behind your lower back. almost like he’s not touching you. almost.

you peek up at him through your lashes — and freeze.

he's already looking at you.

blue eyes soft but intense, mouth tipped into the ghost of a smile. like he's trying real hard not to say something dumb. or maybe trying real hard not to do something dumb.

your breath catches, and jj’s eyes flicker to your mouth.

oh.

your heart skids sideways.

"what?" you whisper, a little breathless.

he huffs a tiny laugh under his breath. "nothin'. just... you’re really fuckin' pretty right now. like, unfair levels."

you blink.

and before you can think too hard about it — before you can talk yourself out of it — you're leaning up, brushing your mouth against his.

soft. hesitant. a question.

jj freezes for half a heartbeat — like he wasn’t expecting you to move first — then groans low in his throat and kisses you back.

harder.

hungrier.

his hand slides up your back, dragging you closer until you’re half in his lap, fists curling into the soft fabric of his hoodie. this kiss is different from the one in the dark room. he kisses like he talks — fast, messy, a little reckless — all heat and teeth and need.

your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just enough to make him shudder against you.

he pulls back an inch, breathing hard, forehead resting against yours.

"fuck," he mutters, voice ragged. "been wantin' to do that for so long."

for a second, you forget about everything.

the bet.

the lies.

that fucking lake house.

and you smile, dazed, tugging him back down.

"then shut up and keep doing it."

you shouldn't have said that.

because you know jj doesn’t need to be told twice.

his mouth crashes into yours again, hands roaming under the soft fabric of your pajamas— not too much, not anywhere dangerous, just enough to feel the heat of your skin under his fingertips, to make you gasp into his mouth.

you're so tangled up in him— in the scrape of his teeth against your bottom lip, in the way he mutters fuck, you’re so pretty against your skin— that you almost miss it.

almost.

knock knock knock.

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ghostedgwen · 2 months ago

Text

don't blame me | j.potter [part two]

note : ahhHHH! Really love that you guys enjoyed the first part and even asked to be added to the taglist for this fic! I do wonder how many parts I'll have for this. this is too fun and I don't want it to endddd (requests open, or just send me any msg!)

warnings : james potter is very skilled at the annoy (u get it), some slight angst on your part, just a whole lot of banter between you and james, i giggled so much while writing so i hope u too while reading.

𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗀 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖺𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖩𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝖯𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 - 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖻𝗂𝗍. 𝖲𝗈 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗒. 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 : 3.6k

James Potter is, by all accounts, a menace. An insufferably charming, unreasonably attractive, golden-boy menace. And worse than all of that - he’s smug.

He’s smug when you turn to face him in the Astronomy Tower with his hair ruffled just right, with that lopsided grin that screams mischief and misplaced confidence. He’s smug when he leans in close just to annoy you. He’s smug when he calls you -

“Wife.”

You could hex him. You consider it. Your wand is right there in your pocket, warm against your fingers, practically humming with anticipation. But hexing your fiancé - Merlin, you hate that word - would probably cause more problems than it solves.

Instead, you glare at him like you hope it’ll set him on fire. Like you hoped one of those stars above would come raining down to land on him.

“Don’t call me that.”

James raises his hands in surrender, but the sparkle in his eyes tells you he’s not even a little bit sorry - if he's ever been in his entire life.

“Alright, alright. Touchy about titles," a smirk tugs at his lips. "How about darling? Sweetheart? Snookums?”

Your eye twitch in annoyance. Just when you thought him hating you would benefit you the most - he's decided to do something about it in the form of vexing you.

“I will push you off this tower, Potter.”

James chuckles, stepping closer. “You wouldn’t. You’d miss me too much.”

You actually take a step back, mostly so you don’t punch him right in that annoyingly handsome face - and to calm your heart that leapt out of your chest and threatened to be one with the stars.

“In your dreams, Potter.”

“Oh, absolutely," his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip. "You should visit sometimes, you say some really interesting things in them - "

You narrow your eyes despite knowing all the glares were no longer having an effect on him. It had caught him off-guard in the Potter Manor but he knew what to expect know -

He knew which buttons to push now.

"What do you want?”

He grins, leaning against the railing. You fight the urge to push him off. “Just came to see how my favourite fiancée is doing, you ignored all my letters.”

“I’m your only fiancée.”

“Exactly. So, you win by default. What a lucky girl.”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, Merlin help you not to throw a Gryffindor off the Astronomy tower.

“Potter - ”

“Alright, alright.” He raises his hands again in mock surrender. “I’ll be good. For now.”

You turn from him, arms crossed, heart pounding with a bitterness that feels older than the stars above. Because you hate James Potter.

Not for the reasons he thinks - if he was even thinking under that tuft of messy black hair. You hated him not because he’s smug, or adored, or irritating.

It's a reason deeper than that, he doesn’t even know it. And you doubt you'll ever let him know.

“What do really you want, Potter?”

James doesn’t answer immediately. He steps beside you, leans forward against the railing of the tower, and looks out at the night sky. It’s a quiet moment - bright dust scattered above, the castle breathing slowly behind you, like it’s alive and listening.

Finally, he speaks - you forget you are holding your breath in anticipation.

“I want to know why you hate me.” he shrugs, like he was saying it so casually when the question has actually weighed on him for weeks during the rest of summer.

The question lands like a stone in your gut, sinking deeper and deeper and deeper.

You scoff. “You think I hate you?”

He glances at you sideways. “You’ve been treating me like dragon dung since this whole engagement thing happened. And before that, we barely remembered that the other exists.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. The words rise to the surface - You started it. You forgot me, I have always known you existed - you're the one who barely remembered. But you bury them.

Swallowing those words like a bitter concoction that had you choking in your own spit. You were quiet for a moment and he grew expectant in the silence.

“I’m not obligated to not hate you,” you say, shrugging. “And I don’t owe you a reason.”

James’s brow furrows, he had expected a real answer. “You think I like this either?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re James Potter. Your parents love this whole idea, so do mine - they think you're an 'amazing catch'. They probably think this is some kind of fairytale.”

He laughs, but it’s hollow. “Yeah, our parents, but I never wanted this,” he runs a frustrated hand through his already messy locks. “And Evans - she - ”

That stings. You flinch before you can stop yourself, and he sees it. Of course he does.

He barely stopped himself in time from mentioning her, remembering how you reacted the last time she was brought up.

James leans closer, gaze intense and you take note of how beautiful the stars looked reflected in his eyes. You couldn't even really enjoy the moment because you knew there was no romance, no love in the air.

You weren't some lovesick third-years sneaking away to have some alone time. You watch him part his lips to talk - “I didn’t ask for this. But we’re in it now. And I think we should at least try to make the best of it.”

You raise a brow. “And what does that mean?”

He grins. “Means you are stuck with me, ____. And we have all the time in the world for me to pick you apart and figure out just what it is about me that makes you tick.”

You don’t answer. Because the idea is absurd. Because part of you is liking the idea of being stuck with him for longer than you had hoped was ever possible - but no.

You lost him so easily before - once he grows tired of you he'll come crawling back to Evans.

He nudges your shoulder, as if sensing that your mind was flying off on a Hippogriff. “Let's meet again here before our round tomorrow night. Don’t ditch me if you very much value having all your hair kept in your head.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t say no - not that you could.

Your first round with James Potter was already off to a bad start.

It starts with him being late - only by three minutes, but you count every one of them with righteous fury, feeling like if smoke could come out of your nose - it would have already. He shows up with his tie half undone, grinning like he hasn’t a care in the world.

“Miss me already?” he raises a brow as he fiddled with his tie.

“You’re late.” you roll your eyes.

He shrugs. “Fashionably. You look stunning, by the way. Fury suits you.”

You glare. “One more word and I’m writing you up.”

James smirks, not one to back down. “Go on then. Prefect me into submission.”

You want to scream. You want to punch him. Instead, you march ahead, gripping your wand in your hand that you feared it would break.

He whistles low under his breath. “Merlin, I’ve missed our quality time.”

You wanted to comment that he was with you yesterday - but bite down your lower lip.

“Walk. Quietly. Or I’ll hex your shoelaces together.”

“Betrothed banter. Romantic.”

Still, you walk the halls together in mostly silence. It’s not comfortable, exactly, but it isn’t the icy disdain it used to be either. James hums under his breath sometimes. You pretend not to hear him. He walks too close. You don’t move away, knowing he'd find a way to use that to annoy you again.

When you reach the east corridor, he stops.

“Want to make it interesting?”

You narrow your eyes, of course he was already bored. “What kind of interesting?”

He pulls a galleon from his pocket and flips it into the air. “If it lands heads, you have to tell me something real. Tails, I do.”

You’re about to tell him how utterly childish that is when the coin lands. Heads.

You scowl, you doubt there was a way out of this so you give in with a defeated sigh.

“Well?”

You hesitate, a confession coming to mind but you figured it was real enough to both of you - and quite relevant too. Then, quietly: “I wanted to be Head Girl.”

He looks surprised. “Really?”

You nod. “I work hard. I’m second in all of Hogwarts. Only behind Evans.”

He winces, though the smile remained plastered on his face. “Ouch.”

You shrug, ignoring the glint in his eyes through his round glasses that gave away his interest. “It hurt. I gues . . . it hurt my pride. Ravenclaws are supposed to be clever. I thought I was clever enough.”

James is silent for a moment. Then he says, “You’ve always been smart.”

You glance at him sharply, as if sensing sarcasm.

He smiles faintly. “There was that time when we were little - you figured out how to get my broom down from the tree. I was crying like a baby.”

You blink in utter shock. “You remember that?”

“Just now, yeah.” His smile dims, only slightly. “We used to play a lot, didn’t we?”

You look away. “Not anymore.” was all you said in reply.

He doesn’t respond. But something heavy settles between you.

“You’d have made a great Head Girl,” he says again, softer.

Your heart trips over itself.

The next day, you look like death.

You haven’t slept. Not because of patrol, no. Because of James bloody Potter and his stupid smile and his memory of a childhood you weren’t sure he’d ever remember.

It caught you completely off-guard.

You stare blankly at your porridge, brain left somewhere in the Astronomy Tower. That damned place that has become your rendezvous spot.

“Oi,” comes a voice far too loud and cheerful, you beg in your mind that it wasn't who you thought it was. You were lucky enough - only, this isn't any better.

Sirius Black drops onto the bench across from you with a grin like he knows exactly what you’ve been thinking about.

“Go away, Black.”

“No can do, future sister-in-law. I come bearing messages.”

You groan, making a point to ignore the title as if it didn't pinch your heart through your chest. “Is this about Potter?”

“Right on! He wants to meet you by the Black Lake. Said before lunch. Something serious. Or maybe Sirius. I get those confused.”

He frowned and you neglected to consider if he was being - serious - or just fucking with you because he could and it was funny to him.

You throw a piece of toast at his head. He dodges, commenting about how wasteful it was as he caught it - beater reflexes - and sets it down on the plate in front of him.

“Tell him to shove it.”

“Tell him yourself. I’m just the messenger.” he grins, and you could tell he was trying to make use of that Black charm, unbelievable.

You stand up with a dramatic sigh, Black watching your move as you abandon thoughts of having breakfast. Already dreading the set of classes you're gonna have before and after the talk with James.

“If I don’t return for Lunch, tell Professor Dumbledore that James Potter is a dead man.”

Sirius salutes. “Will do. Want me to prepare a eulogy?”

“Write it in glitter.” you snort.

And with that, you storm off, heart pounding, and absolutely not thinking about how James Potter remembered the tree and the broom and the little girl he used to know.

The Black Lake is quiet, silvered with morning light. You walk down the slope with your robes fluttering in the wind that harshly blew - winter is on its way, still bleary-eyed from lack of sleep and far too aware of the fact that your housemates kept glancing at you in class like you'd grown a second head. Apparently, Ravenclaws not raising their hands was enough to incite panic.

You casted a quick glamour charm to hide the bags under your eyes, knowing he'd use it to tease you.

James is already there, skipping stones with practiced ease. That chaser arm was seen having done wonders to his physique when he had his uniform sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

You tried not to gawk. He doesn't turn when you approach.

“Nice of you to grace me with your presence, my radiant fiancée.”

You groan. “Stop calling me that.”

“I can’t help it. It just rolls off the tongue. Like darling. Or my beloved doomed bethroted.”

You eye him like you might push him into the lake, it was either the Astronomy Tower or the Black Lake now, the list keeps growing.

You might write it down like a bucketlist someday, places to throw James Potter in/off of. “Why’d you send your guard dog to fetch me?”

James finally looks at you, grin coy and infuriating like always - he is just so lucky his face was too beautiful that you could somewhat tolerate his mug. He waves a letter.

“This came this morning. From the parents. Thought you’d want the update.”

He hands it over. You unfold - and your stomach sinks.

Your parents’ handwriting, elegant and formal, outlines the plans for an engagement party. During the holiday break. Guest list included. Venue booked. Menu selected. Dress expectations underlined thrice.

A holiday engagement banquet for two pureblood families was a big deal in the wizarding world - specially with how rich and influential the Potters are.

You weren't exactly poor, but your parents were not that big in the wizarding world. Only thing they had going for them as being part of the sacred 28 - and even then, you cared not for blood purity.

You nearly choke.

“They’ve planned everything,” you whisper, baffled.

James leans against a tree, watching your face with open amusement. “Isn’t it romantic? It's gonna be one hell of a party.”

You stare at him in horror. “They want a photo wall. With matching robes. And an enchanted harpist - Merlin, they are doing too much!”

“I’m thrilled about the cake tasting. Think they’ll let us sample early?” James hummed, amused and acting all casual about it now, as if he's not getting married off while still pining for one redhead.

“I’m going to be sick.”

“Come now,” James says, smug, “you’ve survived worse.”

You groan into your hands.

Then, quietly, he adds, “We should probably start looking for what you’re going to wear. Want me to come with you to Hogsmeade this weekend? Help pick a dress?”

You stare at him. Then sigh. “As much as it pains me to say this . . . I’d rather go with you than my roommates. They’ll make it a whole thing.”

James winks. “It already is a whole thing. But I’ll try not to gawk.”

You shoot him a glare. “Gawk and die.”

His grin doesn’t fade.

And to your everlasting dismay, neither does the flutter in your chest.

Fucking James Potter.

You managed to slip out of the common room with all the grace of a trained assassin.

Your roommates were vultures, all glittering eyes and sticky-sweet smiles, dying to know who you were meeting in Hogsmeade. You gave vague answers, muttered something about needing a new quill or parchment or some other academic excuse, and dodged their curiosity like it was unforgivable.

Barely escaped with your life.

By the time you reached the entrance hall, you felt like you’d run a marathon - mentally, emotionally, spiritually - okay, dramatic. You spotted James leaning against the bannister, laughing at something Sirius said, and resisted the urge to turn back around and risk interrogation over whatever fresh hell this excursion was about to be.

He looked maddeningly at ease in a navy jumper under his cloak, his hair only marginally less disastrous than usual.

You hated him. Him and his perfect fucking teeth.

Moments before that - upstairs in the seventh-year Gryffindor dorms. James Potter stood in front of the mirror adjusting his collar for the third time. He tried to pretend it wasn’t because of you. Sirius, sprawled across his bed, clearly saw through that lie.

“Mate,” Sirius said, watching James smooth down his hair - yes, smooth down, not ruffle like usual. “You’re meeting her, not the Queen.”

James didn’t answer, just checked his reflection again.

“Do you think Evans is going to see you?” Sirius continued, voice a bit lower now. “Might not be a good look, you know, walking around Hogsmeade with another girl.”

James didn’t look up, still tugging at his clothes as if that would add or take from his overall look. “We’re engaged, she's not just any girl.”

“To be fair,” Remus piped up from the corner, flipping a page of his book, “Evans might actually like the idea. Less Potter pestering her every five minutes, begging for a snog.”

James gags at the exageration. Sure he bothered her every chance he got - but that didn't mean he was begging for a lay.

Peter, who was sitting on the floor munching chocolate frogs, pointed with a chocolate-covered finger. “He’s even trimmed his fringe. That’s effort.”

The room went still.

James caught his own eye in the mirror and smirked.

“Of course,” he said. “I’m off to meet my future wife.”

Sirius groaned. “Merlin save her.”

Hogsmeade was alive with movement, cobblestone streets busy with laughing students and bustling shopkeepers. The wind was crisp and playful, tugging at scarves and rattling the signs that swung above doorways. Honeydukes had a line out the door, The Three Broomsticks was overflowing with chatter and butterbeer, and Zonko’s looked like a battlefield of chaos and candy.

You kept your head down and half of your face was hidden under your thick blue and bronze scarf.

James, of course, walked like he owned the village. You had to grab his sleeve twice to yank him off the main street and into the quieter lane where the boutique sat tucked between a florist and a potion shop.

Glad that this section of Hogsmeade was less crowded as the students preferred piling into the more "fun" shops down the village.

“Stop strutting.”

“I’m not strutting. I don't strut.”

“You’re drawing attention.”

“Attention loves me.”

“You are a right git.”

“Wife,” he said, drawing out the word like honey. “That’s no way to talk to your husband.”

You elbowed him. Hard.

The bell above the shop door chimed as you ducked inside, casting one last glance at the street to make sure no one had spotted you.

You were fortunately in the clear.

The boutique was a soft swirl of color and lace and the distant scent of lavender. Rows of robes and gowns floated gently on hangers, charmed to shimmer slightly under the warm lights. It was quiet here. Private. Thank Merlin.

You immediately made a beeline for the corner with elegant winter gowns, running your fingers along the fabric with practiced interest.

James, naturally, was a menace.

“Ooooh, how about this one?” He held up something that looked more like lingerie than a dress, eyebrow wiggling suggestively. “Scandalous.”

You didn’t even dignify him with a response.

“What about this?” Another hanger, another scandal. This time something tight, black, and far too short to be acceptable outside Knockturn Alley. “Very - how shall I put this? - mesmerising.”

“Do you want me to hex you?”

“I’d prefer not,” he said cheerfully, despite the mischief glinting in his eyes. “But I do think we should lean into the whole betrothed thing. Let’s give the Prophet something to talk about.”

You sighed. Loudly. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re radiant,” he said, draping a silver dress over your shoulder. “But we’re not here to argue, are we? We’re here to make you the belle of the cursed engagement ball.”

You swatted him away, cheeks burning despite yourself. You hated how he could get under your skin so easily, hated more how he seemed to enjoy it.

You preferred when he was shocked and surprised back in the summer when you first learned about the engagement. Now, he was the ever smug and annoying Marauder.

It was then you saw it.

A red gown tucked neatly between two duller selections. Not bright crimson, but a deeper hue - dark cherry or merlot. The kind of red that whispered rather than shouted. Its neckline was modest, but the bodice hugged the mannequin’s waist like a lover’s hand. The sleeves were sheer and embroidered with tiny golden threads that caught the light like fireflies. The skirt flowed down in gentle layers, not too puffy, not too plain.

You reached for it before you could talk yourself out of it.

James, surprisingly, didn’t say anything. Comment about it being his favorite color kept at the tip of his tongue as he knew you'd decide against picking it if he said that out loud.

For once, he had patience. Just watched you with something unreadable in his eyes.

You went to the counter, already bracing yourself for the price, but before you could dig through your pouch, James stepped up beside you.

“I’ve got it.”

You blinked. “No. I can pay for my own - ”

“Now, now,” he said smoothly, handing over the galleons before you could stop him, the person at the counter barely paid your exchange any mind as she rang you up. “What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t pay for my wife?”

You glared at him. “You’re insufferable.”

He grinned. “And yet here we are. Married in all but paperwork.”

You grabbed the bag and stalked toward the door, trying not to smile.

“Come on, Potter.”

“Coming, darling.”

You shoved him on the way out.

He laughed and you pretended like it wasn't the best sound in the world.

to be continued . . .

part three | masterlist

#james fleamont potter #james potter #james potter marauders #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #marauders #marauders era #hp marauders #marauders x reader #harry potter #harry potter marauders #harry potter marauders era #don't blame me

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theexaltedbride · 2 months ago

Text

White Rabbit X Human Female Civilian Reader.

(I need the top image redone with the Rabbit in place of Dante...because...reasons.... We need more images of Rabbit in general! Especially heroic ones of him with his paramour!)

You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just stopping in at a local diner to get a meal after work, when there was a loud commotion, it looked like a fire just down the street, when it turned into an explosion, and a fuel truck came thundering down the road, smashing into another building and exploding.

It had knocked you on your back, the air punched out of your lungs and your ears ringing.

You wouldn't find it out till later, but Rabbit had been conducting a raid on a Darkcom supply depot to steal weapons and materials for his hideouts and to help refugees on Makai protect themselves from other demons until they could be smuggled over to Earth.

Things had not gone according to plan, as a demon he'd hired to make a lot of noise and cause a distraction for Darkcom had gone on a rampage and ignored Rabbit's orders to stop.

In the ensuing fires caused by the fuel truck, everyone was panicking and didn't know what to do. You had just enough presence of mind to start waving people to the back entrance of the diner and using your cellphone flashlight to get them out of there and show the exit, but the flames and smoke made it hard to see where you were going, and when everyone else had made it out, you were left trapped as the fire grew closer and the smoke made it impossible to see.

The flames were getting hotter, you couldn't breathe, your skin was screaming from the heat and your eyes were unable to see through the smoke. You were just about a minute away from fading from smoke inhalation at best. You found a nearby fire extinguisher dented on the floor, yet it was still usable! But the flames were too big, and all you could do was force the flame back for a little bit longer.

Just as you started to worry this was it, a figure moved with impossible speed and grace through the flames, as if he were dancing around them, in order to get to you.

It was a Rabbit in the shape of a man, dressed in a suit, and he'd come to get you out of the fire. The White Rabbit picked you up in his arms with ease and asked you to point the extinguisher ahead of him to help clear the way.

"Forgive me, but I'm sure I have a lady's permission here." He told you through his coughs as he swung you up into his arms, and forced his way through the flames, taking you out the nearest exit and away from the expanding inferno, as you could see people on the other side looking confused as to how they were suddenly safely away from the fire.

Rabbit took you down a different path, cutting through alleyways to avoid police and firefighters catching him (as Darkcom was no doubt also lurking nearby). Yet he soon found himself accidentally coming face to face with the demon who had caused all of this.

It was a large Arachnid like demon, clinging to the walls of the alleyway, who seemed to have been crossbred with a praying mantis. It was covered in chitinous amor, with far too many limbs, eyes, and a drooling maw of mandibles. Rabbit gently put you down, and stepped in front of you to keep the demon's focus on him.

"You were just supposed to cause a distraction, not a massacre you stupid bastard!" Rabbit shouted up to the other demon, who crawled down to be at eye level with the Rabbit.

"Is the Rabbit going soft? No longer have a taste for killing? Just in stealing food and medicine for the weakling kiddies?" The demon said as it clicked its mandibles and its multiple eyes looked at the both of you, gears turning in its head.

"I kill when it is necessary. Not for fun. What you've done is fuck things up for all of us. Now DarkCom will be out for blood! Do you have any idea how many places we'll have to evacuate now before DarkCom arrives to start killing Makaians?" Rabbit shouted up to the demon, who gave what was effectively an arachnid like shrug.

"It matters not. We will kill them all! Feed them to me as payment." The arachnid demon chuckled, its mandibles clicking and clacking together in mimicry of laughter.

"Are there any actual thoughts in that head of yours? Or is it all just noise? Do you shit where you eat too?" The Rabbit said as he threw his arms up in disbelief.

The other demon was silent a moment, still thinking, before it finally spoke.

"Me thinks you have gone soft...grown weak Rabbit. Or is it because you can't ever be bad in front of an 'Alice'?" The Demon asked as it tilted its head towards You, and began to shift his body posture ot face in your direction where you stood behind Rabbit.

In your fear at seeing a true demon you'd forgotten you were still holding a fire extinguisher, and were not clutching it like a safety blanket, for all the good it would do you.

"I can fix that for you, Rabbit." The creature said, mantis like pincers rising up, one of them pointing straight at you.

Rabbits eyes had narrowed and he took a single step to place himself between you and the demon. His off hand moved towards a sword at his him and took a firm grip of the handle.

"In the next second I'm going to draw my blade. And you're about to lose a lot of blood over a very stupid decision. Would you like to lose all of it?" The Rabbit asked of his hired demon, but the way he spoke made it more of a promise. If the arachnid made a move towards you, then it would seal its fate at the end of Rabbit's blade.

At first it looked as if the demon was backing down, slowly lowering his pincers down, before he suddenly brought them down quickly only Rabbit's shoulders, puncturing them like two spear thrusts before the demon raissed him up into the air.

"Traitor! Human Lover! No better than Sparda! Slay you and then feast on your Alice!" the monster had said, while Rabbit flailed about to break free.

"Get out of here!" Rabbit yelled at you, as he struggled to pull his sword out since he couldn't properly use his arms, and settled for grabbing hold of the demon's pincers and using them for leverage to swing his feet up and kick it in the jaw. The Arachnid had forgotten that Rabbit was faster than most demons, and even with his arms out of action, his legs had a mean kick to them.

Yet when presented with a chance to run away, you refused, and instead swung the fire extinguisher with all your might, cracking the demon on the side of his head. It stunned him for a moment for you to hit him again, this time he threw the Rabbit down and tried to lunge at you, screaming how he'd feast on your bones and swallow your soul.

You managed to shove the nozzle of the extinguisher into the bug's mouth and began shocking the demon out with what remained of the extinguisher fluid, giving Rabbit a clear shot to slay the demon with one swing of his sword.

One swing of his sword and the demon lost his head, another swing had its Pincers sliced off, and a third swing cut it hope from throat to thorax.

It twitched and wobbled about for a moment, before finally falling dead, and so too did Rabbit fall as the pain of being stabbed twice and slammed against the ground caught up to him.

Rabbit insisted that he'd be fine, but you couldn't just leave him there. So, you helped him to get to your car while everyone was distracted by the fire and DarkCom was distracted by the slain demon. You couldn't take him to a hospital, so instead you drove to the nearest pharmacy you could reach and you went to the trouble of getting as many painkillers and gauze bandages as you could afford on short notice.

As you bandaged him up and helped deal with the pain, he assured you he could heal from this. He wasn't a human, and he only needed help for the initial injury and blood loss. But you insisted enough he allowed you to at least drive him to where he could portal home and handle the rest himself.

It was a long drive in the middle of the night, so you both got to talking. He learned your name, what you did for a living, and you learned about him, and why the other demon called you Alice. You even admitted to him that you didn't expect him to actually come to your aid like that.

"A gentleman never strikes a lady. Nor does he let one come to harm." The rabbit said and the two of you conversed until you were able to reach where his portal was, and helped him there until he could get to it and open the way back to Makai.

"It was a pleasure meeting you. Please get home safe." Rabbit said, leaning down to plant a kiss on your hand and making it one of the softest kisses you've felt in your entire life.

And just like that Rabbit disappeared, leaving you with many questions, and the memory of his soft fur on your hand, and the feeling of his lips against your skin.

Yet that wasn't the end of your story. It was only the beginning.

You both just had the (un?)fortunate luck of running into each other over and over again. Sometimes you saw a flash of Rabbit running across a rooftop, or Rabbit caught a whiff of you on the wind, or heard your voice in the distance. Fate seemed to keep making your paths cross, and for you both to be teased with glimpses of the other.

Rabbit would end up making the first move though. You lived in a region where Rabbit needed to conduct business and so now and again he would check up on you and make sure you were alright, that Darkcom had not targeted you for reprisals. He even came with money to reimburse you for what you had spent in helping him recover from his injuries, but would never stay for long. Just a quick check in, before departing.

However, this brought its own problems. Rabbit's scent was on you, and demons who had issue with the White Rabbit smuggling Makaians to Earth to live in peace would regularly try to track him down, which meant that they kept running into you and that Rabbit had to keep showing up to kill some of them until they got the message that you were off limits.

You didn't see much of Rabbit since then. Yet you know he's around. Rabbit would leave flowers on your windowsill when he knew you'd be at work, so that you would know he'd come to check on you. So, you made sure to take a few days off from work when you knew he'd be by for a visit, so that you could open the front door and invite him in since it was cold out there, and you had some warm dinner already prepare for him.

At first he tried to turn it down, until you called him out on it in a way he couldn't refuse.

"Will a gentleman really turn down a lady's invitation? For shame Wister Rabbit!" you said with a mock gasp as if you were both in a stage play, that drew a real laugh from him.

"Well, if a lady insists, how can a gentleman deny her?"

So it was that you and Rabbit shared your first dinner together, and it was but the first of many. Almost three times a month he would come to see you, bringing flowers, treats, and looking to forget about his hardships with you, and pretend to live a normal, peaceful, life with you. With each visit he will become more relaxed, and long for you more and more. But the first kiss will have to come from you.

-The first few times Rabbit is inside your home he is very stiff and almost afraid to touch anything, as if worried he will break everything. It will only get better with time as he becomes more comfortable with you and being in a human home, yet he still tends to default to his ideas of being a gentleman whenever he is in doubt. (You would later on learn that he picked this up from multiple books from different eras which had been found on his homeworld, each with a slightly different version of how a gentleman should act. Thankfully it seems he picked up the best traits out of all of them).

-Rabbit is very interested in stories about your family, because he never knew his progenitors. He grew up with the wandering peoples of Makai and knew only them and the hardships of always being on the move.

-Rabbit has no problem eating meat despite being a rabbit. Honestly, anything you make for him will be happily consumed (even carrots, ugh). Because the secret is that you made it with love, and he can taste it in the food, and it moves him.

-Your first kiss will come from a rare movie night with you. Rabbit just needed to get away from it all for a little while and your home was the only place he could think to go, so you put on a sweet movie for him, and as it drew to a close, you made your move, and left the Rabbit so stunned his ears suddenly sprang up and he had no words to give for how you made him feel. All he could do was kiss you back, and thank whatever divinities which might exist that he was able to find you and save you on that fateful day. Because with a single act, you have saved his soul from being lost to madness and despair. Anything more intimate will take time, but he will not want to rush things, because Rabbit doesn't want to ruin the best thing in his life.

-Since you and Rabbit can't go out and dance, you've had to settle for dancing together at home, or in an empty field with music playing from your car radio. Its clear that while he's studied the moves (and is relying on his enhanced speed to make it look smooth) he's not had much practice. But that doesn't matter, time with him is worth it no matter what you both do.

-If you genuinely offer to let some Makaians shelter in your home, Rabbit will be left speechless. He will be happy, but stunned at a human making that kind of an offer. Sure, it might make being intimate with you a little more awkward, but he mostly fears making you a target, and so if he uses your home as a safehouse for Makaians, he will only have it be temporary, only a single family at a time.

-Rabbit has killed to keep you safe, and he will do it without issue in the future. Before you were a lady, but now you're his lady. A gentleman must keep his lady safe, no matter what.

Demon, Human, it doesn't matter. Anyone or anything who is a threat to you will be put down by his sword.

-Your presence in Rabbit's life is starting to affect how he plans his raids and missions. He is much more careful now and plans everything down to the smallest detail to make sure there are as little chances of it to cause undue casualties or injuries as possible. He doesn't want to become a profane monster in your eyes. He still wants to be the Rabbit who saved you from the flames and protected you from another demon. Maybe the arachnid was right...maybe he is going soft?

-Once Rabbit came to your home while drunk, utterly stinking of alcohol and looking like he'd been crying his eyes out. He wanted to check on you and be sure you were okay, and as soon as he was sure of that he fell asleep on your couch, still clutching an empty wine bottle in his hand. The following morning he'd suffer one of the worst hangovers of his life, and refuse to say why he suddenly had to see you while inebriated, but at least he could recover somewhere safe, even if it meant you had to take a sick day off from work.

-You know it will leave you tired after work, but sometimes you have pushed yourself to be able to spend all night with Rabbit on his visits, as it's the only time you can actually safely be together. Going for a drive, or walking through the woods, or even just sitting together in your home. Every second counts, and your visits are preciously few.

-You bought several versions of Alice in Wonderland, illustrated and ones closer to the original printing, as gifts for Rabbit, and he didn't know what to say, he promised to bring you a gift just as good your own.

-Eventually, Rabbit will come to you on one knee and ask a very important question. Would you be his? Would you be the light of his life, for the rest of your lives? He knows it is early, but he hasn't been more sure of anything in his life.

When he finally shows you the ring, it's a small metal one, with a little rabbit head on the end. It wasn't bought, he'd spent months actually getting good metal to fashion it for you and making sure it would fit perfectly on your finger.

Part of why it took him so long to finally pop the question was because he kept having to resize it and kept triple checking to make sure it was well made, and that you wouldn't be allergic to the ring's alloys.

He wants you to be his bride. He wants you to come with him, even if only part of the time. To help him only as much as you are willing.

"It's not wonderland there. Your people call it hell for a reason. Others will hate you when they see you. I cannot offer you comfort or wealth. All I can give you is my love and the promise that I will do my best to care for you."

When you say yes, it is like you breathed new life in Rabbit, you've never seen him this animated in your entire time together, he's jumping (or rather, hopping) with joy, embracing you and kissing you and promising to try and give you as big of a ceremony as he can for the wedding back home.

But you tell him it doesn't matter. It's not the ceremony or even the ring that matters, only the love you share together.

That's when you see tears of joy from Rabbit for the first time, and he gets to see those same tears from you.

"A gentleman shouldn't cry in front of a lady...but it's okay in front of his wife."

=====

Couple's Playlist.

~"Fairytale" Alexander Rybak.

~"Dreaming Wide Awake" Poets of the Fall.

~"Sleep" Poets of the Fall.

~"I Need a hero" Bonnie Tyler.

~"Savior" Skillet.

#white rabbit x reader #dmc rabbit #canon x reader #devil may cry rabbit x reader #devil may cry white rabbit #devil may cry x reader #DMC netflix #Rabbit X Reader

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stevieschrodinger · 10 months ago

Text

Part One Two Three

Robin sucks on her drink through her straw, “why, exactly, are we here?”

Steve sighs into his own drink.

Robin looks around the yard from her perch on a lawn chair, “I can’t help but notice, Steven, that we are very clearly the oldest people here.”

Steve watches Eddie balefully. He’s trying and failing to light the grill. It’s almost embarrassing to watch; Steve can’t seem to look away.

“Steven, I am drinking something that was mixed together in bowl. I’m drinking it out of a red solo cup. I haven’t touched one of these in a decade. I require an explanation.”

“I don’t have one.”

“That is a lie. Your pants will catch fire and then you can use them to help that moron to light the grill.”

They watch for a little longer.

“Fucks sake Steve just go and do it for him. This tastes like paint thinner; I’ll need to eat some bread at some point or I’ll go into kidney failure.”

Steve gets up and lights the grill for Eddie. He’s wearing another butchered tee shirt and some black board shorts. He’s so pale, and all of his bony bits are on show. Elbows. Wrists. Ankles.

His hair is gathered up into a messy bun on top of his head.

He still has a smear of make up on one eyelid where it hasn’t washed off properly.

Steve knows exactly what he sounds like when he comes.

“Thanks man,” Eddie’s blushing. He’s rubbing the back of his neck. It reveals Eddie’s pale ribs. His dark hairy armpit-

Steve runs away before he does something stupid.

“Okay, so, step by step, no gory details please, what exactly happened last night, because I know damn well you didn’t spend the entire forty five minutes I was waiting hanging around in a gross bathroom.”

Steve sighs, rubs his forehead, then goes and gets them both refills.

“Coward,” Robin calls after his retreating back.

He’s refilling their cups with an honest to fucking god soup ladle out of the kitchen – avoiding the fly that has met it’s sticky end in what is, no doubt, highly toxic punch – when it happens.

“Hey man,” Steve is being addressed by an actual pimply teenager.

“Hey.”

“Nice car,” he sounds weirdly angry about it.

“Uhhh...thanks,” because Steve doesn’t know what the fuck else to say to a dude wearing a dungeons and dragons tee shirt over flaming basketball shorts. He has nothing on his feet. Outside. Steve represses a shudder.

“Look, you clearly have money, or whatever, and probably a fancy job and you’re like, forty-”

“Hey-”

“- or whatever, but this thing with Eddie, can you make it fast please? Dragging it out isn’t fair on him.”

Steve blinks. He’s getting a shovel talk from someone who probably doesn’t know what a VHS is.

Steve can remember playing video games with no save; if you were going to do it, you had to play the whole damn thing in one go. Steve didn’t have a mobile phone until he was fifteen. Steve is not going to take this.

“This ‘thing’ I have with Eddie is none of your business. Eddie can speak for himself-”

“No Eddie cannot speak for himself, because Eddie is the nicest guy I know and Eddie already thinks he’s in love. Don’t think I don’t see what this is for you, Eddie’s just another thing to play with until you get bored. Look at this place, look at us. Now look at you and you’re fancy friend over there,” the kid gestures and, yeah, alright, the difference is pretty obvious, “you wouldn’t be caught dead here, slumming it, if you weren't getting something out of it. Now hurry it along, Eddie only writes good stuff when he’s heartbroken. Which is a lot, by the way. We all know how this goes.”

“What’s wrong with your face?”

“I just got a shovel talk from a kid who probably shouldn’t even be drinking yet.”

“Ouch,” Robin takes her drink back, “how does that feel?”

Steve shrugs, “not sure, actually.”

Across the yard, Steve watches as Eddie gesticulates wildly and hisses angrily at the pimply face DnDer. He catches Steve watching. Eddie grabs the kid by the arm and drags him away.

“The burgers are burning,” Robin idly points out.

Steve sighs, he loves this polo, grease stains are a bastard, and the chances of finding an apron in this place are none existent.

At least Robin comes with him. She half unwraps some cheese and generally pretends to busy herself, slicing buns and stacking paper plates.

“So, last night?”

“Right,” Steve sighs through his nose, shuffling some onions around on the flat plate. “So I was just going to you know, get him.”

“Get your man tiger,” Robin purrs.

It shouldn’t be funny, but it kind of is. Steve laughs.

“But he just...grabbed my hand. And he said ‘Steve! Come and meet the guys!’ So I...did.”

“He introduced you to his friends,” Robin raises that lethal eyebrow.

“Yeah.”

“And you went along with it?”

“Well I kind of...he didn’t let go of my hand so I kind of…”

Both of Robins eyebrows are now in the stratosphere. She appears to spend a few minutes digesting that, “and then you got invited to...this.”

Steve’s already dug half a hole, and he still apparently has the shovel in his hand, so he keeps going, “he was just so happy to see me,” Steve admits, quietly.

“Who is that?”

“Who?”

Robin grabs Steve by the hair and forcibly turns his whole head, “that.”

There’s a blonde girl talking to Eddie. She’s wearing a white tank top and daisy dukes, “no idea.”

“Come on, high time you introduced me.”

Steve really tries, but he cant hide the fact that he is delighted by this turn of events, “why, Robin Buckley! Oh how the tables have turned-”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m going to make her cry.”

Part Five

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #pre getting together #pre steddie #robin buckly #steve and robin #ficlet #platonic stobin #ornamental fountain steve #age gap steddie

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pursuitseternal · 10 months ago

Note

Can i get prompt 20 with astarion x f!tav? Maybe she is in her fertile period and very horny or maybe carrying his child and hormones are messing up with her head (idk if u feel comfortable writing about it, i didn't find your rules. If you don't, ok) and Astarion offers his thigh for her to get off :))

“Helpful…”

UA Astarion x f!Reader | Smut Ask Prompts

CW: pregnancy smut

Thirty-six weeks… it’s been. Not that you’re counting. Each day is more taxing than the last… a blissful sort of torture, one you endure with a smile.

Most days.

But, days like today, you question your sanity and doubt your strength.

You couldn’t even count the sum of enemies you slaughtered. You brought down the Chosens of the Dead Three, you massacred an Illithid army….

And now the rapid flutter and kicking in your rounded belly is enough to lay you up for hours. The ache and stretch it is to bring a life into this world takes your literal breath away. Of course it doesn’t help that the child inside is Dhampir… and that its father is equally demanding at times, in different ways.

As you’ve grown heavier, rounder, Astarion has grown more attentive, helping around your cottage in the Underdark. Honestly, you sometimes scratch your head to watch the once selfish, snarky bastard of a Spawn become a snarky, helpful bastard of a Spawn.

There is one way he has relished helping you; the more demand the child inside you places on your body, the more demand your body has on you for… release. Sometimes it makes you cry, how madly you want Astarion to fuck you. Doesn’t matter where or when or for how long.

With that little problem, he’s more than eager to help. The further into your term you get, the worse the ache is, but the more exhausted you are too. Often some days, you just swallow the rage of lust that simmers inside you, but other days, he notices far too easily.

His nostrils flare as you enter your little study. He reclines on the little couch near the fire, the dim light dancing off the brightly colored spines of books around you. Scenting your need, he opens his arms, a familiar invitation to rest against him. You take the last few waddling steps, hands on your knees as you lower your rear to the couch. Your body fills the space between his legs, grimacing as it creaks under you.

Your cheeks are flush with need, and now they burn with embarrassment. “Gods I feel huge,” you bemoan, trying not to make the wooden frame of the couch groan under you again as you shift closer to your Vampiric love. “I can’t wait much longer, love,” you groan, leaning back against the cool hard planes of his torso.

“A few more weeks, and then our little one will be here,” he whispers into your ear, lips pressing a kiss, fingers pulling the stray wisps of hair back over your shoulder. “I’m sure she will be as fierce as you…”

“That’s your guess? She?” You give an airy laugh. “Well, she certainly is already fierce, given the amount of kicking, punching, and spinning that plagues me at all hours.”

A cool hand wanders over the taut curve of your belly, and instantly the child thumps against the pressure. You cry out at the pain, laughing at the look of surprise on Astarion’s face as your belly shifts with the babe’s movement within. “Incredible,” he breathes before looking at you, tilting your face into his by clasping your chin. “You’re… incredible,” lips murmur against yours. “Nearly impossible odds against us to create a dhampir, and here you are heavy with my child. Wouldn’t be the first time we were victorious against the impossible, hmm?”

“Knowing you, it won’t be the last, either,” you laugh, pursing your lips to kiss him slowly, sweetly. Hands work their way lower to the base of your belly, rucking up your skin to hunt down that source of your scent, that center of your searing need. Cool fingers on your skin give you instant relief, climbing their caress higher and higher until the dip inside you. Your aching spine bends even more, tilting your heavy hips to let him explore deeper.

Heavenly, his chilled thumb dances over your constantly hardened clit, his fingers cooling the ever-burning walls of your cunt. You hiss, riding his fingers. But your body is too laden to move like this. Your hips lock up, your back crying out in pain from your position.

And Astarion reads it in the smallest twinge of your face. Crimson eyes widen in concern, and he shushes you, soothing you as you are lifted up in his strong arms. “Ride me,” he purrs. But your hip joints already protest at the idea of being spread for his waist.

A pitiful whimper escapes you as you manage to pull yourself up on your knees on the couch to face him. Those silver brows furrow, hands at your waist to steady you… both of you. His sight roams over your flushed complexion and sweaty brow, and he guides you over his one long leg, propping it up to press beneath you.

“Use my thigh, my darling,” he murmurs, “your saviour is here.” He grins, raskish and conceited. That same line from when he once would reach out to you in combat. But you’re too pent up to tease, burning too hot with a need to find release with him in any capacity.

A hiss escapes your lips as you settle your folds on the bone of his thigh. Hard, corded muscle cools your wet and aching cunt as you grind. Slick soaks instantly through your panties and definitely into the fabric of his pants. But it only makes his hands grip harder into your hips. The fabric of your loose, flowing dress is no match for the iron clutch of his dexterous fingers.

“Fuck,” you curse, bracing your hands on either side of his head as you move faster. That new angle rubs your clit perfectly, the pressure of his thigh beneath you makes your mouth water with the promise of relief.

“Tch, language, darling,” he chides, slipping a hand beneath your skirts to find your clit with deadly precision, even blindly. “Do you want our babe to be born swearing like Karlach?”

You hang your head, laughing breathlessly until your ribs hurt. You didn’t know they could do that. A bite of your lip, and you grind faster, harder, savoring the way your soaked clothes rub over the aching nerves of your folds. Delicious friction that soothes the ache inside you.

And his finger, gods, it coaxes sighs from your lips, circles made to tease your nub from its swollen hood until you’re shaking.

“Come for me, my love…” he rasps as you hang your head closer to his honeyed lips. Words whispered to you a thousand times before seem to penetrate you deep in your belly, the fluttering of your child making you catch your breath. It grips your whole stomach, your climax. The whole swell of your belly tightens, and then tightens some more. Legs shake, and your whole body floods with the burst of pleasure you craved all day. Little strangled noises fall from your lips, until panting, you rest, unable to move off his leg.

“Where would you be without me, darling?” he purrs, slipping his hand deeper between your thighs, stroking and stretching your walls. Feeling them flutter on his fingers.

You huff a humored, tired laugh, “Not pregnant, for one.” He pouts back at you. “And two, I’d be lost without you my love.” You lean forward for a kiss, letting him hold you up. Letting him support you in all the ways he can.

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bonnie-the-butcher · 3 months ago

Text

Rip Tide | Chapter XI

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 8.885 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW; Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

Unsurprisingly, I can't keep things sweet for too long, so here's a weird chapter again. Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading <3

Kareem’s eyes nearly pop out of his head as he sees you stepping in. – Holy shit! You’re alive!

– It seems so. – You chuckle, watching him almost run towards you like he’s watching a statue come to life before his eyes.

– And you’re still employed?

– Mr. Cameron told me to come back, so I guess.

He laughs, a genuine blast of overjoyed disbelief. – I can’t believe it. – He takes your bag, setting it in the little locker where the kitchen staff is allowed to keep their things. – I was so sure that after that fight, they’d just kick you on the street, I was already mourning! Damn Routledge.

– It was that lamb. – You laugh, folding your sleeves and washing your hands. – It must have really been good.

– You bet your ass it was. – He’s already moving through the kitchen as you dry your hands, almost avoiding your gaze. – God, for your brother to punch Rafe right during family dinner and still somehow keep your job is crazy. – He hums, so casually, as if he was in the room when it happened. You raise an eyebrow. – Told you you were gonna be good luck.

He winks, still smiling, but you can’t help the little doubt that swirls in your mind. – Kareem?

– Yup?

– Where were you when it happened? I came to get Rafe some ice, and you were gone.

Kareem doesn’t turn around to look at you as he hums, but you can see the blush creeping up his ears as he stands there. – I uhm, I— He clears his throat. – I went home early.

– Your things were still here, though. – He stays quiet. – Kareem. Were you hiding?

It comes off in a chuckle, soft and airy, as you step closer to him. And he stands there, his back still facing you, his hands moving thoughtlessly, wringing his fingers, pretending to be busy. – Kareem?

– Okay, I was hiding, I didn’t want to lose my job too, okay? I’m sorry. – The genuine shame in his voice brings a laugh to your lips, and he looks at you, almost bashfully, as you bring a hand to rest between his shoulder blades. – Aren’t you mad at me for being a coward?

You laugh even more at that.

The thought of a 6’5’’ overly tattooed Pakistani man with a beard and a man bun cowering in some pantry while you put ice on Rafe Cameron’s face is so delightfully ridiculous you can’t even help your amusement. – Of course I’m not mad at you. This is your job, I don’t blame you for not wanting to get fired. And these people really are crazy.

– Right? – He exhales, wide-eyed like a child on christmas morning. – You saw how Rafe talked to me, right? This kid hates me! I don’t even know why.

– Hate to break it to you, Kay, but he probably doesn’t have a reason. Rich kids don’t need reasons to be menaces. – You pause, looking up at him with a conspiratorial smile. – I’m sure you know that, though. Mr. Highland Park.

He looks away, expression taught as the blush on his face reddens even further. – You googled it.

– Oh, I did. Richest suburb in the whole of Texas? That’s another level of blue blood.

He winces. – It’s not that bad.

– Oh, I’m sure it’s not bad at all. – You laugh, a twinge of guilt blooming in your chest as you realize just how much you’re enjoying this mockery. – You should see the dump I was born in. That's bad.

Kareem clears his throat, still a little pink around the ears, and turns back to the workstation like he can physically will the conversation away. – Look, can we— Let’s- Let’s talk about something else. Mr. Cameron’s breakfast.

You sigh, already rolling up your sleeves, but still laughing. – Of course. Can’t keep the king waiting.

Kareem narrows his eyes pointing at you with a cautious expression. – You’re laughing now, but you have no idea how specific this man is. – He mutters, completely serious.

– Of course, why wouldn’t someone micro-manage their breakfast, of all things?

– Focus! – He warns, ignoring your laughter. – One egg benedict.

Your eyes widen, all amusement going down the drain. – Jesus fucking Christ.

– I told you. Hollandaise. Bacon—crispy but not burnt, and just on one side, the fat can’t be too shriveled up either. Toast. Golden brown, but not too crunchy. He hates crumbs. – He rolls his eyes, already stressed. – And don’t even get me started on the—

The kitchen doors swing open before he can finish, and a sharp pair of heels clicks against the tile. Kareem’s face drops, rolling his eyes a second time, and he leans over the counter, almost hiding behind you as you stand there in awe. You barely have time to register the pinched look on the woman’s face before she snaps her fingers, walking around like she owns the place. – Kareem. Coffee. Now.

Kareem, who had been reaching for the eggs, stills mid-motion. His fingers flex slightly before he turns around, a forced politeness on his face that doesn’t even pretend to hide his irritation.. – Good morning to you too, Marion.

Marion.

Suddenly it’s clear— Kareem said it was a miracle that you managed to make it two hours in this kitchen before being assailed by the Wicked Witch (he did in fact call her that) and her powers of micro-management— Marion, the head housekeeper (or gate-keeper, as Kareem had also referred to her), stormed into the kitchen, 5’0” tall, and a force of nature all of her own.

You bite back a smile.

Marion doesn’t acknowledge him beyond a flick of her wrist, too preoccupied with shaking her head in exasperation. – You won’t believe the morning I’ve been having. – She doesn’t wait for an invitation before pulling out a chair and sitting, arms crossed over the marble like she’s just lifted the world with her bare hands. – Rafe refuses to get up. Again. Do you know how long his room has been a disaster? Since Wednesday. I sent the maids up, but he won’t let anyone in. The smell alone— She shudders. – I went in myself just now, and the brat nearly threw a pillow at me.

You reach for the coffee pot, taking a cup from the cabinet, but Kareem pulls it from your hand. – Don’t give her this. – He mumbles, frowning and huffing under his breath. – That’s much more than she deserves.

You chuckle, taking the acrylic cup he shoves into your hand with a smile.

Marion goes on. – Are you listening to me, boy?!

– Yes, Marion. – He groans. And then, lower, – I think the people on the other side of the island could listen. – You can’t even help the laughter as he goes on. – What I’m hearing is that you walked into his room uninvited, and you got mad when he reacted?

Marion gasps, scandalized. – Excuse me?

Kareem shrugs, playing innocent. – Just making sure I understand the situation.

Her lips press together into a thin, disapproving line. – He’s acting like a child, Kareem.

He looks over at you again. – Who’s gonna tell her?

You glance up briefly, watching as she smooths a perfectly manicured hand over her pristine blazer. It’s not lost on you that she sees herself as above everyone else here, despite technically being just another employee. It’s in the way she orders Kareem around like he’s a butler, the way she perches in that chair like she owns the kitchen.

– Mr. Cameron won’t be happy about this, – she continues, shaking her head. – Honestly, you should be grateful, you know. – She gestures vaguely at you, you’re almost surprised she’s even seeing you. – That Rafe hasn’t come after you. He always gets the pretty ones fired.

– Uhm, – Your brain almost short-circuits. Compliment? Insult? General comment? You’ll never know. – Thank… you?

Her eyes suddenly go wide, and she straightens up on the chair as you put the mug in front of her. – Are you the new chef?

– Yes. Uhm, Routledge, ma’am.

She sighs with something like disappointment, but not quite. For a moment she almost seems pleased, but then she starts frowning again. – Good. He was asking about you.

– Mr. Cameron? – She raises a brow, the corners of her lips downturned. – Ma’am.

The woman relaxes the slightest bit as you refer to her by the proper title, and looks away, taking the coffee without even looking at you. – Well, of course. Rafe Cameron. He wants you to bring him a piece of pie, or some such thing.

Kareem looks at you, his brows knit together, his lips twisted into a strange grin.

– Uhm, ok. Me? Specifically?

– Is your name Routledge?!

– Yes, ma’am.

– Obviously, then.

Your hands still, grip tightening just slightly on the handle.

Kareem chuckles, bitter and Marion sighs dramatically. – I swear, it’s like he’s punishing everyone. For what, I don’t even know. He just sulks in there all day. And do you know what’s worst of all?

You force your voice to stay steady. – No. What?

She leans forward, as if sharing some great, horrible secret. – He’s not even drinking.

That catches you off guard. You blink, lifting your gaze fully now. – What?

Marion nods gravely, like this is the biggest offense of all. – Not a sip. Not since Wednesday. Not even sneaking anything. He’s just lying there, doing absolutely nothing. It’s unnatural.

– Why would he be drinking? It’s nine AM.

Kareem and Marion both scoff at that, a sharp, short bout of genuinely mocking laughter. – You don’t come around here a lot, do you girl?

You don’t know what to make of that question. And they don’t clarify anything beyond that comment.

Kareem places a cup of coffee in your hand, that same strange smile on his face as he raises a brow, taking a sip of his own. – Tragic, huh?

Marion sighs, taking a delicate sip before clicking her tongue. – I don’t have time for this nonsense. Rose has a book club event, or some such thing she needs me to organize. – She stands, smoothing out invisible wrinkles on her blazer before giving you one last glance. – Good luck with this girl.

And with that, she’s gone, leaving only the sharp scent of her perfume behind.

The kitchen is silent for a beat.

Then Kareem lets out a long, slow breath, shaking his head. – Charming, right?

– I feel like a whirlwind just waltzed right over me.

– She has that gift. – He grumbles.

You swallow, trying to blink whatever the hell that was away. You have work to do. – I should get started on that egg benedict.

– Oh no, no, no, my dear. You’re going up to Rafe’s and you're bringing him that pie. I don’t need him coming here and fucking up my schedule.

– C’mon!

– Nope. Get to it.

You frown, lingering in the kitchen for a moment longer than necessary, wiping the counter and cutting the pie slowly, like you’re trying to delay your own execution.

You stare at the plate. At the pie. That’s all this is. Just delivering a damn piece of pie. You don’t know why this feels like such a chore.

Kareem watches you, one brow raised, his grin teetering between amusement and sympathy. – I don’t wanna interrupt your lingering gaze or whatever, but you should go ahead.

– I’m just— You hesitate. – Should I even go up there?

Kareem snorts. – Didn’t you hear what I just told you? If you don’t, he’ll just come down here, and I don’t want him here.

– Thanks a lot, Kareem. Great camaraderie. What happened to “we average each other’s misery?” Isn’t that what partners are for?

– When it comes to Rafe, the misery is all yours. – He says, looking over his shoulder with a smile. – Don’t act like you’re walking to the gallows, Routledge. It’s not gonna be that bad, you know he likes you.

– Excuse me?

– Oh, come on. – He laughs. – Wasn’t he the one sitting on this counter asking you to kiss his little boo-boo better?

– You sneaky little bastard! – You gasp and narrow your eyes, bumping his shoulder as you take yet another cup from the cabinet, setting it under the espresso machine.

– I didn’t mean to hear all of it, okay? I was having a hard enough time trying not to laugh. – Kareem only laughs, sipping from your cup, a smile still clear as day on his face. – He was pathetic. Ward was right, I don’t know how you didn’t punch him. God, I don’t think I ever heard Rafe say please. And I’ve worked here for years!

– You’re hilarious.

– C’mon, that was a little funny.

You take the espresso and the pie, setting it on a tray. – I hope your eggs benedict break before you even take it out.

He bursts out laughing, holding the door open for you. – However will I recover from such cruelty? – You sigh, rolling your eyes at him. – If you don’t come back in ten minutes, I’m still not going to save you.

– I will literally kill you with my bare hands.

– Sure you will.

The walk to Rafe’s room is quieter than it should be. The house, for all its size and grandeur, seems eerily still. There’s no sound of maids bustling around, no chatter echoing down the halls—just the faintest murmur of waves in the distance, the occasional creak of old wood beneath your careful steps. The small tray feels heavier in your hands the closer you get.

But before you can even step foot on the second floor, a pair of cold blue eyes settle on you, squeezing slightly as that same strange smile you’ve come to know so well blooms on his face again. – Miss Routledge.

You swallow, nodding respectfully. – Good morning, Mr. Cameron.

– What are you doing? – He eyes the tray in your hands with a certain amusement, his low careful steps still creaking against the floorboards as he approaches. – Coffee?

– Yes, uhm, espresso, actually. Rafe asked me to bring the pie up for him, I thought he’d want something to drink too.

Ward laughs softly, taking the mug. – Attentive. – He grins, sipping carefully, his eyes boring into yours. – Rafe doesn’t appreciate a good cup of coffee. He only likes things sweet.

The last words lands between you, much heavier than they should

You’re not sure what to make of that sentence. So you just nod, waiting for him to dismiss you. But he doesn’t, not just yet. – I’m surprised he’s even up this early. Rafe usually doesn’t get up until midday. He’s been changing a lot these last few days.

– Never too late for a change of habit, I guess.

– Damn right. – He sets the cup, half-drunk, on the tray again, his face unreadable. – That espresso was perfect. Kareem always makes it too strong.

– I’ll tell him that.

– No need. – He hums. – Maybe you can start bringing me my breakfast too.

– If you want to, sir.

Ward smiles, taking a single step to the side to let you through.

You nod and smile, keeping your head down, but just as you’re a couple steps ahead, the tray balanced on your arm, hand hovering over Rafe’s door, he stops you again: – You and your brother had a talk after you got home?

You freeze for a moment, looking back to see him standing there, with that same look. You know that stance: Casual tone, detective eyes. He’s measuring you.

You breathe in deep, keeping your face still and your voice level. – Yes, sir.

– And what did you tell him?

– To stop meddling in my work life or get a job of his own.

He doesn’t allow much, but you can see his stance soften the slightest bit—You never got much approval as a kid, so you could always see it from a mile away— Ward nods, that same way he did when he was talking to you in the kitchen yesterday. – Good girl. – You bristle at the words, but don’t let it show. He makes a move to turn around, but his eyes remain on you. – Off you go.

You stop outside the door. Knocking once.

Silence.

A flicker of hesitation surges through you. You can feel Ward's eyes on your back, the way he lingers at the end of the hall, not even pretending to do something else.

It unnerves you.

You think about leaving the tray at the door and walking away, but you know how unprofessional that is, and you can’t afford to give bad impressions. Not with these people.

You don’t wait much longer before pushing the door open, stepping into a space that feels separate from the rest of the house, like it belongs to another world entirely. The air is heavy, stale, the curtains drawn, the light filtering in muted and dull. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust, to pick out the details—clothes draped over furniture, a half-empty glass of water on the nightstand, the faint scent of salt and sweat and something unmistakably Rafe lingering in the air.

He lays at the edge of the bed, almost hanging off the corner, and though he breathes in and out heavily, nothing else escapes him as the bed creaks beneath his weight.

The sound sends you back to that phone call.

The sighing, the groans, the words.

You shudder, and swallow, approaching with quiet steps. Ward’s espresso trembles lightly but doesn’t spill as you lay the tray flat on your right hand, moving the things on his bedside with your left.

He shifts slightly at the sound of your footsteps, humming low in his throat. – Baby, – He whispers, content, a lazy smile on his face. – Knew you’d come.

You smile at him, setting the tray down on his nightstand. – You asked for pie. Marion said you threw a pillow at her.

He chuckles, nodding. – Mmm. – The sound stretches, and Rafe shifts again, finally turning his head to look at you. His eyes are heavy-lidded, unfocused in a way that makes you wonder if he’s half-asleep or just playing at it. – Had a dream about you.

– Did you? Was it a nightmare?

He laughs again, shaking his head, eyes drifting shut again as his hand trails down to his stomach, the motion lingering too long, too weirdly, that same strange smile on his face. – Was nice. Real nice.

There’s something vaguely suggestive in the way he says it, but it’s faint—just enough that your brain doesn’t fully process it before he’s tugging at your wrist, pulling you closer. – Sit.

You hesitate. – Rafe—

– I don’t feel so good. – His grip tightens just slightly, enough to make it clear he isn’t letting go until you comply. You sigh, lowering yourself onto the edge of the bed. He immediately leans into you, head pressing against your side, arms wrapping loosely around your waist. His body is warm—too warm. – Think I have a fever, – He mumbles, voice dipping into something almost pitiful. – Check for me?

He pulls you close before you can protest, pouting, almost pleading. You lift a hand to his forehead. His skin is warm, clammy, but not alarmingly so. He covers your hand with his own, holding it there before you can pull away.

– It's a good thing that the witch didn't send someone else. – He mutters, eyes flicking up to meet yours. – It'd be just like her to call Rose just to piss me off. – He groans, thumb stroking the back of your hand slowly. – Like she would do anything. I could be dying on this bed and it still wouldn't matter to them.

– Don't say that.

– It's the truth. – His eyes burn into yours. – These people don't care about me, baby.

– These people are your family, Rafe. Of course they care about you.

He scoffs, and his grip loosens just enough for him to shift again, this time sliding down until his head rests against your lap.

– Rafe, I have to—

– Just for a minute, baby. Please. – His sigh is soft, almost content, and he takes your hand, guiding it into his hair before you can react. – Touch me, – He murmurs. – Brush your fingers through my hair like you do. My head hurts so bad, baby. I barely slept tonight.

Your chest tightens.

Sometimes you wish you weren’t such a softie.

Your fingers twitch against his scalp, hesitating. This isn’t new. Rafe is always too much—too sharp, too reckless, too angry. And the way he switches around you, like this, like he’s someone else entirely, will never cease to give you whiplash. But he looks at you so pleadingly, so softly, those big blue eyes of his so pitiful you almost want to hold him, and you can’t say no.

He pulls at your hand, like you're a doll, like you exist for no other reason than to serve him. Still, you brush your fingers through his hair. Just once.

His breath hitches, that lazy smile softening into something quieter, something almost innocent. He shifts again, curling up against you, his fingers wrapping around the hem of your shirt. – Don’t stop, – He murmurs.

You roll your eyes but keep running your fingers through his hair, slow, rhythmic. – You do feel a little warm. What else are you feeling?

He hums, eyes slipping shut, the tension in his body melting away bit by bit. – My throat is scratchy. My head is pounding. My whole body feels like cement.

– You poor thing.

Rafe hums at your words, a soft, indulgent sound that makes your stomach twist. He shifts again, pressing his face further into your stomach, like he’s trying to burrow into you.

– I hate being sick, – He murmurs, voice turning smaller, almost pitiful. – Feels like I can’t do anything. Like I’m useless.

You sigh, fingers still threading through his hair, and you know—you know—this is exactly what he wants. That little flicker of sympathy, the way your touch has softened, how you haven’t pushed him away yet. He’s milking it. But damn him, he’s good at it.

– You’re not useless, – You murmur, the words slipping out before you can stop them. – You just need to rest.

Rafe makes another one of those pleased little sounds. His fingers curl around the hem of your shirt, barely gripping, just enough that you can feel the heat of them on your skin. – Stay a little longer?

You hesitate.

He tilts his head up slightly, blue eyes peering up at you, half-lidded and pleading, a perfect picture of vulnerability. – Just for a minute, baby, – He whispers. – Feels better when you’re here.

Your lips part, a retort forming on your tongue, but then he exhales, slow and steady, and you realize he’s not just playing anymore—he’s settling into you, like he could stay here forever.

You sigh, glancing at the untouched tray on his nightstand. – I’ll stay while you eat, – You say, keeping your voice firm. – But just for that. I have to work.

Rafe doesn’t argue. He just hums, pleased, nuzzling into you once more before finally —finally— pulling back. His movements are slow, languid, like he’s dragging himself out of some dream.

His eyes land on the tray, and the lazy smile flickers into something more satisfied. – You brought me coffee?

– You asked for pie. I figured you’d want something to go with it. – He smiles, reaching for the cup. – But, Rafe your—

He’s sipping before you can warn him, his eyes peeking at you from beyond the ceramic rim of the cup just like his dad did.

Rafe hums again, sitting up properly now. His hands find your waist for just a second as he puts the cup down, like he’s steadying himself—like he needs you to steady him—before he lets go, stretching with a groan. His shirt rides up slightly, the sharp lines of his stomach peeking out before he drops his arms and reaches for the tray. – It's still hot. – He smiles. You don’t let yourself linger on the irony. – You made this one, didn't you? Kareem always makes it way too strong. And he doesn’t put any sugar.

You can’t help the chuckle. – I’ll bring you some sugar next time.

He smiles, taking the plate and leaning it on his knee. You don’t miss the way his fingers tremble slightly as he picks up the fork. The way he glances at you, like he’s waiting for you to notice.

You sigh again, softer this time. – What?

– You could feed me. – He grins, almost hopeful.

You scoff. – You’re getting real spoiled, Rafe.

He laughs, all the happier as he watches you reach for the fork, slicing off a small piece of pie and holding it out. He just watches you, something unreadable in his gaze, before leaning forward and taking a bite.

Your breath catches for a second.

You don’t know why.

It’s nothing. Just Rafe being Rafe.

But the way he hums, like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, the way he holds your hand as he leans in, his lips barely brushing against the utensil before he pulls back—it feels like something else entirely.

– Good? – You ask, keeping your voice level.

He grins, still chewing. – So good, baby.

Of course he says it like that. You shake your head, handing him the fork. – Eat.

Rafe chuckles, but does as he’s told.

Your eyes catch his lips as he chews. His eyes are heavy, his smile is glad, but you see the familiar watercolor of black and blue forming on his skin, reaching for him before you can stop yourself.

Rafe doesn’t even flinch as your hands ghost over the bruise on his jaw. If anything, he leans into it.

– Does it hurt?

– It'll hurt a lot less after you kiss it. – Your face drops. You try and pull back your hand, but he holds it in place, laughing with a delight you will never understand. – I don’t know why you even bother to pretend you don’t like it. You kiss me every time I ask.

You scoff. – I never said I don’t like kissing you, Rafe. I just don't like kissing you when I’m at work. Which reminds me—

He pulls your hand a little harder now as you stand. Eyes wide and pleading. – No, no. C’mon, I'm sorry, okay? Don't go, baby, please.

– You don’t need to apologize. I'm not going because of anything you did, I just have to go because Kareem needs my help.

Rafe scoffs, pulling you tighter, and closer, until you’re close enough that he can lean his head on your waist and squeeze you in his arms. – Kareem is a bitch. – You make a noise of protest, trying to pull away, but he keeps you in place. – And that’s rich coming from you. The apology thing. For every ten words you say one of them is an apology.

– One in every ten? – You chuckle. – Pulling out the statistics now, huh? I didn’t know you were a mathematician.

Rafe laughs, the sound resounding against your skin as he presses his face closer to you. – I’m nothing if not a man of the sciences, baby.

– Whatever you say, Norman Osborn. – You thread your fingers through his hair again, soft, slow, just enough that you can feel him relax under your touch.

You shouldn’t like it.

The way he melts at whatever crumb of affection you give him.

The way he clings and pulls and holds like he can’t bear for you not to be touching him.

The way he sighs at every touch.

Because you’ve been here before. And it never ends well for you.

But still you let him hold you, stroking his hair. And when he pulls away, looking at you with those big expectant eyes, the question already on his lips, you kiss him before he can beg. You revel in the way he clings to you as you move your lips against his, gently, barely a whisper of a touch, afraid you’ll hurt him.

And for a moment, Rafe matches you.

He sighs, and his lips part, but he kisses you back just as softly, moving against you almost temptatively. His hands stay still, barely resting on your waist, letting you set the pace. He exhales a slow, content sigh through his nose, his fingers pressing into your sides just slightly, like he’s savoring the moment.

It feels nice.

Not too much, not too fast, just nice.

And maybe that’s why you don’t stop him when his hands start moving.

It’s gradual—so gradual that you barely register the shift. The way his grip tightens, how his fingers start grasping at you instead of just resting against your skin. The way his breathing picks up, shallow, uneven. Then his lips part again, and suddenly the kiss isn’t soft anymore.

Rafe’s hands settle under your ribs, pressing against you so tightly you can barely breathe. His mouth moves over yours more hungrily now, lips parting, head tilting, like he’s trying to consume you. A low, satisfied hum escapes him, his fingers dragging up your spine, tangling into your hair like he’s claiming you.

And God, the way he clings to you—it’s like he’s starving, like he’s been deprived of something.

His hand slides down, over your sides, around your hips, fingers gripping at your thigh, trying to pull you onto his lap.

So you pull away.

Rafe makes a wounded noise, low in his throat, chasing after your lips before his eyes even open. His hands won’t let go, his fingers flexing against you, as if he’s trying to coax you back into his arms.

– Rafe, – You breathe, voice steadier than you feel. – You're gonna hurt yourself.

His eyes blink open, already searching for another way to pull you back in. His lips are red parted, breath coming out fast, and the bruise looks darker, larger, enough that your heart skips a beat.

– Shit. – Rafe lets your hands flutter towards the discolored skin, he lets you touch him softly, staring at the way you frown with a breathless smile. – Jesus. Look at you. I'm so sorry.

– There you go again. – He chuckles, hands back at your waist, pulling you in again. – I’m fine baby, I’m not made out of glass. – He murmurs with a smile, but when you stop him, he looks up at you like you’ve just taken something vital away from him.

You look at the door, counting how much time you’ve already wasted. Rafe groans, his fingers tightening around your chin and pulling you back, like a petulant child who can’t bear not to be paid attention to. You laugh, smoothing back his hair. – I have to go.

– No you don’t. Lay down with me for a minute, c’mon. – He murmurs, his voice wrecked, like he’s the one suffering. – Kiss me again. Just—just one more time.

You shake your head, but he doesn’t loosen his grip. He just leans in again, lips barely ghosting over yours, voice dropping into something dangerously soft.

– Please?

– I’ll come back later.

You inhale sharply, trying to steady yourself, but then he presses another kiss to the corner of your mouth, slow, lingering, his breath fanning against your skin. Another, just beneath your jaw. Then lower, nuzzling into the space where your neck meets your shoulder, lips barely brushing against the skin there.

You shudder, and he feels it. – Is this where you like it? – He murmurs, triumphant, like he finally got something he can use against you. He’s already leaning in to kiss you again when you push him away.

– You’ll have to find that out another time. – You exhale sharply, untangling his arms from around you before he can try to stop you, and taking the plate, the cup, the tray. – Try to sleep again, you’ll feel better.

– I’d feel a lot better if you weren’t abandoning me.

You laugh out loud, hiding behind your hand as you push him back down onto the pillow. – How could I be so cruel?

– This isn’t funny, okay? I’m being serious. I’m sick and you’re gonna leave me here, all alone? – He eyes you, disapproving. – What if I choke?

– You’re not gonna choke.

– You don’t know that.

– Yeah, I do. You’re not gonna choke, because, you’re gonna lay on your side— You pull at his shoulder softly, until he does as you say, watching you with that same disappointed look as you adjust his pillow. – there you go. Officially choke-proof. Get some sleep.

He’s quiet for a moment, letting you pat his shoulder and kiss his eye, letting you step away, but just as your hand hovers over the doorknob, he speaks again:

– Why were you with Barry earlier?

You don’t even know why you let yourself forget it. The way he looked at the two of you from his window, the way his eyes sharpened as you let Barry step away.

You knew he was gonna bring this up.

You knew he was gonna ambush you.

So you sigh, looking over your shoulder as your hand remains, steady, on the brass doorknob. – Can we talk about this later?

– I wanna talk about it now.

– Rafe—

– You slept at his place? – He cuts in, just the ghost of an edge on his voice. – Is that how much you hate your brother? That you would go to Barry's place just to avoid him? Even after what he did?

– I don’t hate my brother, and I didn’t sleep at Barry's place. He came to apologize, and he was too drunk to drive so he stayed over.

– He wasn’t too drunk to get over there. – He says, sharp, too sharp for someone who just a moment ago had been so drowsy. – He slept with you.

– He slept next to me.

Rafe scoffs, looking away, smiling bitterly at the ceiling. – I bet he tried. – He mumbles. – Did he take you to that bar, the one in the Cut with all those weird irish people?

– What are you talking about?

– You know that's where he goes to pick up girls, right? He wanted to sleep with you!

– I didn't sleep with him, and we didn't go to any bars. He was drunk. We talked and fell asleep, that’s all. Why do you even care about this?

Rafe’s jaw tenses, but he doesn’t say anything at first. Just leans back on his elbows, looking at you like he’s thinking way too hard about something that should be simple.

And something in him shifts.

Slowly, he sits up again, walking towards you. His hand finds your wrist—not grabbing, just tracing his fingers over your pulse like he’s absentminded, like he’s bored.

– You really spent the whole night with him? – His voice is light, almost playful, but you can hear the edge underneath it.

You sigh. – Rafe—

– No, I just… – He tilts his head, watching you. – I guess I don’t get it.

– Get what?

His lips twitch like he’s about to grin, but he doesn’t, he looks bothered, like he has something bitter in his mouth. – How you weren’t bored out of your mind.

– What? – You roll your eyes, but before you can speak, his fingers tighten slightly around your wrist—not hard, just enough to keep you here.

– I mean, really, baby, c’mon. – He exhales, shaking his head like he feels bad for you. – Barry? – His lips curl like the name itself tastes bitter. – You know he’s not half as fun as me.

You almost laugh, shaking your head. – What are you even talking about?

– No, it’s fine, – He cuts in, like he’s just thinking out loud now. – Maybe you like being bored. Maybe that’s the problem.

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

You’re actually perplexed.

There is no path in the road of rational thought that could ever lead to the conclusion he got to. You don’t know whether he’s mocking you or if the sickness actually got to his head.

Rafe sees it, feels it, and that’s when he really grins, but there’s no joy to it. He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Then he leans in, voice dropping lower. – That’s it, isn’t it? – His fingers trail up your arm now, slow, barely touching. – You're tired of me. That's it.

– What?

His face darkens, and he looks away, laughing bitterly.

– Rafe, that’s not—

He exhales sharply, looking away like he’s already heard enough. His fingers slip from your wrist, dragging down your arm like he’s letting you go. Letting you leave.

– Never mind, – He mutters.

The change is instant. The teasing, the smugness—it’s gone. Now he just looks… defeated.

You hesitate, shifting on your feet. – Rafe.

He shakes his head. – No, I get it, – he says, voice quieter now. – You don’t have to explain.

Your stomach twists. – Where did you even get that from—

– I just thought you liked being around me, – He cuts in, and fuck, his voice wavers just slightly, just enough to make something inside you crack. – But if you need space you could’ve just said so.

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Because what are you supposed to say to that?

Rafe sighs again, rubbing his jaw. His fingers graze the bruise there, and for the first time since you walked in, he actually looks as tired as he claimed to be.

And suddenly, you feel awful.

– I don’t even know what you’re talking about. I'm not tired of you, Rafe. – You say, soft, reassuring. – You know that.

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. – Do I?

You frown, stepping closer before you can stop yourself. – Rafe.

He looks up at you then, and God, his eyes—wide, glassy, wounded.

You hate it.

You hate that he looks at you like that, like you’ve hurt him, like you’ve done something wrong.

So you sigh, sitting on the edge of the bed again, and putting the things on the nightstand just like before. – Don’t do this. – You murmur, smoothing your hand over his hair. He almost pulls away, but then he leans in, exhaling, like he can’t stop himself. – I'm not tired of you. I could never get tired of you. You're a person, Rafe. Not a toy.

Rafe doesn’t say anything. Just stares at you, his eyes widening again. Then, just as quickly as he pulled away, he shifts closer, tucking his head against your chest, arms wrapping around your waist, clinging. – Really?

His eyes are glassy, his voice cracks.

– Don’t play around, you know I’m serious. I’m not tired of you.

He burrows in closer, grasping, heaving. – God, yeah. Yeah. – He nods, rapidly, incessantly, the movement rough against your skin, like he’s breaking down. – Sometimes I forget. I’m sorry, baby. I keep forgetting.

– What? What are you talking about?

– That you’re not like them. – He sighs, and there’s so much relief, like you've lifted a weight off his shoulders. Like he can finally breathe. – That you’re good. That you’re not cruel. That you actually care about me.

– Rafe—

– You care about me. – He repeats. You no longer know whether he’s speaking to you or to himself, trying to get it through his brain. – You do, and you would never abandon me. You wouldn’t. Right?

His grip tightens around you, fingers pressing into your back like he’s afraid you’ll slip through them.

You hesitate. Because this—all of this—feels eerily familiar. But the way he’s looking at you now, wide-eyed and raw, makes it impossible to leave.

He’s backed you into a corner, and you have no choice but to open your arms.

– Of course not. – You murmur, threading your fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him. – I wouldn’t, Rafe. We're in this together now, okay? You can't get rid of me now.

Rafe exhales, shuddering, pressing himself closer to you. Like you just saved him. Like you just fixed something inside him. – Yeah. – He nods again, rapidly, like he’s convincing himself now. – Yeah, I know, baby. I know you wouldn’t.

His fingers flex against your back, and for a second, he just holds you there, silent.

Then, quietly—soft, almost like he doesn’t want you to hear it—

– I don’t think I could take it.

Your stomach twists.

Because it’s too soon.

It's too much.

It's too fast.

But that’s normal, right? He's not used to it. To being cared for. To being looked after. To being heard. The way you met was so weird and intense and overwhelming for him. A brush against death, one that he's convinced himself you saved him from. How could he be anything other than too much? How could he feel ever “normal” about this?

You know you don’t.

You attached too fast, too deeply. You can’t even see him hurt without thinking he's dying all over again. So of course he's weird about it.

You're weird about it.

Right?

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

Because what do you say to that?

What do you say when he’s wrapped around you like this, when he’s breathing you in like you’re the only thing keeping him here?

You just let him hold you.

And when he sighs again, nuzzling deeper into your chest, you feel it—the way his body finally relaxes, the way his grip loosens just enough to let you breathe, the way he hums, content, satisfied.

Like he’s won.

Like he knew you’d stay all along.

You exhale, threading your fingers through his hair. – Just lay down, okay Rafe? Get some rest.

– I'm fine. – He sniffles, but he looks at you, and he looks shattered.

– Please. Lay down for me, can you do that?

He hums, already relaxing, already settling. But as you move to lay him down, adjusting him against the pillows, his arms only tighten around you. – Lay down with me.

He pleads.

Like he still thinks you might disappear.

Like he needs to hold you.

You sigh again, letting your hand run soothingly down his back. – Rafe.

– Just for a minute, baby. Then you can go. – Rafe whispers, pressing his face closer, his voice barely above a whisper when he finally speaks. – Just don’t get tired of me.

You swallow hard. – I won’t.

You lay down next to him, settling on the pillows.

His arms pull you closer.

Not gently, not like he’s worried about hurting you—desperately. Like he was just waiting for you to give in, like now that you have, he’s going to make sure you can’t take it back.

His face presses against your collarbone, breath warm against your skin. His hands—broad, steady, greedy—slide under your shirt, but it isn’t heated, like it was before, just needy. He spreads his palm flat against your back, holding you there like he needs to feel you.

Like he needs proof that you’re real.

And you exhale, letting your fingers drift through his hair again, slow, soothing.

Rafe hums, the sound low, content. Then—just barely, just enough for you to notice—this weird sound escapes him. A hum. Maybe a huff, maybe a sigh, but it sounds like a laugh.

Your fingers still for a second.

– …What?

– Nothing, baby. – He sniffs, his voice thick with exhaustion, but you feel his smile against your skin. – Just—you’re so fucking nice to me.

Rafe grins, you can feel his smile against the sliver of skin your shit allows, and his free hand comes up, to your collarbone, to your tattoo, burrowing closer.

You don’t say anything.

And neither does he.

Slowly, his breathing evens out. His grip on you stays tight—like even in sleep, he doesn’t trust you not to leave—but you feel his body fully relax against yours, the tension melting out of him.

You should leave.

You should.

But you don’t.

Instead, you just lay there, fingers still threading through his hair, listening to his steady breathing, feeling the weight of him against you.

Because if he wakes up and you’re gone, what will he do?

Because if you leave, and he spirals again, and something happens—

No.

You don’t want to think about that.

So you stay.

Just for a little longer.

Just until you’re sure he’s really asleep.

You find yourself sneaking away from him as his breath weighs heavy. Taking the things from the nightstand like you're stealing. Fixing yourself in the mirror like you've done something wrong.

When you get to the door, you can’t help but look over your shoulder, making sure you’re safe, making sure he’s still asleep, like you used to do with your dad when he drank too much.

The thought sends a shiver down your spine, and you shake your head, as if to get the memory off of you, steps growing hasty as you climb down the steps, rushing to the kitchen.

The tray knocks softly against the counter, and you take the plates out thoughtlessly, running them under the sink, washing them obsessively, the stains on the plate, on the cup, on you, too risky to leave unattended.

– Hey! – Kareem’s voice echoes from behind you. You look over your shoulder. He’s disheveled, voice breathy. Way too surprised to see you. – Took you a while.

You focus on scrubbing, the foam of the espresso lingering on the ceramic. – Yeah, uhm. Rafe’s sick.

– Jesus. He didn’t puke on you, did he?

You pause, the perfect lie having just fallen on your lap. You stare at the sponge on your hand, unable to look Kareem in the eye. – Not on me. He was really sick though. Took me a while to get him to eat after that. Took me even longer to get him to sleep.

He laughs, but the sound is rushed. He’s shifting around on his feet. – You’re too nice, Routledge. I would’ve left him there. He would’ve choked on his own sick if it were up to me.

You shudder, shaking your head.

You’re back at Barry’s, laying on the ground, Rafe wretching as you hold him steady. You keep shaking your head until the image goes away. – Why are you doing that? Just put it in the dishwasher.

– Oh. – You look beside you, a perfectly good washer merely feet away. – I always forget people have those. I’m already halfway done.

– It’s okay, just leave it there. – There’s a noise behind you, steps. You look over, but Kareem interrupts your train of thought. – So! Uhm, you’ll never guess.

– What?

– Mr. Cameron came down here, when I was already one with the egg benedict, halfway through the hollandaise, with the bacon already on the skillet, and he told me he’s not gonna have any breakfast.

You chuckle, trying to pull yourself into the conversation. – How considerate of him.

– Right? Such a sweet man. – He takes the plate from the counter behind him, still lingering too close, like he’s blocking you, trying to keep you from running. You shake your head again. You’re acting paranoid. Kareem’s just being sweet. – Here you go. Left some for you, you look hungry.

– Feeding the orphans? I didn’t know you were charitable like that. – He chuckles, almost fooled by your normalcy. – What else do we have to do now, what are these people’s ridiculously specific breakfast orders?

– Uhm, none. Rose doesn’t eat breakfast, Sarah’s not here, Rafe’s already been fed and the only thing Wheezie ever eats is cereal, so we’re off the hook. We can just hang around, plan out the other meals and eat scraps like the dogs we are.

– Scraps are for the strays, my friend. Purebreds like you get full meals, especially in houses like this.

He raises a brow, unimpressed, unamused. – Ha-ha. Very funny.

– Thank you, comedy is my passion.

He shakes his head, and reaches for some paper, already getting you started on the prep. You’re glad for his practicality.

You let yourself sink into the routine.

Anything to keep your mind busy.

The hours pass in a blur of tasks—chopping, prepping, cleaning, planning, moving like you’re on autopilot. Your hands work faster than your thoughts, you like it that way. Every time you stop for too long, something creeps back in—the weight of Rafe’s arms around you, the way he sighed into your skin, the way he smiled against you.

So you don’t stop.

You joke with Kareem, toss out your sarcastic remarks, keep up the easy banter like it’s just another day. And he laughs, calls you a saint for dealing with Rafe every time he calls you up for something menial, rolls his eyes when you dodge his questions about why you took so long.

And for the most part, it works.

It works when you’re plating dishes, when you’re folding napkins, when you’re bickering with Kareem over the right way to season something.

It only falters in the quiet moments.

When you wipe down the counters and catch yourself scrubbing too hard, like you’re trying to wash something invisible off your hands. When you zone out in the pantry, staring at the shelves but not really seeing them. When you hear the faintest creak from upstairs and your stomach flips before you even realize what you’re reacting to.

But you shake it off. You force yourself to.

Before you know it, the day is gone.

The kitchen is clean, tomorrow’s meals are planned, and the only thing left is the quiet hum of the fridge and the last few scraps Kareem keeps picking at.

You exhale, leaning against the counter, forcing yourself to feel normal.

Because everything’s fine.

Right?

You leave Kareem again as he puts away the last of the shopping in its right, labeled place, and you drift back up to Rafe’s room, standing at the door, listening to his steady breathing, forcing yourself to feel at ease.

But you’re not.

You’re not as you close the door. You’re not as you climb down the steps. You’re not as you stand in the driveway, calling Barry for the second time as you wave goodbye to Kareem.

You’re once again staring out into the street, pondering whether to walk or call someone else when you hear a familiar rumble. In the distance, in the surprisingly dim light of the suburbs, you glimpse the red and yellow paint job of Barry’s— actually Rafe’s— bike.

He pulls over slowly, coming to a stop on the asphalt right before you, wearing a jacket you’ve never seen before, and no shoes.

– What’s up with you, Ghost Rider? Just come back from a rave or something? Whose clothes did you steal? – You’re chuckling to yourself, but your heart’s not in it, you’re still looking over your shoulder as you stand there, waiting for him to take off his helmet, for him to say something, do something. But he doesn’t. He stays there, hands clutching the handlebars, staring forward, without saying a word. – Bee? Jesus, what happened now? Are you okay?

You’re getting shifty. Something's wrong, you can feel it.

Your hand is shaking as you lay it on your best friend’s shoulder, silently pleading that he look at you, say something to you, just give you a sign that he’s alive. But he just turns away.

You hear a light scoff, the sound muddled under the heavy helmet.

– Barry, for fuck’s sakes, just say something, this ghostface act is freaking me out! – He laughs again, just as bitter. – Barry!

He flips the visor, looking back at you with nothing but scorn in his eyes. But these aren’t Barry’s eyes. These eyes are blue.

You step back, shaking more than you can hide. – Where—What— You keep mumbling, but the words don’t come out. You don’t even know what you want to say.

You want to run. You want to hide.

But when you step away again, this person’s hand comes up to wrap around your wrist, and he wrings you closer, nails digging into your arms. – Get off of me. Get off— You want to scream, but it comes out as a whisper. You’re backing up, your voice hoarse in your throat, your pulse roaring in your ears, and then your eyes catch it.

Right under the collar of his shirt, just underneath the collarbone. The same letters that are engraved into your skin. The same words in the same place.

He lets go of you, watching you stumble back so desperately you fall, seated, onto the grass, and only then does he take the helmet off.

You see his hair before you see his face. The mess of blonde strands that spill out from under the cushioned helmet. But not the usual mess, the mess you’d expect from JJ, the mess he gets whenever he wears a helmet.

It’s a very specific chaos. The sort he gets when he runs his hands through his hair so much he starts tearing it out.

– So it’s true, huh? – JJ’s voice is a blade, a blunt one, it beats you before it can cut. – When John B said it, I couldn’t believe it. I thought you’d never do that. You’d never be so fucking stupid.

– JJ—

– No. – He barely refrains from screaming it, looking away, his fingers clenched so tight around the plastic visor you see his knuckles pale. – You’re not gonna do this to me again! There’s nothing you can say to me right now. Nothing!

– Barry— Where— Your voice dies in your throat. You’re trembling. You don’t know why. You don’t know how, but you can’t stop it.

– Barry doesn’t fucking matter, get on the bike. – You try to swallow, you shake your head, but he doesn’t let you. He reaches forward, grabbing you by the arm again. – Get on the fucking bike right now!

@chatgtfo @bitterdotcom @xmayankax @bluethperson @coralblue35 @myluvingera @munsoncultedits @the-bitch-who-binges @im-julessssss @redkarmakai @hwaaholic @sydkneez @sassyvilliantrope @vampiriito @sassybearfire

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tinyluvs · 4 months ago

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⁺‧₊˚ fifteen minutes 𖤐 alpha&ifrit ˚₊‧⁺

❥ summary; ifrit makes a claim, alpha challenges him about it ❥ warnings; blow job, anal sex, tail play, alpha is a meanie /pos ❥ author notes; alexa, play 15 minutes by sabrina carpenter x ❥ wc; 6k ₊˚⊹♡⁺‧₊˚𖤐 read on ao3; ˗ˏˋ ꒰꒰ here !! ꒱꒱ ˎˊ˗ 𖤐˚₊.⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

“i can do a lot with fifteen minutes,”

alpha scoffs when the words pass ifrit’s lips, the way he says it annoys him. ifrit’s overly confident, head tilted back and his chin held high as he makes a claim that is, quite frankly, absurd, in alpha’s opinion, “you couldn't punch your way out of a wet paper bag in fifteen minutes sparky,” he grunts, leaning back in his chair

luckily there’s no one else in the den, just the two of them to hear the stupid nickname alpha has been calling ifrit, since forever. the television drones on in the background, whatever film they had put on, after an hour of disagreements no doubt, has gone forgotten about

“i could,” ifrit frowns from his spot on the couch, the furniture positioned in a way so that alpha is almost directly across from him, arms crossed, thighs spread and frowning right back at him. so, though he doesn’t know why, ifrit doubles down, “i can do a whole lot with fifteen minutes, actually,”

even though he’s doubling down, the confidence in his tone has wavered and of course, alpha has noticed, a small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, “oh yeah?,” he asks, cocking his head to the side by an inch

unfortunately for ifrit, he won’t realise the way alpha is goading him, pulling him into a trap until it’s too late and of course, alpha knows that too. it’s a regular cat and mouse game they play, alpha setting the trap and practically dragging ifrit by the scruff of his neck into it and poor ifrit is always too stupid to realise it, every single time

“uh huh,” ifrit lilts, a nod pulling at his head even though alpha still looks thoroughly unconvinced but then again, maybe that’s just his face, the thought makes ifrit want to laugh but he refrains. instead he leans forward a little and hums, “would only take me two to make you finish,”

in hindsight, ifrit should've known what was coming next from the way alpha didn’t even have the decency to laugh in his face. the older fire ghoul stays eerily silent, his head cocked to the side, his tongue dragging over his bottom lip, light reflecting off his piercing, and after too many seconds of silence,

“come on then,”

if ifrit wants to make such a bold claim he better be ready to put his money where his mouth is and alpha can think of at least three places ifrit’s mouth could be right now, instead of running a never ending stream of bullshit

the enjoyment alpha gets out of watching ifrit’s jaw drop and the way his hands clench next to his thighs is borderline sick but ifrit recovers too quickly for him to properly enjoy it, “i didn’t say i wanted to,” ifrit huffs, rolling his eyes

it’s a bold face lie and they both know it. ifrit is turned on just from the thought of it, his cock threatening to kick and harden, tent up in his pants until he can’t hide it from alpha and alpha can smell it all over him, knowing all to well if he were to reach into ifrit’s boxers, the younger fire ghoul would leak straight into his palm

“fine,” alpha barks, settling further back into the ugly plush armchair he’s claimed as his own. he averts his attention back towards the television and ifrit thinks it’s over and done with but ifrit is also a little stupid, “never took you for a liar, sparky”

if there’s one thing about alpha it’s that he has to have the last word, never willing to be outdone in any argument or fight and it drives ifrit crazy, mostly because he has never managed to come up with anything witty to say in response to alpha’s comments, nothing that doesn’t sound utterly pathetic anyway

ifrit growls, as he always does when alpha strikes low and as always, alpha growls back, louder but it's playful, teasing, goading with a flash of his fangs, sharp and dangerous. ifrit wants to punch alpha in his stupid face and perfect fangs

“i am not a liar,” ifrit hisses and shoots up from his spot on the couch, his fists balled up at his sides. he springs up from the couch at such speed, he ends up halfway across the room, much closer to alpha than he planned to be but incidentally, he’s exactly where alpha wants him to be

alpha whistles low, rakes his eyes up and down ifrit’s body, almost trembling with annoyance, before he drums his fingers against his biceps, “yeah you are,” he comments and leans forwards, until his elbows are pressing to his knees, “otherwise, you’d prove it,”

the way alpha says it, low, grumbled and indignant, lights a fire inside of ifrit and before he can think better of it, he falls head first into alpha’s trap. ifrit pounces and closes the distance between them, landing right in alpha’s lap, his hands scrambling to grip at the neckline of alpha’s shirt, or maybe just his neck, ifrit isn’t sure

“shut up,” ifrit grunts and before alpha can open his mouth, barely managing to smirk, ifrit crashes their mouths together. a harsh press that is made all too obvious by the way their fangs collide while ifrit tries, and fails, to establish dominance over the situation

fierce claws rake down ifrit’s thighs, shoved in tight between alpha’s waist and the arms of the chair, and ifrit doesn’t have to look to know alpha’s shredded thin lines down his pants, he can feel the tips of his claws pricking at his skin and it makes him gasp, his entire body jerking

this opens alpha’s gateway into being in control, less of a fight for it and more of alpha just taking it like candy from a baby. as ifrit’s lips part alpha’s tongue slips straight past, pressing hot and wet against ifrit’s own. the piercings sat in the center of both of their tongues catch briefly and of course, alpha comes out on top when ifrit yelps at the pull, muffled by their mouths smushed together

they part briefly, their mouths inches apart while they paw at each other. ifrit yanks alpha’s shirt hard enough for the bigger ghoul to get the message. alpha sits forward just long enough for ifrit to undress him while simultaneously reaching back to pull his own off too, throwing the offending items into a pile on the floor to be forgotten about

ifrit’s hands pull downwards, away from alpha’s neck and down his bare chest as his hips cant forwards, dragging his ass over alpha’s crotch where he can feel his cock kicking to life underneath him, matching his own as it fills out fully in his pants

“rules,” alpha grunts, barely pulling away from the kiss long enough to huff the word before he’s back, biting harshly at ifrit’s lips. there’s nothing gentle in the way alpha does anything, it’s always rough, overwhelming, the good type of painful and ifrit, shamefully, can’t get enough

they’re both fire ghouls, one of the same, made from the same mold and yet, somehow, alpha makes ifrit feel hotter than he could ever imagine being possible. it’s all consuming in the way the surface of ifrit’s skin tingles, a sweat taking over his body as alpha’s hands wander

he can’t help but lose himself in it for a minute, his head tilts back, kiss broken and forgotten about as ifrit feels the path alpha’s large heated hands are taking over his body. they squeeze hard at his thighs, his hips and then his waist, all in quick succession before sliding around to the base of his spine

alpha lets ifrit’s tail harass and coil around his wrist, intertwining with his fingers, because like everything up until this point, it’s all part of his plan. as is his next move. alpha lulls ifrit into a false sense of security, letting the younger ghoul relax into his touch and then, he tugs hard, pulling harshly at ifrit’s tail

“fuck,” ifrit growls as he’s forced back into the reality of the situation. he thumps his hands against alpha’s shoulders, shoving him against the back of the chair, “asshole,” he hisses through gritted teeth, scowling down at the larger ghoul, who’s smirking, underneath him

“rules,” alpha repeats, ignoring what ifrit said, knowing it annoys him endlessly, “you have fifteen minutes, make me cum, sparky,” alpha drawls, darting upwards to bite at ifrit’s neck, not hard enough to do damage but enough to further annoy him

ifrit is about to scramble off of him, sink low between his thigh thicks and get him off, get it over and done with and then get the hell out of dodge but alpha grabs at his waist, halting his movements so he can snarl against ifrit’s jaw, “if you don’t, and you won’t, i get to have my way with you,”

his tone is low, dark, threatening and it zaps up ifrit’s spine like electricity, jolting his body like he’s been shocked, “i will,” ifrit snaps, his teeth and fangs clashing together a hairline away from alpha’s earlobe

“get on with it then,” alpha grunts and forces his hips up, rutting the obvious bulge in his pants against ifrit’s ass before he shoves hard at ifrit, almost pushing him straight off of the chair all together. every single action he makes is meant to annoy ifrit more and judging by the way the vein in ifrit’s neck strains, it’s working

briefly ifrit thinks that he could, should, leave, get up and leave alpha there, hard and leaking into his pants with only his own fist to get himself off but the thought dissipates fast as ifrit slips from the chair and settles on his knees between alpha’s thick thighs, sealing his fate

alpha gets comfortable, arms crossed over his chest as he leans back into his chair. he rolls his hips up and the tent in his pants sways, to and fro, right in front of ifrit’s face, “get on with it,” alpha repeats, feigning boredom the longer ifrit takes to move

ifrit wants to bark at him but he just can’t, he’s too busy darting his tongue across his bottom lip, his mouth starting to water just thinking about tasting alpha. he reaches up, curls his fingers underneath the waistband of alpha’s pants and pulls hard, yanking them down to his knees

the movement is rushed and clumsy, leaving alpha to hiss embarrassingly loud as his cock catches on the edge of his pants before springing free, slapping his belly and smearing pre over the dusted line of hairs that start underneath his navel and travel further downwards

though both ghouls are similar, everything that ifrit is, alpha is more. taller, thicker, broader, and his cock is no different. ifrit can’t help but lick his lips as his gaze settles on alpha’s fat tip, shiny with slick and throbbing gently in time with a vein that runs down the length of him

at risk of being told to get on with it again, ifrit closes in. he pushes up onto his knees, settles his hands on alpha’s bare thighs, just above his knees, and is about to swoop low, bring his mouth to alpha’s cock but, alpha stops him

“wait,” he grumbles as he slides his hand into ifrit’s hair, gripping too hard to stop the ghoul in his tracks. ifrit yelps, the harsh tug close to the roots of his hair brings tears to his eyes but alpha just rolls his eyes at him, his free hand shooting out to grab his phone from the arm of the chair

ifrit flicks his tongue out, managing to lick across alpha’s slit quickly. he earns himself another tug at his hair but he doesn’t miss the way alpha’s stomach clenches and his cock kicks, it’s a small victory for ifrit but it’s incredibly short lived as alpha turns his phone and blinds him with the brightness of it

a timer has already started counting down from fifteen minutes, an unfair but calculated move on alpha’s part. ifrit growls and reaches up, shoving alpha’s hand away from his head and then he doesn’t waste another second

usually ifrit would take his time. he’d swirl his tongue around the tip of alpha’s cock, suck it between his lips until alpha was grunting and then kiss down the underside until he’s mouthing at his balls but, he simply doesn’t have time to do that right now, so, he swallows alpha whole, from tip to root in one movement

“fuck frit,” alpha rasps as his cock hits the back of ifrit’s throat. his hand flies back to its spot in ifrit’s hair but he doesn’t tug as he did before, instead he cards his fingers through ifrit’s hair lightly. his head tilts back when ifrit hums in response around him, sending vibrations straight down his cock

it comes as a surprise to both of them that ifrit could even take alpha in one go, his cock is thick, intrusive in the way it stretches ifrit’s lips so wide that the threat of the corners splitting a little looms over his head like a dark cloud. that combined with the rumbled gag that works its way through his throat, ifrit decides to back off a little, give himself a second to breathe

he doesn’t stop completely though, he’s on a mission and every second is crucial. his mind wanders with his plan of attack and he can’t help but smirk, as he bobs his head over alpha’s tip, with the feeling that he has this in the bag, this is his time to win

“fuck you smirkin’ for?,” alpha asks, rolling his hips up and using the hand in ifrit’s hair to tilt the younger ghouls head back a little. alpha glares down at him, deep red, almost burgundy, eyes burning into ifrit’s brighter orange ones

ifrit pulls all the way off of alpha’s cock, using his tongue to push the pool of spit and pre out past his lips, letting it drip and run down alpha’s length, “think ‘m gonna win,” ifrit states quickly before chasing the mess he’s made with his tongue

once again ifrit’s words make alpha scoff, partially, as it gets cut short by a moan vibrating out of his throat as ifrit starts to suck him back into his mouth, “like hell you are,” he objects, watching the way ifrit’s shoulders rise and fall in a shrug

they reach an impasse where ifrit’s response isn’t good enough for alpha, he’s still too confident, too sure of himself and alpha just has to knock it. he taps his phone, delighted to see the timer going down, “three minutes in, thought you said you could make me finish in two,” he points out, slow and overly annoying

it has its desired effect though because ifrit falters, his mouth coming to stop over alpha’s cock briefly while he realises, rather suddenly, that this might be harder than he anticipated. alpha can, and will, last for hours, ifrit has experienced it firsthand, many, many times

ifrit makes a split second decision, knowing he needs to double his efforts if he really wants to win this stupid bet. he quickly shoves his pants and boxers down his thighs, enough to expose his ass and his wet little hole

alpha watches, his jaw slowly dropping, as ifrit pulls off of him completely. ifrit’s tail swishes before bending in half and disappearing out of alpha’s sight. the spade hovers just above ifrit’s balls and there’s a gentle slick sound as it inches higher, teasing around his dripping rim just enough to get itself wet

“eleven minutes,” alpha says, trying to sound as uninterested as he can but he struggles, what he’s watching is incredibly alluring, even he can’t deny that. ifrit gently starts to stroke over his cock, just a little too loosely while he concentrates on easing his tail past his tight rim

“o-oh fuck,” ifrit moans, loud and unabashedly as his tail slips in, immediately pulling out only to push straight back in. normally ifrit would work himself open slowly and intimately but for now, this will have to do, he can manage it

suddenly, ifrit’s hand speeds up over alpha’s cock, forcing a low grunt from the bigger fire ghoul as his cock pulses, spitting pre over ifrit’s fingers. ifrit’s strokes fall in time with his tail plunging in and out of his hole leaving a double set of rhythmic wet sounds to echo around the room

a stream of moans tumble past alpha’s lips as his head tips back onto the back cushion of the chair. his fingers tighten a little in ifrit’s hair and his hips start to buck up unevenly, the smug feeling settles back into ifrit’s chest

the flat spade of ifrit’s tail starts to rub over his prostate, burying itself deep in his frantic attempt to work himself open just enough for what he wants to do next. it doesn't take long, ifrit doesn't allow it to and while alpha is lost in his pleasure for a moment, not paying nearly enough attention to ifrit, the younger ghoul quickly pulls off of him

“ifrit,” alpha growls, his head snapping down, chin to his chest as all the stimulation to his cock ceases. he tries to grab at ifrit, his claws scraping over ifrit’s wrists, a futile attempt to get his hands back on him but ifrit moves just a little bit too fast

“shut up,” ifrit growls back, eyes flickering to the red lines raked over his wrists. he surges upwards, clambering back into alpha’s lap while kicking his pants down and off of his ankles, “just shut up,” ifrit repeats, a strong scowl over his face

alpha, for maybe the first time in his life, listens to someone else. he stays quiet and watches as ifrit’s tail pulls out of him and returns to swishing through the air behind him. this time though, there’s drips of slick being flicked across the rug, alpha can’t contain his moan over it

neither of the ghouls can contain their grunts when ifrit sinks down onto alpha’s cock, all of a sudden and straight to the base. alpha starts to worry ifrit might win this when his stomach tenses horribly, the low burning feeling starting to intensify while ifrit clenches hot, wet and tight around him

unbeknownst to alpha, alarm bells are ringing in ifrit’s head too. his teeth grind as alpha’s cock stretches his hole much wider than he was prepared for, a burn that he’ll be feeling for a while but it’s worth it to knock alpha’s ego, like he’s been wanting to do since he met him

“are you going to move or not,” alpha huffs, his fingers pinching at ifrit’s waist hard enough to at least leave a mark of scattered purple bruises that’ll be reminding ifrit of this for days to come

ifrit snaps his fangs at the pinch and plants his hands against alpha’s stomach, either side of where his cock is wagging and smearing pre over alpha’s happy trail, “yes,” he grits, giving an experimental roll of his hips, “give me a minute,”

alpha smirks something filthy, his eyes drifting over to his phone that’s balancing haphazardly on the arm of the chair, “you only have eight left, sparky,”

he’s insufferable, ifrit decides as he starts to lift his hips out of pure spite. alpha’s cock drags inside of him just right, the veins that scatter up alpha’s thick length throb against him enough to make both of their breaths catch in their throats

when ifrit starts to bounce moments later, he does it with earnest, setting a brutal pace that make his thighs burn as his fucks himself down onto alpha repeatedly. ifrit’s cock bounces too, slapping against alpha’s stomach in time with the clap of skin between their thighs

an epiphany hits alpha out of nowhere as he stares down at ifrit’s stiff cock. he never said he was going to play this game fairly, that wasn’t part of the rules. it’s cruel but he can’t help himself as he thinks ifrit could use a hand, he looks awfully hard and he’s far too busy using his hands for leverage to keep the brutal pace he’s set

“pretty cock,” alpha purrs seductively as he walks his fingers over ifrit’s hip, elated in the way ifrit hisses at the claws pricking over his skin. ifrit’s hips stutter, bucking forwards and accidentally grinding alpha’s cock right against his prostate

“a-alpha don’t,” ifrit partially begs, his gaze trailing after alpha’s hand that’s inching ever closer to his twitching cock, and oh…

that, lights a fire inside of alpha. he grins, his tongue trapped between his teeth, piercing knocking against enamel. his hands ghost up the length of ifrit’s cock, barely touching him but ifrit loses the fight with the small mewl erupting its way out of his mouth

all the smugness and hope ifrit previously had about winning, he doesn’t have anymore, it drains away from his body with an abrupt wail when alpha flicks the head of his cock before skirting his fist downwards, from tip to root

“f-fuck, oh my-,” ifrit shudders, his body getting stuck between trying to fuck down onto alpha’s length and trying to push his cock upwards through alpha’s tight clutch. ifrit’s cock is dripping a steady stream of pre that coats alpha’s fingers every time they slide over his slit, every stroke making his cock pulse and force more to bubble out of his tip

there’s no doubt in alpha’s mind that he’s going to win this thing when his phone illuminates and the timer has dropped to four minutes. he can hold out for four more minutes easily, ifrit though, he doesn’t have a hope in hell

ifrit looks nothing short of a state. his body is covered in little pink and purple marks and scratches, his hot cock is sliding wetly through alpha’s fist ruthlessly and his taut hole gets, somehow, tighter with every clench around alpha’s cock, his tip ramming and nailing against ifrit’s prostate on every single thrust

“you’re going to spill,” alpha lilts a mean sing song as he catches on to all the signs that he knows, for a fact, mean ifrit’s getting close. he’s had enough time since ifrit got summoned to figure them all out. ifrit really can’t fool him, alpha can see right through him

“no, i’m no-fuh, not,” ifrit pants like a dog while he tries to convince alpha, or himself, he’s not sure, that he’s not. his eyes pinch shut and his head tilts back, further proving alpha’s point

a low hum rumbles through alpha’s chest, sounding too thoughtful to be sincere, “so, it won’t matter if i do this then,” he says and without giving ifrit a single second to figure out what he means, alpha bucks his hips and starts to drill up into ifrit

between that and alpha’s hand flying over his cock ifrit can only choke out a wet sob as pleasure courses through his body. heat licks at his nerve endings as alpha uses him for all he’s worth, knowing all the little things that drive ifrit even closer to his impending orgasm

“only two minutes left, princess,” alpha grunts, his voice starting to sound scratchy and rough, one of his telltale signs that he’s getting close and it’s no wonder when ifrit is clamping down around him like a dripping wet vice

“al-shit, alpha,” ifrit wails and drags the word out, his body starting to sag and sway. his thighs burn, muscles almost vibrating under the surface of his skin. his balls start to draw up and with that, he’s on the edge and he knows it, there’s nothing he can do to help himself now

a minute and a half left and alpha knows he’s got this in the bag, “it’s okay, give in to it,” he coos insincerely, squeezing hard at ifrit’s waist and lightly at his cock, “squirt for me, sparky,” he continues to coo, his eyebrows raising slowly as ifrit’s jaw starts to drop

ifrit reaches his breaking point immediately when alpha rubs the pad of this thumb over his slit, pressing down against wet sensitive skin to slide back and forth. ifrit didn’t really stand a chance. he’s reduced to just sounds and sobs, words utterly useless to him as his orgasm rips through his body

his cock jerks in alpha’s palm, the whole length tensing simultaneously with ifrit yelping through clenched teeth, his jaw grinding together so hard it pops audibly

thick ropes of cum splash up alpha’s chest, making the bigger ghoul jerk involuntarily with each hot spurt, “fucking hell frit,” alpha grunts, veins in his neck straining because of how tight ifrit is squeezing around his cock

the hand alpha has around ifrit’s cock slows to a stop but the hand he has clinging to ifrit’s waist pulls, rolling ifrit over his own cock, “told you i’d win,” alpha lulls, smirking lazily

the post orgasm haze sets in heavily in ifrit’s mind but alpha’s words pierce through the fog like a knife and ifrit whines, “n-no, i, oh fuh-h, i can do it,” he hiccups through his words and tries to move up alpha’s cock, immediately regretting it when his entire body goes stiff with sensitivity

before alpha can tease that he can’t, fully prepared to shatter ifrit’s hope, his phone does it for him. a sharp, loud tone shrills from alpha’s phone and a cold sweat zaps down ifrit’s spine with the realisation, he’s lost. alpha has the opposite reaction, his cock kicking with excitement

“oh sweetheart, times up,” alpha jeers, clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth as he silences his phone. his tone is dark, sinister and bordering on threatening, ifrit hates it and loves it all at the same time, “what happens now?” he asks, smoothing a hand over ifrit’s thigh, the other gripping tight at his jaw

ifrit whines, high and caught in the back of his throat as he leans into alpha’s hold. he knows what alpha wants and he knows better than to try and dodge the question, “you get t’have your way with me,” ifrit relays alpha’s rules with a slight garble

“fuck yeah i do,” alpha growls, wasting no time in just taking what he wants, ifrit’s had his fun, he gets to have his now. thankfully, ifrit is soft, loose limbed and overly pliant, perfect for alpha to manhandle him into the position he wants him in

there’s a flurry of movements, none of which ifrit can keep up with. one second he was sat in alpha’s lap, the next alpha was standing with an arm wrapped around his waist and the next, he was kneeling on the plush arm chair, his arms draped over the back while alpha stands behind him, looming in his peripheral vision

quickly, ifrit’s tail flicks out and for a second time alpha lets it coil around his hand and twist up his wrist and like the first time, he yanks hard, pulling ifrit back and impaling him back onto his throbbing cock

ifrit howls, his back arching with it at the same time his hands scrabble for purchase against the fabric of the chair, the overwhelming urge to sink into something, to ground himself, washes over him like a wave. someone will ask about the slight slices in the fabric at a later date and they’ll both feign innocence

“so fuckin’ tight,” alpha grunts, genuinely curious as to how he’s so tight when ifrit has been sat on his cock for long enough to get him loose but he’s not going to complain, especially not when ifrit clenches over the statement, getting even tighter

alpha sets a pace only he could keep up with, a shocking slap of skin on skin between their bodies and a dull thud where his heavy balls thump against ifrit’s, still tight and drawn up. he’s just proving a point, albeit he won’t last long doing it, not with ifrit lazily pressing back to meet his thrusts in the middle but it’ll be worth it. it already has been, he’s already won

a large hot hand snakes up ifrit’s sweaty spine, all the way up and around to the front of his neck, squeezing tight enough for alpha to pull him back to his chest, pressing their bodies close. ifrit’s hands reach back blindly, claws catching alpha’s flank in a desperate bid to just, feel

“gonna make me fuckin’ cum,” alpha grunts into ifrit’s ear with a heated breath and quiet pant, absurdly desperate for it in a way he didn’t even know he could be. his hand tightens around ifrit’s throat, feeling the rumble of whines and moans before they spill past ifrit’s lips

“please, i’m gonna, please,” ifrit babbles incoherently, leaving alpha confused for a half second before he catches on to where ifrit’s free hand is wrapped around his half limp cock, stilled because the force of alpha’s thrusts do all the work for him, typical fucking ifrit

alpha hangs his head, eyes falling onto the milky white ring around the base of his cock and something in his stomach winds tight, too tight, “lucifer,” alpha pants, willing himself to look away quickly before he spills, “f-fucking creamin’, you’re a mess, sparky,” he rasps, his voice scratching a little half way through his favourite nickname for ifrit

“make it worse,”

ifrit’s demand irritates alpha, never one to be told what to do but he’s so close, too close, that he doesn’t think he could hold off any longer just to prove a point, just to growl and huff for ifrit to be quiet, to ask him who he thinks he is trying to dictate the situation when alpha is the one in control here, he’s always in control

a tilt of his hips and a repeated nailing against ifrit’s prostate seems to shut him up though. well, his words at least, a cascade of pathetic little whimpers and whines still surge from his mouth, strained sounds every time alpha bullies his cock just a bit deeper inside of him

“f-uck,” ifrit hiccups as alpha rubs at his slit. he couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment his hand got slapped away from his cock and replaced with alpha’s but he knows it does because alpha’s hand feels different. bigger and warmer, littered with callouses that ifrit could map out in his sleep

two more thrusts and on the third, alpha fucks into ifrit just right and hits home, putting both of them dangerously on the edge. a growl leaves their throats simultaneously, alpha’s low and rumbling like thunder, shaking the window panes in their frames. ifrit’s is louder, higher pitched, shivering up out of his body but they both sound desperate and frantic

“spill sparky, i know you wanna,” alpha rumbles, his hips starting to jerk in sporadic thrusts. he point blank refuses to be the one to cum first and he knows he can get ifrit there before he does, if he just, “give it to me ‘frit”

he’s not asking, he’s telling, with accentuated short thrusts that drive his point home and ifrit is too far gone to protest. he wails as he spills over alpha’s fist in short little squirts, overstimulation taking over his body while his cock pulses in time with his heart hammering in his chest

ifrit whimpers, his body trembling as he slumps back into alpha’s chest. his hips slam back, burying alpha to the hilt inside of him, “fuck, oh fuck,” alpha shouts, his head tipping back while ifrit clamps down around him like a hot vice ��

the second ifrit had shot his first load over alpha’s chest, alpha knew he was going to get him back, the sweetest form of revenge, his favourite

his hand pushes on ifrit’s back, shoving him forwards and against the back of the chair. then, he winds his fingers into ifrit’s hair, pressing on his head to keep him still as ifrit pants, his cheek smushed into the cushion

alpha hisses as he pulls out of ifrit too fast, leaving the younger ghoul gaping around nothing. ifrit’s suddenly too empty and it makes him whine, “n-no, in alph’, in,” ifrit begs, though he makes no attempt to move, he couldn’t even if he wanted to

“s-shut up, i won, my way,” alpha snarls through a grunt. his free hand barely even tickles over his cock before he shoots hot and thick up ifrit’s spine, fat drips of cum trickle downwards with every new load that erupts from his slit

“no, no, no,” ifrit whines, sounding beyond pathetic. he tries to his push his ass back as alpha makes a mess of him but doesn’t get very far with alpha still holding him down

a thin sheen of sweat coats their bodies as they attempt to catch their breaths, chests expanding shakily as they recover. ifrit’s back glistens with a mix of sweat and cum, splattered from his ass to his shoulder blades, alpha thinks he looks like a perverted piece of art

“fuck,” alpha grunts as he straightens up, and lets go of ifrit, something low in his back popping as he stretches his spine out. ifrit mewls quietly, almost to himself but alpha hears it and gets curious, looking down just in time

ifrit is still partially bent over, his pretty pink hole winks at alpha while it attempts to clench around something, anything. alongside it, the spade of his tail moves sluggishly, going in the direction of a small puddle of cum

the thin leathery spade on the end of ifrit’s tail curls in on around the edges making its shape something akin to a spoon and before alpha can ask what he’s doing, ifrit scoops the little pool of cum up and deposits it carefully into his ass, letting it drip, drip, drip, from the tip of his tail

“lucifer, you’re so desperate,” alpha scoffs with a roll of his eyes, though he can’t stop himself from watching. his eyes trail and map the path ifrit’s tail is taking up his back, “kind of embarrassing,” he huffs after a little while

“wanted it inside,” ifrit whines, high and reedy. he pinches his eyes shut as the spade of his tail wipes around his hole, pressing flat against his rim. out of the corner of his eye he watches alpha bending to grab his phone off of the floor, when and how it got there, ifrit doesn’t know, he wonders if he sent it flying by accident

distantly ifrit hears alpha tapping his phone, unlocking it he thinks but then, the little clicks of pictures being taken, of the embarrassing state of him no less but ifrit finds it just a little bit hot. he knows alpha will use those pictures for his own entertainment at some point

alpha raises his eyebrows at ifrit when he gets closer to him again, bending and hanging right over ifrit’s body as his tail seemingly completes its job, as a reward ifrit lets his spade sit comfortably just inside of his ruined hole

“don’t make bets you won’t fucking win,” alpha huffs, nipping at ifrit’s neck at the same time he slips two fingers past his relaxed rim, soaking the tips with slick and cum

ifrit cries with it, his body twitching and shaking as he pulls away from alpha, twisting in the chair until he’s slumping into it. he looks up at alpha with wet eyes and alpha, snickers at him and then turns on his heel

“you won’t ever win sparky, remember that,” alpha calls out as he throws his clothes over his shoulder and saunters out of the room, licking and sucking messily at his fingers, leaving ifrit spent, panting and naked in the arm chair

ifrit will remember it, it won’t stop him from trying again though

thanks for reading! remember to like! reblog! & comment! i’ll give you a kiss if you do, mwah! send prompts to my ask box!

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