#but I do think that in a just world no woman would feel lazy for leaving without makeup

[astrangergivingthestrangewelcome]

I do not think evangelizing on the double standard of women being expected to wear makeup everyday to grown women is actually productive or respectful (provided they are not judging me for not wearing makeup), we can all make our own decisions on how to walk through this world, however, it is true that whenever a woman in my daily life equates making themselves decent and presentable with having a coat of natural makeup on, I do have to viscerally repress the urge to shake them by the shoulders and scream that they've been had.

[f0point5]

would you consider writing the time when max realized that he loved yn?

i remember that he was like in a mindset of idgaf what happens with her im js happy being best friends and having her in my life but i wonder how he got to that point

The way this came out…idk I hope you like it 😂 I really wish I’d retconned this whole situation but I stayed true to the fic timeline.

I just…I really hope you don’t hate it 🫠

✨Set after Max wins his 3rd championship in Qatar✨

Honestly, who (is he) to fight the alchemy?

Max has been in love before. He knows what it feels like. It felt like winning a race. The adrenaline, the elation, the satisfaction, the sliver of relief. He didn’t think there was a better feeling, and if you feel that when you’re with someone, then that must be love.

He never felt like that with you. So he wasn’t in love. He loved you, but he wasn’t in love. Thank God for that, he’d always thought to himself. Max didn’t put effort into games he wouldn’t win and the games you played with men didn’t have a rule book. He was just so lucky, to have you as a friend, and a roommate, and a feline co-parent, and that’s how it would stay.

Except, when the journalist had asked him if you were going to live with him after he retired, he didn’t know what to say. Of course you would, except, how would your boyfriend feel about that? And of course he wanted you to, but he wanted a family, too. But you were family, in some complicated way that he’d never realised before that moment might mean that you wouldn’t always be…with him.

And he didn’t have the desire or the language skills to explain that to a random German journalist. He’d rattled off some answer about how he never knew what the future would bring. It was true, he didn’t think much about the future. But he should have, because when he did it always had you in it.

He wanted a house, and a wife, and kids. It wasn’t like he envisaged doing all that with you. Except, he hadn’t envisaged doing any of it without you, either. It was always you imagined having breakfast with, you he imagined would teach his kids to ski, you he thought about when he thought about buying one of those mansions in the hills above Monaco. Naively, he hadn’t imagined either of you with partners that would mind you and Max living your lives together. It sounded fucking stupid when he thought about it. But, it’s not like he was going to marry you, because he’s not in love with you.

It’s not like I’m in love with her. He’d said that before.

Aren’t you, Max?

Isn’t he?

Is he?

So now here he is, at this totally-not-a-party party, celebrating his this third world championship, wondering if he’s in love. Wondering if that even matters. The music is loud, not enough to drown out his thoughts. He can’t even drink too much because he still has a race tomorrow. He feels lightheaded enough.

He doesn’t know why he’s questioning himself. He has an answer. He knows what being in love feels like, and he doesn’t feel that about you. How he does feel about you, is…not quantifiable. Except he’d really like a name for it right about now. One that’s not going to spin his whole world off its axis. But then, he’s not exactly the axis, is he? Not really.

He should feel like the centre of the universe tonight. He’s lost count of how many times he’s received praise and congratulations, plaudits, and pictures, even gifts. Everyone wants to be in his orbit, everyone wants to talk to him, everyone except you.

You’re leaning against the balcony, bopping along to the music, talking to his dad of all people, your flushed face and lazy grin telltale signs you’ve had too much to drink. Jos is as close as he ever gets to smiling, a telltale sign he’s had too much to drink, and the two of you are, as usual, talking over each other. His eyes linger on your long legs and gentle curves. It would be cutting a corner, to say he’s in love with you, because how can you not be at least a little bit infatuated with the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen? But that’s not love, exactly. Even half drunk, with all this talk of spinning and the party beginning to blur at its edges, the only thing he can see clearly is you. You don’t even notice him looking, because you’re so used to feeling eyes on you.

No, being around you has never felt like winning much of anything. It actually feels a bit like he’s fighting for his life. It feels like…driving, he realises, as the gin starts to hit.

Being around you was like being in the RB19. Like being behind the wheel of something that could kill you, but fits you like a second skin. Like the illusion of having control of a force of nature. It was like living on a knife edge, but building a home there. Comfortable with the uncomfortable, they’d called him, and nothing had ever made him as uncomfortable as you.

If that was being in love, he’d probably been in love with you for as long as his dad said he was.

You don’t notice him looking, but Jos does. He waves Max over, and Max is glad for an excuse. His body gets up before he’s decided to, and he blinks furiously as he walks, trying to focus his thoughts enough to hold a conversation with you when he’s beginning to think he might-

“Maxy,” you say, grinning like it’s the first time you’ve seen him all night.

Fuck. Fuck.

Oh, fuck. The gin’s coming back. For a second he feels like he’s either going to ask you to marry him or vomit all over you.

“I’m leaving. She’s all yours,” Jos says, and Max steadies himself. His dad leans over and gives him one last hug before switching to Dutch. “Get her to bed. And yourself, also. You’ve still got to race tomorrow,”

Max nods and waves him off, closing his arms around you when you wobble, leaning into him for stability. Jos gives you a pat on the shoulder before disappearing into the crowd, and you teeter again, pushing you further into Max. The extra weight is like a balm on what is now a gaping, raw wound, with the nerves exposed. He will never recover from this.

You turn in his arms, scrunching your nose in displeasure as you look up at him. “I hate this hat,” you flick the brim of his World Champion cap. “Worst hat they ever made you. Next year, we do a better one,”

“Okay,” he says, chuckling as the hat leaves his head.

“Can I have this?” You’ve already put it on.

“Sure,”

Take it. Take my Valkyrie. Take the trophy. Take my last name.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

He doesn’t know how he’s looking at you. Is it different than he looked at you two hours ago? Different then when you were 19?

He just shrugs, tipping the hat back for you, since it’s so big. “You’re drunk,” he yells over the music.

You lean in, so close that he’s intoxicated by the scent of your perfume, champagne, and Red Bull. He turns away from you slightly, because he’s had too much to drink to be this close to you.

“I know,” you whisper to him, your lips grazing his cheek as you talk. That’s not helping. He turns back to you, finding your eyes searching his. For the first time, he’s worried what you might see. Because you’ve always seen him too clearly. It was awful, then exhilarating, now it’s just fucking terrifying. Your eyes narrow and Max thinks you’re about to outright accuse him of wanting- “You’re supposed to be drunk, too,”

He laughs. He laughs at your pout, at getting away with it, for a little while longer, at least, and he laughs because on the night he’s won a world championship he realises he lost his heart a long time ago.

Loving you didn’t feel like a winning a race, it felt like driving in one. And after all, isn’t driving all he ever wanted to do?

“I am, Engel,” he says, “trust me, I am.”

[loonylupinblack3]

𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x driver!reader

Warnings: angst, swearing

Summary: breaking up with Charles to protect your career was the hardest thing you'd ever done, but what if it was all for nothing?

Word count: 1.5k

part 2

Charles stared at you from afar, brown eyes tracing your every movement as you talked to Lando Norris, the first driver for Mclaren. He watched as you laughed, your eyes crinkling and smile widening, looking for all the world like you were genuinely happy.

His body ached for you. He wanted to touch you again, to wrap his arms around your waist, press a kiss to your cheek, feel you lean into him and sigh, that content, dreamy sigh you did whenever he was around.

He wanted to go back to the days where it was hasty kisses in empty rooms, sneaking away at every opportunity, lazy mornings spent together within the confines of hotel rooms. He wanted you back in his arms even if it was behind doors; he didn’t care. He just wanted you.

He looked at you and then he looked at himself, his hands that ached to hold you again but never would. He clenched them into fists, nails digging into his skin as his knuckles turned white, the prickle of pain starting. Charles didn’t mind; he liked it even. It distracted him, made him think about something else for once, instead of you.

Because it was always you

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You were trying to ignore Charles to the best of your ability. It was difficult, however, when your body had become so attuned to him, you could feel when he entered a room. It was unfair. You were the one who broke things off, so why were you acting like some wounded animal whenever you saw Charles?

You sat in the driver’s room, a few other drivers occupying the space alongside you, Charles included. He was on the other side of the room though, so you settled for talking to Lando, hoping the Mclaren driver would provide a distraction.

“Did you hear two of the drivers are hooking up?”

If you were drinking water you probably would have choked on it, and even so you still sort of gaped at him, jaw hanging open like an idiot.

“What?” 

Lando grinned at your reaction. “Yeah, some rumour spreading across the engineering crew at Mclaren.”

“Wait, what is this about?” 

You internally groaned as George Russell sat opposite you. You didn’t mind the guy usually, was actually reasonably good friends with him, but everyone knew he had a thing for gossip, and if you wanted something kept secret, well, it was better not to tell George.

And you desperately wanted to keep this a secret.

“Two of the drivers are screwing,” Lando mused. “I wonder who.”

Unable to resist it, you shot a quick glance at Charles, to see if he was listening. He was, and he was staring right at you, eyes sombre but worried. He knew you didn’t want it to get out; that's why you’d broken up in the first place. And even with his obvious displeasure over it he still seemed to care for you.

What a jerk.

You pointedly looked away, feeling guilt and nausea build up inside you. You hadn’t wanted to end things with Charles, but you could tell he was unhappy. He wanted you two to be public, wanted everyone to know you were together. You… couldn’t do that. The standards weren’t the same for a woman in F1, and you weren’t willing to risk your career, even over Charles.

So here you were, both somewhat miserable, with the secret you sacrificed to protect trying to escape anyway.

“Two drivers are hooking up?” Pierre’s curious voice floated through the air.

For fuck’s sake.

You smiled tightly, looking up at the newcomer. “Allegedly. But we don’t know anything for sure.”

Pierre shook his head. “No, no, I think I heard something about this. Someone spotted two drivers using a spare room to.. Well, you know.”

“Why didn’t you say anything before?” Lando whined.

Pierre shrugged, sitting down next to you. “I don’t know. It was maybe two months ago? I didn’t think it was true.”

And the conversation continued, nitpicking each driver’s dating life, trying to figure out which drivers were hooking up. You felt sick, your stomach doing nauseating flips every time they suggested another driver. You could already tell they thought it was you; there weren’t any openly gay drivers on the paddock, so logically that would mean one of them had to be with you, since you were the only female on the grid.

You kept your mouth shut though, offering up no explanation or defence. You just wanted this to be over, the sickening panic clawing at your throat, its nails scratching your back, digging into your stomach, making your head spin.

They couldn’t find out. No one could. You had sacrificed everything to make sure this secret was kept in the dark. You left Charles, left the man who made you feel alive, loved, happy, so that your career could persevere unharmed. It couldn’t have all been for nothing.

You couldn’t have done it all for nothing.

Again, your eyes found Charles, because they always seemed to find him, even when you didn’t mean for them to. He was staring at you, eyes softening. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away for the life of you. Not when he was staring at you with something other than pain or anger or disgust. When he was staring at you like before, glances shared across the room, playful smirks filled with secrets only you two knew. It was like déjà vu, smacking you in the face, your breath leaving your body with a deep whoosh, feeling empty yet full at the same time.

“Y/n?” Lando prodded.

You blinked, finally tearing your gaze away from the Ferrari driver, feeling sick, yet also tingly in your chest, a feeling you thought had long diminished since you and Charles ended.

“What?” you asked distractedly.

Pierre and George shared a look, raised eyebrows, and you narrowed your eyes. 

“Are you dating anyone?” Lando repeated.

Your throat closed up, eyes darting to Charles again. He seemed almost eager to hear your answer, leaning forward slightly, eyes trained on your figure. You looked at him and you saw his pleading gaze, his hopeful posture, like he was waiting for you to say yes, a promise to him that you were still something, that you would be something in the future.

You felt your heart break a little as you looked away, back at Lando.

“No, no I’m not.”

The sound of a chair clattering backwards took your attention, everyone turning to Charles storming out of the room, hands curled into fists. He sent a glance to you, eyes angry, yet just a cover for the hurt underneath that only you seemed to be able to see, before he left, slamming the door shut behind him.

It was silent for a moment after Charles’ sudden departure, no one really sure what to say. You just prayed they didn’t make the connection between why he was angry, and tried to ignore the heavy guilt weighing you down.

“What was that about?” George asked, eyes fixed on you.

Fuck he knew. Or at least knew something.

You swallowed thickly, shrinking under his scrutinising gaze. “I don’t know.”

“He’s been having a hard time lately,” Pierre said quietly. “I think it may have something to do with his dad…. Or Jules. He hasn’t been like this since then.”

The conversation turned towards Charles instead of you, fortunately, but what wasn’t fortunate was the crushing guilt you now felt, feeling as if it was ripping you apart. Were you the reason Charles was hurting this much? For Pierre to compare it to the loss of his father, of Jules… it made you feel shit. So fucking shit. Especially because you’d always slightly regretted the decision of choosing your career over him, because no matter how much you loved driving, it could never give you the same thrill that Charles did.

And to now know he was grieving you? Well, it was safe to say you’d never hated yourself more than right now. Would you go back and change things if you could? You weren’t sure. All you could do to comfort yourself was remembering it was for a reason. To protect your career. It wasn’t all for nothing.

At that moment, your phone gave a little ping as a notification went through. As did Lando’s, and George’s, and Pierre’s.

A strange feeling of dread filled you at the sound, and as you took out your phone, you realised you had a right be dreadful, because one look at the screen was enough to make you want to bolt out the room, the little news bar lighting up your phone like a neon sign screaming, ‘you fucked up’.

Y/n L/n and Charles Leclerc previously involved in romantic relationship confirmed

You felt like you couldn’t breathe, like there was something heavy sitting on your chest, suffocating you. Everything around you became blurred, irrelevant compared to the big fuck up on your screen. You were distantly aware of Lando’s worried voice, Pierre’s hand on your back.

None of it mattered. All you could think about was Charles. You’d left him, left the life you had with him, ruined your relationship and any shred of happiness between you two to protect your career. Your precious career, like a baby to you, your whole life, the reason you walked away from the possible love of your life. And for what? For fucking nothing.

It was all for nothing.

[cordeliawhohung]

thinking about how shy!reader has so much doubt about mafia!simon’s attraction to her (we all know he’s completely whipped).

just him proving how much she really does affect him 🤭

this reminds me of that one image/gif (that i can't find rip) that was going around a few months back where the guy has his girl rub him through his boxers and is like "see what you do to me?" or something like that and- (self conscious reader, suggestive content ahead)

-

sometimes it's hard to believe that Simon would date someone like you. it's as if he sees an entirely different person from the figure you see when you look in the mirror. your skin never seems to fit right over your body, and all it ever did was itch, stretch, and tear. all you did was take up too much room when you would much rather dissipate into thin air.

so then why is he looking at you like that? with dark eyes that can't seem to shroud the pure adoration he has for you as he stares at you from his side of the bed. as the two of you lounge in bed during your lazy Sunday morning, Simon looks at you as if you're the only girl in the world, and it makes you want to pull the blanket up over your face and hide away from him. before you could even attempt it, Simon reaches his hand out to rest on your cheek as if he was afraid you'd vanish into thin air if he didn't. your skin grows hot underneath his touch, and he grins at you as if he can feel it.

"what're you getting bashful for?" he teases.

"what do you see in me?"

the question leaves your mouth before it fully formed in your mind, but it had been on the tip of your tongue for so long it was bound to leave eventually. that toothy grin on his face quickly vanishes as his face morphs into something more tense and confused. still, his hand on your face is still as gentle and loving as ever.

"everything," he says without hesitation.

and you want to believe him, but you can't. he's so handsome. so well put together and funny and everything you never thought you'd be able to have. and you're just... you. a grown woman who still feels like a little girl, forever trapped somewhere you don't think you'll be able to escape. and Simon can read every thought that crosses your mind, and he speaks up before you're able to attempt to retort.

"i see everything in you. everything i've ever wanted," he continues. "i've never felt this much love and want for anyone until i met you. you have no idea what you do to me."

though you had asked the question, hearing his response was enough to steal the breath from your lungs, and even as the two of you lay next to one another, you feel as if you're about to melt through the mattress. the only thing keeping you grounded is his hand on your cheek, but even that begins to wander down your body until he finds your hand.

"it just... feels unreal," you admit, "that someone could love me this much without wanting anything in return."

his thumb brushes over your knuckles before he pulls your hand to his mouth to kiss them, and you swear you've never wanted to be devoured so bad in your entire life.

"that's what love is supposed to be, sweetheart," he quips.

he puts your hand on his chest where you can feel the strong thudding of his heart before he slowly slides it down. the fabric of his shirt catches on your fingers as you traverse along his abdomen, and your breath catches as you reach the waistline of his joggers. every inch of his skin seems to shudder as he has you paw at his hardened cock through the fabric of his sweats, and your teeth instinctively bite into your lip.

"this is what you do to me," he whispers. his voice is low in his throat and strains a little as his hips press forward into your hand as if craving your touch. "you make me crazy. i'd do anything for you, give anything for you. i've never loved anything as much as i love you."

you can't deny the insatiable stirring in your stomach when he says those words, but you know it's true. he wouldn't still be looking at you like that if it was a lie. when his lips crash into yours, you can't seem to remember why you had ever doubted him in the first place.

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 128 }

sparkle.

jinwoo sung x fem.reader

{ my feelings for you sparkle in my thoughts | i can't be honest with myself yet | even though i have realized the truth | my body is throbbing with the words i can't get out... }

jinwoo sung has always been in love with you-

and he's come to realize that as being a fact that would never change.

you may not know it, but he fell for you during a time where he first decided to become a hunter, being labeled as the weakest in the entire world and you had healed him from a grave wound with your immense healing power.

jinwoo recalls that moment as if it had happened yesterday... where he had first started out as a hunter, becoming so gravely injured that not even joohee could heal him, forcing the young woman to call for help. it was just so painful, losing so much blood while laying on the cold, stone floor of the dungeon.

his life was felt slipping away from him, and all jinwoo could feel was an immense regret at leaving his loved ones behind.

mom, sis... i'm so sorry, but i can't...

as he was close to losing all hope, he felt a warm embrace encircling him. his gasps for air were all that echoed throughout the dungeon, and that was the moment his silvery eyes met with your tranquil expression.

blood was felt bubbling in his throat, but the moment your hand touched at his chest, he felt all of his pain disappear. bathed in a gentle, golden glow, jinwoo suddenly felt the blood receding back into him along with the dissipating pain. your features were twisted in a look of concentration, never removing your hand from his chest until all of his wounds disappeared.

the newbie hunter could feel a blush dye his cheeks red, suddenly feeling alive once more when he sits back up. he looks at his hands, and touches at his chest, no longer feeling pain nor tasting the coppery bitterness of his blood within his mouth.

"h-how did you... that was..."

but all you did was give him a gentle smile before placing a finger upon your lips. "sssh, it's a secret."

he hears joohee's panicked voice, which was what prompted you to stand before disappearing from the dungeon. his throat felt dry, unable to answer joohee and the backup she had called, because all he could think about was you.

jinwoo wouldn't get to see you again until much later... after he became a bit stronger thanks to the system.

his thoughts were consumed with meeting you again; with becoming stronger for your sake as he hoped to protect you in return for you saving his life. he grew stronger, and more confident as he lost the prior meekness he once had when he first started out as a hunter.

so when he saw you again, entering a cafe while ordering your favorite drink, he knew he had to take this chance.

without even thinking about it, he pays for your coffee and pastries, quite literally forcing himself into your plans while hiding his anxiety behind a confident smile. you end up smiling at him, thanking him for paying while allowing him to join you. it was during your first conversation together that he learned of your work as an a-rank healer, where you were often called as backup if many dire injuries had occurred.

( jinwoo had to fight back the urge to ask if you remembered him. )

and after that first meeting and interaction... like a butterfly effect, it all just seemed to... fall perfectly in place.

jinwoo made sure to be a constant presence in your life. often going out with you on your days off ( with him making an effort not to explore the dungeons by himself during those times ). it was truly like all those romance movies and novels have said-

"when you fall in love, all you want to do is surround yourself with them."

because that was what jinwoo was doing at this very minute.

with you feeling lazy, you invited jinwoo over to hang out with you. you were currently settled on the couch, flipping through the pages of your novel with him sitting on the armchair settled across from you. as he was pretending to read, he kept sneaking glances at you.

his heart softens upon admiring you, seeing the sunlight shining through your hair, further accentuating your soft beauty. jinwoo could feel his heart beating rapidly from within his chest, and each time he opened his mouth to try and say something, no words would come out.

mentally berating himself, jinwoo lets out a sigh, unable to take this... distance between you and him any longer. even if he was unable to say anything, maybe he could do something to act on these festering emotions that was felt brewing within his heart.

settling off his own book to the side, jinwoo stands from his seat, purposely towering over you, casting shadows over you. you see him in your periphery and smile, "hey jinwoo-"

you gasp suddenly, watching as he flops down on the couch, resting his head against your lap. he listens to you, paying close attention to the way your sweet voice calls out his name with a bit of a tremor.

"sorry... just... give me this moment to relax with you." it was a struggle for jinwoo to try and keep his voice even, practically relishing within your warmth while breathing in the faint scent of your perfume and shampoo.

he doesn't dare open his eyes, for fear of blushing immensely once he sees you peering down at him. there was a silence permeating at the air when jinwoo feels you shifting in your seat. listening as your voice begins to hum, he shivers upon feeling your hands delve into his hair.

the hunter swore he could feel a purr vibrating with his throat, basking in the way your fingertips massaged at his scalp. he felt so relaxed... so calm and peaceful while laying beneath you-

yet all feelings of tranquility was lost the moment he feels your soft lips touching with his. within mere milliseconds, his eyes were open wide, only to see how your eyes were closed as you kissed him deeply. letting out a moan of your name, jinwoo happily accepts your kiss, pulling you toward him when he wraps an arm around your neck, bringing you oh so closer to him.

your lips continue to perfectly slot against his, making the shadow monarch shiver in response. pleasure was felt coursing through him, and he found himself thinking that if he died right now-

then he'd die happy.

you end up pulling away from jinwoo first, embarrassment painting your pretty features when you slowly admit to him.

"jin, i lo-"

but he interrupts your confession with a growl, meeting your lips once more in a hungry kiss.

jinwoo would be damned if you were the one to confess to him, so he supposes that he just needs to keep kissing you to help you forget-

so that he can tell you first.

{ maybe i was nonchalant, but you’re the only one my eyes were chasing | when i think about it, i might have already fallen for you | how far away did i hide my true self the day i decided to meet you? | when i think how much being hated scared me, i was in love }

a.n. - in celebration of my new URL change !! help, i have joined the jinwoo harem, that man has a chokehold on me bc wow... aleks le is perfect as jinwoo 😭🙏🏻

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[comicwritesstuff]

okay this is so incredibly specific so please feel free to ignore BUT i’ve been wanting to read a fic for ages where the reader is Chase’s childhood best friend from Australia and she moves to New Jersey for a fresh start. She’s staying with Chase while she gets settled, and one day she comes to visit him at lunch at the hospital, where she ends up meeting House and he’s… intrigued by her 👀 either romantic or smut would be so very cool :^D <33 💐

YES. I LOVE THIS PROMPT IM SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG BUT IM FINISHED!!!

Gregory House x Fem!Chases bsf!Reader

Warnings: None really, just cussing and tooth rotting fluff >:) 3k+ words.

Chase's POV: 

“Well I was just wondering if we could go out sometime, I think you're really-” My attention shifted as y/n's call lit up my phone, interrupting the conversation. It was a more pressing matter than pursuing a one-night stand.

“Excuse me for a moment.” I say walking away, the woman having an annoyed look on her face. 

I answer the phone.

“Hello, y/n? Whats up” 

“Chase! Long time no talk haha.”

“You called me yesterday.”

“Learn to take a joke, anyways, I have some exciting news for you.”

“I’m moving to New Jersey!!” 

“Wait what? Really?”

“Yeah, I kinda forgot to tell you and i'm actually at the airport right now, so I hope you aren't busy tomorrow so you can pick me up.”

“Wow, um alright, yeah I can pick you up, do you have a place to stay?"

“Um…no…” I sigh, “Just stay at mine for now.”

“Don't even with the sigh i’ve known you my whole life you can put the nightly hookups on hold for your best friend.” 

I smirk and shake my head, “Yeah yeah, I’ll see ya tomorrow y/n” 

Y/N’s POV:

I smile as I hang up with Chase, grabbing my luggage and pulling it along the airport. Ahh yes, crying babies, rushed parents, annoying couples and that one insanely attractive person you see for a split second, I love the airport. 

Glancing at my ticket I realize I might have to hurry to make it to the gate, speed walking I see a text from chase, “Have a safe flight.” Let's hope so. 

Time skip (to lazy to write all the details about fucking airports)

Relaxing on a 21-hour flight proved challenging, especially with a toddler nearby. It was unclear whether the toddler would be a source of annoyance or just be tolerable. The flight just started. So to entertain myself I decide to do some digging about Chase's job, he brags about it all the time and the infamous Dr Gregory House. To be honest I thought Chase was gay for a little while with how much he talks about him. Still speculating. 

The plane lifts off and I start my look, at first just looking up Gregory House, a surprising amount of things show up. An article titled, “Gregory House, Talented Doctor? Or a lying Narcissist?” Oh well that's a good first impression.   

Scrolling down I see another article, “The world's greatest doctor, and his deepest secrets” 

Now that's enticing. I click on it only to find out his deepest secrets, including using 3 in one shampoo and how his leg got hurt. I guess people hardly know anything about him. I click on the photos of him, there's only a couple, most of them blurry but to be honest he's pretty good looking from the photos I can see. I’d honestly be gay for him if I was Chase. 

The toddler next to me starts giggling, I glance at her and notice her staring at a picture of House. She's kicking her feet too. That's so relatable. 

For the rest of the flight I find some stuff about this guy named Taub, who somehow also figured out that he cheated on his wife which is why he had to quit. How did I find that out? I took a coding class in 8th grade. (I got lucky) 

Lisa Cuddy the Dean of Medicine, unfortunately only good stuff about her, boring. 

Remy Hadley, oddly, can't find anything on her. 

Eric Foreman, his brothers in jail, fun. 

And the others are just as boring. For the remainder of the flight, the toddler proved surprisingly chill. I passed the time by binge-watching random movies I had downloaded earlier

*Another time skip to plane landing* 

Finally, 21 hours on a fucking plane is horrible. 

I check my phone after I take it off airplane mode, seeing a text from chase a couple minutes ago. 

“I’m at the airport, is your flight done?”

“Yep, wya.”

“I’m parked in the front.”

“That's specific” 

“There's no other front dumbass”

I roll my eyes at his text, and get off the plane as soon as I can. I walk out and see Chase standing outside his car waiting for me. His eyes light up as he spots me, and a grin spreads across his face. Unable to resist, I rush forward and envelop him in a bear hug.

“Man you’re a lot uglier in person” 

I say jokingly, smirking.

“Oh shut up”  

We climbed into his car, and he drove us back to his apartment. When we arrive he helps get my crap into the house, before he gets a call saying he had to head to work. 

Eventually a week or two passes, I've gotten more comfortable in his apartment, applied for a bunch of jobs, and looked for places to stay so I’m not invading his “man” space anymore. Unfortunately there aren't a lot of options, and no jobs have replied to my applications, which is weird since im overqualified, it's almost like they aren’t even getting my applications in the first place. 

I’m doing the dishes when I get a text from Chase.

“Hey, I left my wallet on the counter, so I don’t have money for food, could ya bring it for me?” 

“Nah”

“See you soon”

I breathe out a laugh and grab his wallet, putting a coat on then driving to the hospital. 

When I get there I walk in, looking around before I call Chase, “Where do I go this place is huge” I can hear talking in the background, actually more like arguing. “Uhm just wait at the entrance i’ll be right there.” He says in a whisper.

He hangs up so I just stand there awkwardly waiting, that was a weird ass phone call. To be fair Chase is a weird ass guy with weird ass coworkers so what do I expect at this point. 

Before I see Chase I see Dr Gregory House, limping quickly towards me. And damn he’s even hotter in person than the pictures I saw of him. 

“Hey, no time to explain, you need to come with me.” He grabs my arm dragging me into the elevator. Before it closes I see Chase come out of the stairway, he sprints towards the elevator but it closes. I hear him trying to say something, but it's muffled and I can’t understand it. Wait why the fuck did I even follow House? 

“You're real compliant, you’d make a great hooker.” 

I turn around and side eye him.

“Thanks, so would you.” I say giving a fake smile. 

“Speaking of compliant, why did you drag me away from Chase? What's going on?’’

“I made a bet with Chase.”

“That's really specific and helpful thanks” 

“Oh yeah no problem” 

Sarcastic asshole. 

“If you don’t tell me, I'll stop following you and go with Chase.” 

He rolls his eyes.

“Fine, Mom! The bet is that I can convince you to work as my assistant here.”

“Really? That's it? I need a job. Why would Chase even bet against that?” 

“He thinks you’ll fall in love with me so he doesn’t want that to happen, in his words, “She has a thing for homeless looking, narcissistic assholes with beards.” So he’s trying to prevent it, and he’s sure he can.”  

Damn- I feel so called out. I stay silent before nodding.

“Well to be honest he isn’t wrong.” 

I see House smirk before we get out of the elevator, he hobbles and leads me to his office, locking the door then having me sit down. 

As I sit down in front of his desk, he grabs a ball and starts throwing it against the wall, while sitting down. 

“So are you gonna interview me or something?” 

“Yeah, I’m just waiting for Chase to get back up here so he can watch me interview you.” 

He really is an asshole…it's kinda hot though. 

“Fair enough.” 

We wait a bit before Chase comes jogging up to the door, out of breath, he’s clearly been running plenty. He starts banging on the glass door that House previously locked.

“House!! Y/N! Let me in! This isn’t fair!” He exclaims, House is grinning when he leans over his desk, crossing his arms.

“Okay! Let’s start this interview now.” 

“Y/n! You traitor!” 

Did I abandon my childhood best friend for some disabled doctor? No, I did it for the job. At least that's what I'm telling myself.   

Turning my attention back to House instead of the Australian cry baby outside the door, he asks me, “First question, do you want the job of being my assistant?” 

“Obviously”

“Great! You have the job!” 

I mean, easy enough. I smile and shake my head. This hospital really has some unique people. 

House shakes my hand, grinning as Chase is sitting on the floor defeated outside. 

As the days turned into weeks at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, I got to know everyone. Cuddy had to actually approve of me working as House’s assistant first, but once she saw a…normal enough individual, she welcomed me into the environment.

Getting to know House better, I found myself drawn to him in ways I hadn’t really expected. The bet between House and Chase, Chase thinking I would fall for House, I took it as a joke, until that joke turned more into reality. 

Despite House being a narcissistic piece of shit, there were small moments that I saw, or shared with him that made me fall for him. Ones where he seemed happy, or just easy to be around. At work he's serious but when Wilson dragged him out to bars, or other social environments, he could actually be fun. And though him being a dick is undeniably attractive sometimes, when he was…”himself” that's how I began to fall for him.  

One day, after an especially tough day for the team, and being forced to go break into houses and get coffee and food, I found myself alone with House in his office. The rest of the team had left, leaving us in a rare moment alone with each other. As I glanced up from the medical chart of the most recent patient, I caught House’s gaze lingering on me, his blue eyes intense and unreadable. 

“Something on your mind, House?” I asked, attempting to break the awkward silence between us. 

He smirked, leaning back in his chair with a casual ease, “Oh just wondering why a catch like yourself doesn’t have a boyfriend, or husband?” He responds, his tone laced with flirtatiousness.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at his response, a faint blush on my cheeks. House and I had gained an uncanny camaraderie, made from me running around doing everyone's paperwork, being the designated “you get to tell patients they are dying!!” person. And as you’d expect people didn’t respect me a lot, but if someone was blatantly mean to me, House would step in and destroy their self esteem in a second and walk away like it meant nothing. That's another thing that I think made me fall for him. 

“Believe me, I’ve been asking myself that a lot too.” I smile, placing the medical chart on his desk. 

“Do you want a boyfriend? Or girlfriend, or a pet or something.” He quips, his eyes looking like they are reading me, studying my every movement and reaction to what he’s saying, it's flattering and uncomfortable at the same time. 

“A boyfriend would be nice.” I say reassuringly, a laugh escaping me as I shake my head in amusement.

“Alright let's say *hypothetically* I asked you out. *hypothetically* what would your response be?” 

Raising an eyebrow I ask, “Are you trying to go on a date with me?”

“I said hypothetically, now answer the question.” 

A smirk plays on my lips as I roll my eyes in a mock annoyance. 

“Well.” I say, “Hypothetically, I would say yes.” 

“Great, meet me for dinner at (some random fancy place idk u make up a name i'm too lazy to), wear something cute.” 

 With that, he sauntered out of the office, leaving me to think about what just happened. Glancing at the clock, I realized I had just enough time to get ready for our “hypothetical date.” 

The anticipation bubbled within me, standing outside (IDK A RESTAURANT NAME IT), waiting for House to arrive. My heart raced with nervous excitement, unsure what to expect from a…unique…guy like House. I had used all the time I had to work on my outfit, settling for a simple dress (or suit, or just anything you're comfy in :) ). 

As I scanned the busy street, searching for any sign of House, I heard the obnoxiously loud sound of a motorcycle approaching. House rode in, parking his bike before getting off and walking (limping) towards me. My breath caught in my throat as I saw him, he looked impossibly handsome, in a tailored suit that made his rugged charm come out, good god he looked fine. 

“Y/n,” he greeted with a warm smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners in genuine affection. “That outfit makes your ass look nice.” 

I scoff playfully, hitting his arm. “So much for acting like a gentleman, at least you look like one.” 

He chuckled, offering me his arm in a more gentlemanly gesture. “Yeah yeah, shall we?” 

With a nod, I looped my arm through his, savoring the warmth of his touch as we mad our way into the restaurant. The ambiance was elegant and inviting, with a soft candlelight casting a warm glow over the decor. 

As we were seated at a table in a quiet corner of the restaurant, I couldn’t help but feel a flutter of excitement in my chest. I’m finally going out with House, damn Chase was totally right. 

Throughout the evening, our conversation flowed surprisingly easily between us. I had half expected him to be rude or stuck up, but he seemed actually interested in me, in my life. He was asking questions, laughing and joking with me. Sharing stories of his own, and treating me like an actual human. Honestly it was scaring me a bit, but it was making me fall harder for him. 

House raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. ‘So, tell my Y/N. What’s the most embarrassing thing that's happened to you?” 

I laughed, shaking my head as I thought about the memory. “Well, there was this one time in college-” 

“Let me guess,” House interrupted, a smirk playing on his lips. “It involved copious amounts of alcohol and very questionable decisions?” 

I chuckle and nod in agreement. “You could say that. Long story short, I ended up streaking through the campus fountain at three in the morning. I'm pretty sure Chase might still have a video of it still.”

House raises an eyebrow, an amused laugh coming from him. “I wish I could say I was surprised, oh and also. I am finding that video.” He states, with a determined and mischievous grin. 

The dinner continues and our connection just seems to get stronger, fueled by shared laughter, stories of shit Wilson and him did in college, things Chase and I did in highschool. With each passing moment, I found myself more and more under House’s spell, captivated by the complexity of himself, his character. His gaze, laughter, even his personality. Maybe it was the wine or something, but House was being nice, he had charisma, and was being attractive in general.  

I don’t even realize that we’ve spent almost three hours in the restaurant just talking. I check my phone seeing that it's 9:30 already. We had got and paid the check awhile ago, but had stayed to talk longer. The restaurant closes at 10, and I felt a sudden pang of disappointment that our date was close to being over with. I didn’t want it to end, I was savoring this moment I was having, this seemingly perfect night. 

When the waiter arrived to take our dessert order, I couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment that the evening was drawing to a close. I wasn't ready for it to end—I wanted to savor every moment, to prolong the magic of our time together for as long as possible.

House notices my look of disappointment, “I’m aware how amazing I am, but if its up to me, this won’t be our last date.” 

A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth, my cheeks heating up as I blush. The butterflies in my stomach going absolutely insane. 

So with a quick glance around the restaurant, I rose from my seat, House grabbed my hand as he led me towards the exit. 

Stepping out into the cool night air, I felt a sense of happiness coursing through me. This was it, the beginning of a new relationship, a surprisingly healthy one so far. 

As House’s hand tightened around mine, his touch sent sparks of electricity coursing through my veins. I knew now that maybe Chase knows me better than I know myself, in all fairness he predicted this, but right now I wasn’t afraid to admit this, to admit the undeniable attraction that I had towards Dr Gregory House. 

His touch leaves mine, his hand pulling as we stand in front of the restaurant, close to each other, staring in each other's eyes. I glance at his lips before leaning in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, not sure if he expected it, but I pull back.

“Goodnight House. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And with that I walk away, to my car. When I get in my car, I look in the mirror, seeing House standing there with a lovestruck grin, one a child would have over some school crush. But it was cute, he was cute. And this was just the beginning of an annoyingly predicated relationship with a Vicodin addicted, asshole, who I suspect has a soft spot for me.

[thecapricunt1616]

Carmy X Nervous about a home birth

Let’s be so real here. If you told Carmy you wanted a home-birth - his first reaction would be 😦😰 - because with his mommy issues, the only way he feels as if he’s being a ‘good husband’ is if he is giving in to your every single need, and desire as a partner - and even more as the mother of his baby. But Mike, Nat, and Carm were born in a hospital - so the idea of not being around 40 doctors freaks him THE HELL out, but his Queen gets what she asks without a single question -- So of course his answer is ;

“However you think little bear wants to be brought into the world, Angel. I’ll get the best damn doula and midwife Chicago has to offer, hmm?” 

As he’s rubbing lotion into your swollen 5 month belly and giving it sweet gentle kisses. Whispering to your adorable bump and resting his ear to it, whispering “shhh- wait I think I heard them move!!” All excited, even if it was just the grumbles of your hungry pregnant tummy, he probably knew that, but had such high hopes for his little. 

(More BTC ❤️)

I genuinely think that Carmy would hold pregnancy and birth so close to his heart, because he would see it as the one single thing he literally could never provide - so the fact that you so willingly and openly offered your body, no matter the dangers it came with - to bare his child? He can hardly believe it and it makes him teary eyed every time he talks about your pregnancy because of the sacrifice he sees you making each and every second of every single day you’re carrying your little love to delivery. He can’t say

‘thank you’

and ‘I love you’ 

and ‘you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting’ enough throughout those 43 long and a lot of time grueling weeks of pregnancy as a first time mommy, making sure you knew and undertood jut how grateful and amazed he was with your body and mental perserverance. 

When the time came - holy shit. When you woke him up? At around 2:40AM poking his ribs being like “Bear?!!” While wincing at your very much more painful then Braxton hicks contractions. He just gave you a lazy-ass ‘mmmph’ 

But as soon as you said “He’s coming, like- today- like now, Bear, he's really actually coming” he leaps into action.

He grabs his phone off the charger with quickness, rushes into the living room of your 3 bed house- holding his phone to his ear with his shoulder as he sprints through your yard in nothing but boxer briefs, hauling the long ass garden hose he bought exactly for this through the window as the phone continues to ring.

When it goes to voicemail? He’s PANICKING !! He’s whisper shouting into the mic 

“SHES IN LABOR. THIS IS CARMY FUCKIN BEAR. DO YOU HEAR ME??? THIS KID IS ON HIS FUCKIN WAY OUT. GET YOUR ASS HERE DO I PAY YOU TO NOT ANSWER ME? FUCKIN'HELL!!!!”

Hes rapidly hanging up and calling again over and over as he chucks wet washcloths in the freezer and drops to his knees in front of the couch trying to fill the birthing yoga ball with the pump as fast as he can. The midwife answers and is like 

“SHE BETTER BE FUCKING CROWNING ARE YOU STUPID MY RINGTONE WAS SCREAMING THE ENTIRE TIME THIS BABY WAS BEING DEL-“

and Carmy is like

“NOW. NOW. NOW. SHE SAYS SHES 8 MINUTES APART. GET YOUR ASS HERE. NOW. WHAT THE FUCK DO I PAY YOU FOR, LINDA??”  as he’s throwing the electric pump to the side out of frustration and using a fucking bike pump to fill your yoga ball so you could bounce on it like all the labor books said.

Meanwhile you’re in the bedroom, groaning and moaning, just absolutely miserable. Hearing your husband shouting at your doula before calling the midwife and saying 

“What the fuck do I do, Sara?! Sara she’s- she’s nearly fucking crying!! What do I- oh. Ok. Ok. Yup. Heard. Heard. Ok. Mmhmm- ok. Promise? Ok. See you then” and he’s right back in your room, rubbing your back as you contract and groan just whispering as he massages your pressure points to help get the baby down that he learned in birthing class, cooing 

“That’s it- mmhmm- good girl, let it all out beautiful, I know it hurts- but You’re doing such a good job with y’breathing princess. I’m gonna put this cold cloth on your forehead, yeah? It’ll help you feel nice and cool, and relaxed, pretty girl” like he explains every single thing he’s doing, before he does it. 

Whenever you have an extra big contraction, he's grunting with you and easing you through it like they taught him in the classes, adding the pressure to your back to counteract the incredible pain you felt every single time it washed over you whining and sobbing to Carmys chest "I- I can't- oh god- Bear, somethings wrong!!! Hurts so bad, so fucking bad- please!! Please let me I need to go to the hospital!! Somethings wrong B-Bear! This pain c-can't be normal"

He shook his head and rubbed your back soothingly, telling you the whole time to listen to him talk, and how it hurts so bad, and joking 'f'course my son would give his mommy a hard time huh? Sug said the same thing, Berzatto kids are brutal. Shoulda told you before I got you knocked up, huh?" his forehead rested on yours and rubbing your spasming back muscles soothingly.

“That was a big one huh? That means he should be coming soon huh? My strong beautiful angel - you’re almost there princess- a few more pushes and he’s gonna be in our arms. You’re so fucking amazing-“ he encourages, gently rubbing your belly that had dropped lower then you'd ever seen. You were on your knees in the bath, forehead to forehead with Carm. He carefully sat in front of you on his own knees.

"Alright one more- alright? Just one big push, yeah?" he echos your midwife, ever so carefully letting your belly go and resting his hands below to catch his little guy. You look at him nervously, sniffling and whimpering nervously.

"Wh-what if I can't, Carm? What if hes t-too big or- or-" he cuts you off by kissing your lips lovingly.

"You, You? Baby? Shhhh, shush, princess- Listen t'me- you're made f'this, mm? You're the strongest woman i've ever met. So focus, focus, princess. Listen t'my voice. I'll count you out, baby. Only 10 seconds ok? Push as hard as you can, ready?"

He sticks his hands in the water, cradling you close and kissing your cheek and temple and contains for you through the energy sucking push. When you rest back, second 5, sobbing

“I- I can’t do it- he feels stuck- I can’t do it Carm, i'm so sorry. I failed us. I’m sorry I failed our baby” 

And he’s just shushing you into your skin, 

“Shhhhh, shhhhhh- let’s breathe, mm? Together. It’s just you, an’me. Ok? Don’t even think about him, princess. They told us, as long as you breathe he's gonna come out, easy as pie, hmm? So let’s breathe, yeah? Princess? Breathe him out, just in, and out, force all that air out as hard as you can like they taught us, remember baby? see-” he holds your hands, kissing them and demonstrating big grunting strong breaths for you to copy and of course you did. 

When it got to the point your contractions were a minute apart, Thanks to him, in 2 more big grunting pushes your little boy was born. When you were in transition Carmy sat outside the pool, knelt and pressed forehead to forehead, whispering to you through every contraction how your little boy was almost here, and how he could never repay you ever for the gift that was his birth.

By the time you were begging on your knees in the bath to stop pushing because it was "too hard" , Carmy knew from what they explained in birthing class that meant -- it was time.

So he coaxed you through three more huge pushes. Even though you told him each time ‘I can’t do it, please, Bear. He’s not ready- I can’t.” But he rubbed your back and told you how amazing you were and to just try, and assured that if your little man wasn’t ready they’d send you home, and that he was right there ready to catch your son and lift him on to your chest.

And after your third other worldly push, you couldn’t even put in to words, the amount of energy it took out of you. It was harder then you’d ever pushed in your life for anything. - but of course the little guy was scream wailing just like any other Berzatto would. 

You couldn’t stop choke sobbing as the baby wailed and Carmy kept muttering ‘you did it! You fuckin’ did it, princess. He’s so beautiful. Look at him! He’s perfect. 10 fingers 10 toes- hear those lungs, angel? He’s perfect” as he rested the pretty little cub on your chest.

You would just look at him amazed, by instinct guiding him to your breast to pacify him and watching as the nurses usher Carmy out of the way and you would reach out, hooking your hands together so he couldn't get too far away.

“Alright Momma! Congrats, now let’s deliver this placenta in 3 pushes that’s the magic number. So when I say 3 you’ll- oop!” The nurses gasp as they look down “lucky! You’re lucky! Alright mommy never mind. No tears, and your body went ahead and did that work for ya! Alright momma, here we go here’s your placenta” the nurse pulls it out of the water and you nearly gag at the look of it 

“Get that thing away from my baby! Keep it in the bowl!” You demand, holding him to your skin and cradling his head, you had told yourself you would do a delayed cord cutting, but you in no way wanted your baby to be next to that... thing - it just freaked you out.

“that is nasty! Disgusting” you sniffle, looking back at your little angel who was peacefully suckling off your breast. 

“Oh- sweetheart” one of the nurses giggles, putting it in a biohazard bag. “Are you sure- didn’t you say your baby’s father is a chef? Sweetheart, this will boost your milk production - it’s giving you all the vitamins you lost while pregnant. Are you sure?” 

*cut to Carmy actually gagging at the nurses American horror story ass tactics while you're like 'what am i, a CAT?!??!"

And the nurse is like “BABY!! Every other animal does it!! You said holistic is best!!! Alright I guess I'll toss it if it bugs you that much..” 

[berrieluv]

Loving her seems tired.

cw. creampie, cheating kink, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, actress reader, this is more me hating on aaron's wife than smut, tbh.

Aaron caressed the skin of your stomach and kissed it slowly as he went down, putting your panties aside and starting to get his face closer to your pussy. His licks were lazy and his hold wasn't as strong as what you were used to.

The moment the Bullet Train Tour was over, his wife decided it would be an amazing idea to have a romantic getaway, which was full of messages from him to you, confessing how much he needed you and how his wife didn't taste as good as you do.

I imagined You once thought Sweet, sweet youth.

With time, his hold grew tighter, his tongue moved like a starved beast and your hips were thrusting into his mouth trying to get to feel him more, if it was even possible.

"Fuck, fuck, missed her so much, baby" He said, talking about your pussy while looking at you for a moment.

"Me?" You question with a pout and puppy eyes.

"You too. More than anything, fuck I love this, I love you"

You knew, it wasn't the first time he says something like that. But you've never answer back. Not because you felt guilty you may be ruining his marriage, that was not even the last of your concerns – it wasn't a concern for you –, but you didn't thought of Aaron as husband or boyfriend material, if he could do this to his wife, what could he do to you?

Well, maybe he would respect you more, basically because you didn't groomed him. He wouldn't feel like a part of his youth was taken away because you weren't depraved enough to date a seventeen year old boy at thirty three – or more, you couldn't care less what her age was –.

"Aaron..." you breathe, needy and in a murmur, almost undistinguished if it wasn't because he was paying all his attention to you.

"Yes, baby?" He looked up "Tell me. Everything you need, everything I own would be yours, just tell me"

You knew he was completely lost in the scent of your pussy and in a few seconds he would try to get you pregnant. Which you wouldn't mind, you knew a kid made from you and Aaron would be heavenly, truly prettier than any kid that old woman could give him (not hating towards the kids, they don't deserve it).

When he made sure your panties were completely soaked he put them back, crawling back to your face, kissing your lips with his and holding your neck, adding a bit of pressure on it, just like he knew you liked it.

Aaron didn't seem t think on the danger of the situation you were in. Lying on his wife's bed, staining and wetting her clean sheets with your cum. Aaron freed his cock, putting your panties aside again and started to rub it with your clit, starting to press it against you and putting it inside slowly, his thrusts were calm, a noticeable contrast with the neediness of his breath, words and eyes.

"Fuck, I love this pussy. You take me so well, baby. Such, such a good star"

He started pounding in and out of you, without getting completely out, your legs were spread around his torso and he started to press your boobs. Passing his big hand through all your body.

"You look so– so pretty. So beautiful" He says, his cut breath being harder to hold every second passing. You take your legs and pull them to your chest, looking at him "Let me make you a mom, baby. Let me get you all round and pregnant, make you my wife, my baby mommy, princess"

You knew you said you would never a few minutes after, but fuck if he was asking like this, how were you supposed to say 'no' to that.

You felt his big cock stretching your pussy every time he moved, and he looked at you like the most precious thing in the world, like he knew you would allow him to do with you whatever he pleased because he was just really hot.

Aaron finds entreatment for a moment with your boobies, which he soon forgot when his thrusts started to get faster. You, instead, started to touch your breast, teasing him, finding satisfaction in the way his eyes rolled at the pleasure.

He helps you holding your legs and now your left to just lay there and feel the pleasure, feel how his thick cock enters over and over in your tight pussy.

With a fast and skilled movement, Aaron turned you around, having a view of your back and your ass, which he proved he loved by his inability to stop touching it.

This time he just plays with the tip, turning your moans into frustrated groans.

"Want me to get you filled from behind, baby?" You moan while nodding "Fuck, I need to see you all round and pretty, princess. Shit your breasts would be... fuck–"

Now you're the one moving while he stays quiet. Thought, Aaron doesn't last much letting you command, he grabs your waist and hits faster your ass with his hips.

"Aaron... your wife"

You said, pretending to be worried.

"Doesn't matter, baby. Want u, just you. You're all I need"

Aaron completely lost his senses, and he forgot how many times he has cum inside of you, he just know he felt it dripping from your cunt, he knew his wife was moments away from being home, but how could he care if you were there, lying in bed, legs open and cum dripping his cum from how full it was.

"Fuck, Aaron" You started, looking down to your pussy once he pulled out "It's too much"

"I know, star. Gotta make sure you get pregnant, shouldn't I?"

"Yeah" you answer, completely lost.

"Sam's coming, princess. Get dressed? Let's pretend I'm showing you the house"

You nod and put on your dress quickly, your thighs sticking from his cum and he takes the panties on the floor before you could get to them. "I'm keeping this"

And you don't complain as you walk out of the room.

"We're getting rid of this house after you leave her. It's horrendous"

[beesspacedotorg]

The Sky is Blue, the Grass is Green

Summary: You love your girlfriend more than anything else in the world. It's not hard, she's perfect for you. You'd give her everything she could ever want and more still.

Warning: SEX LESBIAN SEX WITH GIRLS AND LESBIANS. I will say that reader has a vagina as does lino. hits is because I wrote this while half asleep after not sleeping for 16 hours with a sore throat and forgot to write gender neutral reader. outside of the fact that the reader has one of those body type is not specified because :|. uh. spanking (sorry, I'm me) and mommy kink (me) and girls being in love with each other

notes: happy pride month. I've been listening to a lot of music by sapphics recently and it made me gay. Also I saw some loser say that Chappell Roan is the first queer person to publicly yearn for women and that is phenomenally untrue. Internet person who I've never met, this was written to spite you. Sorry for not making this more inclusive to women of all body types or to all lesbians regardless of gender. mayhaps I will write something for you soon. EXTRA NOTE: Moon Chaeyoung is not a kpop idol (to my knowledge) she is Cindy Moon aka Silk aka a Spider-Man. Chaeyoung is her Korean name. sorry for the slander, Cindy, I love you more than anything but I needed a name.

You’re going to make her your wife one day. You know this with the certainty that you know everything else. The sky is blue, the grass is green, you are going to marry Lee Minho. You’re staring at her, watching her make breakfast (that isn’t actually breakfast because you’re eating it at 2pm) in an old school shirt of yours and you can feel your love for her swell through your heart to be pumped through the rest of your body. You think that loving her is the most effective drug on the planet, that people wouldn’t need anything stronger than an ibuprofen because just spending a minute alone with her is enough to give you a high unlike any other. She turns around to plate the food and catches you staring, she always does, and it makes her ears blush crimson.

“Yah,” she says it softly, “take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“Why would I need a picture when I have the real thing right in front of me?” Her ears turn a new, deeper shade of red and she avoids your gaze.

“You’re a charmer, you know that?”

“I have the most beautiful woman in the world in front of me and you want me to be normal about it?” You roll your eyes playfully, and reach for your cup to take a sip of your juice.

“No, you don’t,” she says, suddenly.

“‘No, I don’t’ what?”

“You don’t have the most beautiful woman in the world in front of you,” she hands you your plate - with no eggs because you can’t stand them, and no pork because it makes you sick, and french toast the way your dad used to make on lazy Sunday mornings - made with love and care just like everything else she does.

“You don’t have the most beautiful woman in the world in front of you,” she repeats, sitting down next to you with her breakfast that’s completely different from yours, “I do.”

-

“Minnie Mouse?” You just came from work, calling through the house to see if she’s home, too. You can tell from the aggravated sigh that comes from the living room that she is, indeed, home.

“You could literally call me anything else,” she’s wrestling Dori on her lap, the tabby always staunchly opposed to having his nails clipped.

“Where’s the fun in that?” You sit down beside her and take the clippers, letting her soothe and calm Dori while you make yourself his least favorite for the night. You’ll live. He’ll come begging for attention when Minho’s too busy being great at everything to give it to him.

“The fun is not having your girlfriend break your toes in your sleep.” You laugh at her and bring her Doongie, holding him instead because he doesn’t care about the whole process even a little bit and you want to pet his soft head.

“Did you know there’s nothing they can do for broken toes?”

“Really? Doongie, please stop wiggling so much.”

“Yeah, they kind of just say ‘good luck’ and kick you out before charging you one million dollars for breathing hospital air.”

“American healthcare really is something. How’d you learn that by the way?”

“My friend had an experience once. Also, it was mentioned in a video game.” She laughs, kissing Doongie’s forehead, then yours.

“Did you learn anything else in that video game?”

“I have incredibly poor hand-eye coordination.”

“I could’ve told you that.”

“What- what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Will you get a towel to wrap Soongie in, please?”

“Hey, wait. Hey! You can’t just say weird things and walk away!”

(“Can you really tell that I have poor hand-eye coordination?” You ask her this while she’s splayed out under you, two of your fingers knuckle deep in her sweet cunt while a thumb circles her clit.

“What?” She’s out of breath and her chest is heaving in a way that makes her tits look even hotter than normal. You almost lose your train of thought.

“Earlier. You said you can tell that I have poor hand-eye coordination.”

“Jesus- you stopped fucking me to ask me that?” One of her hands that was cradling your wrist goes up to her eyes to rub at them. “You’re something else.”

“Well! I just remembered it! Maybe I’m not doing a good job-”

“Stupid girl,” she’s got you on your back now, seemingly not caring about the orgasm she was approaching before you got distracted. “When have I ever not told you when I didn’t like something?”

“Uh. Never?”

“Exactly, so why do you think I’d start now? With this?” She gestures between the two of you and you look, stupidly, like you will see something other than your naked, sweaty body and her equally naked, equally sweaty, incredibly sexy body.

“That’s… that’s a great question.”

“I was just teasing, jagi. That’s all.” She kisses the side of your mouth and you can feel the way her lashes flutter along your cheek in a perfect butterfly kiss. Everything about her makes you fall deeper in love the longer you know her, even her stupidly long and perfect eyelashes.

“So, about my hand-eye coordination.” She drops her head to your shoulder with another curse and your hand comes up to play with her hair.

“It’s still bad, believe me. I don’t notice it when we have sex, though. You’re perfectly good with your hands, jagi.”

“The best?” She smiles, kisses you on the mouth this time.

“The best.”)

-

She’s got you in between her legs in the tub, her strong thighs thrown over yours so you can’t move while she aims the jet of the shower head directly on your clit. It’s almost too much, it always is, an unyielding wall of pressure that sends shocks of pleasure through your body in a way that makes you squirmy beyond belief. The first time you did this to yourself, you ended up with bruises on your back, the first time you did this with her, you almost elbowed her in the face. As it stands, she’s got her arms wrapped around you as best she can as you whine underneath her.

“I can’t, I can’t. ‘S too much, please.”

“Jagi,” she coos it right into your ear, “you haven’t even came yet. You keep tapping out before it gets good. Don’t you wanna come, baby?” You nod and she tilts her head out of the way so you don’t nail her in the jaw.

“I want to, but it’s so much.” She coos as you again as your legs scramble uselessly for purchase underneath hers. The tile is too slippery for you to do so, and Minho’s thighs are no joke. She’s danced for years and her gym routine is nothing to scoff at. You could spend hours writing sonnets about her legs if you weren’t so distracted.

“You can though, can’t you, kitty cat?” Your hand pats frantically at her arm until she gets the message to hold it in one of her own. “You can be good for me, right? You’ll come the way I want you to?”

The sound you let out in response to that is more of a cry than anything else, she shushes you and kisses your cheek sweetly like she isn’t the one overloading your nerves with sensation, like the isn’t the one unleashing as much water pressure as possible on the most sensitive part of your body. She shifts her grip just slightly, adjusts the angle and that has you lurching forward so fast you almost knock her over.

“Silly girl, don’t run.” She pulls you right back to her chest, boobs pressed against your back as she fixes the spray directly at the angle that had you reeling. “I always forget how squirmy you get when we do this.” She giggles, like she’s watching a silly cartoon.

“Mommy,” you can’t think enough to say anything intelligent, high, pitchy moans coming out in place of words. You want to answer her, to tell her you weren’t trying to run, that you will be a good girl for her. She’s trained you better than this, but you can’t say much else beyond her title, beyond her name. You hope she knows what you’re trying to tell her anyway.

“Oh, jagi.” Her voice is soft and sweet, but the way she’s pinning you is not. Neither is the way she’s forcing you to take what she gives you. “Mommy’s here, kitty cat. Mommy’s got you.”

“Mommy. Mommy.” You’re repeating it, over and over, too dumb to say anything else as you feel the overwhelming input you’ve been receiving crest higher and higher. She hums after each mention of her name like she understands what you’re saying. Hums like you’re one of the cats meowing at her for attention. You suppose she’s not too far off.

You cum with a near silent scream, breath halting in your chest in a way that used to concern Minho when it first happened. She doesn’t keep the water pressure going for too long after that, dropping the showerhead to replace the stream with her fingers to help you ride it out. She only loosens her grip when you slump back against her, loose limbed and dazed, muscles still twitching from how tightly they were tensed. She kisses the side of your face and very politely keeps her hands above your waistline while you calm down.

“You feel better?” She’s holding the shower head again, and giggles when you close your legs, simply holding it to the side so it doesn’t spray water all over the floor.

“Mhm. Thank you, mommy.”

“I’m glad. Let’s finish showering, yeah? Mommy will clean you up.”

 (You’re leaning heavily against her as she guides you to sit on the bed, grabbing your respective lotions and hair care products and turning to take care of you first. You whine at her.

“Let me do yours!” She raises an eyebrow.

“Keep your eyes open for more than thirty seconds and maybe I will.” You lift your hands and manually pry your eyelids apart. She bats at them until you stop.

“Ew, it’s so gross when you do that. Freak.”

“I miss five minutes ago when you were telling me I’m the love of your life.”

“Five minutes ago you weren’t being a little shit head.”

“False. I’m always a shit head.” She hums and grabs your chin, wiggling your head a little until you look at her.

“No, sometimes, you’re my sweet little girl.”

“Oh.” There’s absolutely no hiding the way you react to her when she talks to you like that and your hands fly to her hips as she lets go and leans back out of your personal space to grab the stuff to start your post-shower routine.

“Let me eat you out.” It’s sudden, and comes out of you in a rush.

“What?” She nearly drops the bottle of leave-in, ears turning red.

“Please? Please. I’ll get on my knees right now.” She scoffs.

“You’re falling asleep as we speak”

“No, I’m wide awake right now. Please let me, please.” She hums.

“Let me finish what I’m doing and if you’re still speaking in full sentences and not going crazy with sleep induced hysteria, I’ll let you.”

“Yippee!”

“If you fall asleep you can have what you want in the morning.”

“You’re the best, ever.”

“I’m aware.”

By the time she’s done taking care of the both of you, you are definitely not well enough to be doing anything. That doesn’t stop you from trying though, and you fall asleep with your head pillowed on one of Minho’s thighs. She has to readjust you so you don’t suffocate in her cunt. What a way to go.)

-

Minho is having a bad day today. It isn’t often she has those, generally unflappable to most things, but she’d gotten into a fight with one of her work friends and came home in a huff.

“I just don’t understand why she won’t listen to me!” She’s slamming things open and closed around the kitchen while you sit on the counter. She works around you as she always does and doesn’t slam anything if it’s less than two feet away from you.

“I know, she’s a bitch. You should report her to HR or something.”

“I should!”

“I’ll help you draft the email. I’m very good at sounding bitchy in a nice way.”

“You are!” She’s aggressively chopping vegetables next to you and you rest a hand on her shoulder.

“Be careful of your fingers, lovie.”

“I’m always careful.”

“Of course you are,” you’re unusually agreeable because it will do nothing but harm to work your girlfriend up when she’s already upset. Besides, of the two of you, you’re more clumsy, so it’s not like you have any legs to stand on. 

“Do you want solutions to what’s going on, or do you want me to keep calling your coworkers mean names?” It’s nice to ask people what kind of support they want, you learned. Minho is a coin toss, sometimes she wants an immediate solution, sometimes she wants to complain. You always do your best to meet her where she is.

“The second one, please.” She’s sauteeing something in the wok, and it smells delicious. You peer over her shoulder.

“Pause. Is that pancit?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re the love of my life.”

“Yes, yes,” you touch your pointer finger to the tip of an iron-hot ear as she speaks, “please call Moon Chaeyoung a cunt again, it’s funny.”

And so you do, going into detail about all the ways Moon Chaeyoung is inferior at her job compared to your girlfriend until she asks you for genuine help.

(“Is there anything else you need?” She’s laying with her head in your lap as you make tiny braids in her hair. Her eyes are closing and she hums as she thinks about it. You’ve already given her all the advice that you can, her only course of action now is to do it.

“Well. I can think of some things.” She turns her head to the side and shoves her face into your crotch like an animal. You swat her shoulder lightly.

“You’re a horn dog. Insatiable.” She turns her eyes to you, squinting them so her cat-like gaze shifts from playful to predatory.

“Which one of us woke the other up this morning because they couldn’t stop shoving their hands in their pants?” She sits up, leaning over you.

“I was dreaming!” You’re giggling, slipping under her arm and moving away.

“You kept going after I woke you up!” She stands up, throwing her arms in the air indignantly. You cross your arms in response.

“I was horny!” 

“That’s exactly my point.” She has her head in her hands so the words come out muffled. She grumbles something and lunges after you. You squeal and head towards your room.

“Yah! Get back here you little shit!” She lets out a huff as you throw a cat toy at her.

“I thought I was the love of your life!”

“That was before you decided to run from me- don’t you dare close that damn door-” The bedroom door clicks shut and the sound of your giggles is uncontrollable. You hear her walk away before the lock jiggles and her head pops through.

“Guess who?” You laugh again, heading towards the bed to throw more things at her, it does nothing to stop her. It’s not long before she has you pinned underneath her.

“Hi,” you smile at her, leaning up for a kiss.

“All that and all you want to say to me is ‘hi’?”

“Yeah.” She rolls her eyes and flips you over as you yelp in surprise. You’re about to start questioning her when a sharp sting lights up your ass.

“Ah- Minho! Hey!”

“Stop squirming. I’m not done yet.” There’s another smack over your pants before she pulls them down and her palm is connecting with skin.

“This isn’t fair! I didn’t even do anything!” You’re protesting while laying limply across her lap. She laughs at you.

“‘This isn’t fair’ she whines. Why is your pussy so wet then, hmm?” She spreads your legs a bit and lands a smack there too, snickering when your legs close reflexively on her hand. “Be a good girl, jagi. Take what you’re given.”)

-

It’s sunny when you ask her. The air is hot and humid and she’s wearing this dress that’s making your brain melt out of your ears. You’re having a picnic, because you can, and she’s talking about this show that she’s watching with Jisung.

“And then- and you’ll never fucking believe this- he goes ‘I could never court her’ and she overhears. If that happened to me I would literally explode.” You hum, shoving a heart shaped sandwich in her mouth while you look at her side profile. She’s beautiful, sharp nose and a round face. You want to live the rest of your life with her.

You’ve talked about it before, on hazy mornings when the rest of the world is just waking. In the middle of the night when the only sound is the hoot of owls and the buzz of crickets. At lunch, at dinner, at breakfast. In the shower, over the phone, through text messaging when you’re at work. You both are listed on the cat's vet information, something she changed a year into dating that she was nervous about telling you.

  “I don’t want you to feel pressured,” she’d said, “or like they’re your responsibility. I can take you off if you want, but I thought that if I was out of town or if something happened, you should be able to take care of them.” She’d been nervous, ears red with shame instead of the cute way they flush when you flirt with her. 

“Thank you, jagi.” You don’t often call her that, preferring to torture her with bad puns using the syllables of her name, so her breath catches in her throat.

“You’re sure?”

“Of course.”

She knows every order that you get from fast food restaurants, she hounded your parents for their chicken noodle soup recipe when you got sick one time. She learned how to make your grandma’s spaghetti sauce and let’s you call her mommy in bed because it makes you feel safe.

She’s everything to you and then some, so when you tap her shoulder and hold out the ring you bought, it’s as natural as breathing. A fact of life, an inevitability. The sky is blue, the grass is green, you are going to marry Lee Minho.

“He keeps friendzoning her. It's absolutely despicable, like, are you blind or something-” She turns her gaze to you and her eyes go wide. “You’re joking.” Her eyes are welling with tears, something that you hardly ever see.

“I’m as serious as a heart attack, baby. Will you be my wife? I promise if you say yes I’ll start helping you make the bed in the morning instead of laying on it and making your job harder.” She hugs you, knocking you back onto the blanket you’re sitting on. The movement tips over your cup of lemonade and you damn near lose the ring.

“Of course I will. And you most certainly will not help. But that’s okay, I love you even if you create weird bumps in my sheets and mess up my hard work not five seconds after it’s done.” She kisses your face all over, resembling more like an overexcited puppy than the cats she favors, and you grab her hand to slip the ring on it.

“I love you, Minho. I really do.”

“I can’t believe I get to marry the most beautiful girl in the world,” she says, looking down at her hand.

“You don’t,” you start, kissing her cheekbone. “You don’t get to marry the most beautiful girl in the world. I do.”

(“You know,” she starts as you’re packing up, “I was going to propose to you soon.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Absolutely I am not.” She fishes around the pocket of her dress before pulling out a ring.

“This is so funny. Can I still have it?”

“Of course, it’s yours,” she slips it onto your finger, face heating up to match her ears, “everything I have is yours. Everything and then some.”)

[separatist-apologist]

Guilty As Sin

Summary: Rhys has been watching Feyre Archeron for a long time. Thinking about what he'd do if he ever had her. How he'd keep her.

And now he has her.

TW: Dubious consent, blood kink, knife play

Read On AO3

-

It would be, perhaps, Rhysand’s greatest triumph to kill Tamlin Rosewood. After all, Tamlin had set him down this path so many years before—when they’d been teenagers, two boys from questionable, if not wealthy homes, looking for something to make them feel alive. Tamlin had asked Rhys if he wanted to see something cool, and then let him watch as Tamlin sliced apart a local vagrant. It should have been horrifying. Disgusting.

And yet Rhysand had found the whole thing fascinating. More fascinating still was how easy it was to claim his first kill. Rhysand needed a moral code to keep himself in line, to keep from just jamming a blade into every person who passed him on the street. Tamlin had suggested it, too, perhaps recognizing Rhys’ propensity for violence. Or maybe he knew all too well how enjoyable snuffing out life was. How close to God it made Rhys feel.

Pick those that can fight back.

People who’ve wasted their life.

Do the world a  favor.

Of course they’d eventually turn on each other. How long before two serial killers realized the world might be better off without at least one of them? It had been a cat and mouse game ever since, trying to catch the other unaware and going to ground when they failed. Tamlin had come close a couple times while Rhys had mostly just watched.

Waited.

Bided his time until Tamlin genuinely believed himself to be a god. That Rhys was so afraid of him he wouldn’t dare. Tamlin had let his guard down just enough to find himself a girlfriend he apparently liked. And she, Rhys decided, was going to be how he finally killed Tamlin. Collateral in their feud, he told himself. After all, any woman dumb enough to fall for Tamlin wasn’t worth much. 

He’d looked her up—Feyre Archeron. Her profile picture on facebook was an artbrush, but she’d helpfully listed every job she’d ever had since high school—and there had been many. Rhys ran them all down until he got to the art studio she taught at and, because he liked a little drama in his life, signed him up for one of her intro classes. 

He had been unaware he would be the only adult in said class until a wave of bouncy, giggly children had stormed through the doors, taking seats at easels while their parents vanished. He could have slipped out—he’d meant to, he swore it. But Feyre Archeron had come waltzing in wearing a baby blue sweater, sleeves rolled to her elbows, the hem hanging just beneath her ass, and oh. Rhys stayed in his chair, if only to admire the curve of her hips in those cotton soft leggings.

She didn’t seem like Tamlin’s usual type. There was a softness to her features, a constellation of freckles dotted across her nose alongside a splatter of violet ink in those cerulean eyes, that made Rhys certain she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Her full mouth curved into an easy smile, gaze settling on him.

“Did you mean to sign up for this?” she asked him, eliciting another round of giggles from the children. There was no malice to her words, playful and sweet. He wanted to put his hands on her. Was she corruptible? Oh, how Rhys wanted to find out. His plans reshaped themselves as they looked at the other, though Feyre didn’t know it. Killing her wasn’t an option, not anymore. No. He’d take her for himself, stripping Tamlin of everything he cared about before finally spilling his blood. And he’d start with perfect, pretty Feyre Archeron.

Rhys offered her a lazy smile, running a hand through his ebony hair. “My skill level is comparable, I’m certain.”

“I guess we’ll see,” she replied, her delight evident. Rhys felt her amusement reflected in his own body. When was the last time anyone had charmed him by sight alone? Nevermind how funny he found her, watching as she interacted with each student with the kind of unending patience he could only dream of. It begged the question—what did Tamlin want with her? He knew Tamlin, and of all the virtues Tamlin might claim to have, patience certainly wasn’t one of them.

He had a famously vicious temper. 

Did Feyre know her boyfriend was a serial killer? Did Tamlin know his girlfriend taught school children in her spare time? What would be more abhorrent to who? Rhys never managed to untangle that, just like he never managed to make his brush strokes half as nice as the eight year old beside him. Rhys lingered, waiting until the kids were gone and Feyre was cleaning up to say something to her.

“I’m not some kind of weirdo, I hope you know,” he began, drawing a pretty laugh from prettier lips. 

“No? I might have thought so if I hadn’t seen how abysmal you are with a brush. I teach preschoolers on Tuesdays. You might be better suited in that class.”

“You wound me, Ms. Archeron,” he replied, one hand pressed to his chest. “You didn’t like my house?”

“Oh, was that what it is?” she asked, squinting at his muddied colors on the paper. “I thought you were painting me a stormy sky.”

“I’ll paint whatever you tell me to,” Rhys quipped, noting how her cheeks flushed. No ring on her finger—god, but how incredible to seduce her out from under Tamlin’s nose. For Tamlin not to realize he was losing everything to his old nemesis. How long before Tamlin learned of Rhysand’s treachery? Rhysand was a patient man. It was one of his better qualities, few as they were.

He’d send Tamlin a wedding invitation inked in blood, fuck his new wife, and then, as a gift to her, bring her Tamlin’s still beating heart.

Wife? That was a weird thought.

Rhys cleared his head. He was merely excited at the prospect of punishing Tamlin—that was all. Feyre was beautiful, but hardly wife material. Besides, the kind of woman who spent her time teaching children to color within the lines didn’t want to get shackled to the likes of him. Not long-term, at any rate. Rhys had dated plenty of women, all of whom woke up one morning deeply unsettled and certain they were making a mistake. He couldn’t blame them—he would make an awful husband. 

A good lay, though? He could give her that. 

“Watch yourself Rhysand.”

“Come, now,” he said, rising from the little metal stool he’d been sitting on. She was so much smaller than him—lithe and lovely, so breakable in a way that made him want to be careful rather than rough. “Only my enemies call me Rhysand.”

“Fine. Watch yourself Rhys. I’ll think you’re flirting if you’re not careful,” Feyre said, twisting that thick, golden brown hair off her face with a paintbrush. Something within him stirred at the sight of wispy tendrils framing her face, fingers twitching with the urge to brush them from her cheekbones. 

“Careful isn’t how anyone who knows me would describe me. Besides…maybe I am flirting.”

This was the part where she told him she had a boyfriend. Rhys waited, catching the flicker of indecision streak over her features. He could practically hear her rationalizing it in her mind—there was no harm in a little flirting.

Oh, Tamlin. Rhys cocked his head. How far could he take this before she broke? If he could just get his hands into those tight leggings of hers, she’d forget all about that blonde haired bastard. C’mon, Rhys urged.

His silent plea fell on deaf ears. Too good for the likes of him, Feyre said, “Well, if you were flirting, I’d have to tell you that I have a boyfriend.”

“Lucky him,” Rhys replied, gut twisting despite his easy expression. “I know when I’ve been beat. See you around Feyre.”

And then he left, still smiling to himself as he went. She had no idea, of course. 

But Rhys would be seeing her very soon.

– 

Feyre stared down at the meal, ruined again. Behind her, Tamlin practically seethed with unseen anger. She could feel him working to leash his temper, to resist the urge to tell her I told you so.

I told you you’re a terrible cook.

“I’ll order dinner,” Tamlin said, ignoring the way Feyre blinked back tears. Bracing the ledge of the sink, she stared out the open window into the dark. She was trying—didn’t that matter? It wasn’t that badly burned, besides. They could have eaten around it. Feyre wished Tamlin would sit down, tell her it looked good, and eat it. Was that so much to ask? 

Apparently, given the heavy, long-suffering sigh from the man behind her. “You don’t need to try so hard, Feyre. You have me.”

“It’s—” She choked back the urge to scream that it wasn’t about impressing him. It was about care, about showing him that she loved him in some tangible way. Doing something for him so that he, in turn, might do something for her. Might do or say something that made her feel seen and safe. 

It had been a year of the stretching silence and the long sighs. Of not technically doing anything that would cause her to break up with her, all while giving off an air of not liking her very much. Well—that wasn’t fair. When the lights were out and they were in bed, Tamlin was very attentive. Detached, somehow—he never wanted her to look him in the eye—but he knew every place to touch and tease to make her writhe. And that was too often enough to convince her it was better to stay and hope whatever was bothering him faded and he went back to the love sick fool she’d first fallen in love with.

It didn’t help that Rhysand—Rhys—was still lodged firmly in her brain three days post meeting him. He’d been…well…he’d been beautiful. And charming. And funny, too. Endearing, even, as the kids teased him for his poor paint work. And when he’d said he was flirting, well…Feyre had imagined sending Tamlin a quick text message.

This is over. Don’t call me again. 

Throwing away a year on a man with a roguish smile seemed like a call for help. Still, he’d been on her mind, unshakable as her relationship with Tamlin stagnated like pond water. He ordered food without consulting her, ate it silently, all the while staring at his phone. He worked for a security firm and spent so much time watching the cameras, tracking people with a single-minded devotion she wished he’d focus on her.

“I’m going out,” he told her abruptly, only after Feyre had changed into a tiny slip of a nightdress, thinking she’d feel better if they at least had sex. His pine green gaze slid down her body without a hint of interest or appreciation. Just an acknowledgement that she had nearly every inch of her skin out for him before looking back to her face. “You can wait up, if you want.” How romantic, she wanted to scream. She felt utterly pathetic, a neglected housewife married for twenty years while her husband had an affair. Only Tamlin’s affair was with his job and Feyre would never come first. 

Say nothing, she ordered herself. And yet her traitorous lips said, “Couldn’t it wait another night?”

He regarded her without emotion. “It can’t. Get some sleep, Feyre. I’ll be in later.” Tamlin turned without a look back, swiping his car keys thrown haphazardly on the dresser, and strode from the room. Feyre didn’t, listening to the sound of the soft snick of the closing door and the sound of tires pulling away from the curb.

What was more pathetic, she wondered as she padded into the kitchen for a drink for water? Staying up late to seduce him, thus allowing him to have everything he wanted without doing any work at all, or staying with him when she was so miserable in the first place? Was this love?

Feyre didn’t get a chance to answer any of those questions. 

There, in the hall, stood a tall, muscular…man? They certainly seemed masculine, with broad shoulders that tapered into a rather nice waist beneath that high necked sweater. Matching black pants and a belt would have made him look rather nice, had he not been holding a massive, jagged knife in one gloved hand.

The ghost face mask obscuring his features didn’t help, either. Feyre didn’t move, heart hammering against her ribs. Scream. Run. Do something.

“There you are,” a deep, rich voice spoke from beneath the mask, “I’ve been looking for you.” 

“Don’t hurt me,” Feyre whispered, rooted in place as he made his way towards her. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, drinking in the heady smell of his cologne and that horrible knife glinting beneath the artificial lights beaming overhead. 

With his free hand, he reached toward her and to her credit, Feyre didn’t flinch. She merely stood utterly still as he brushed his knuckles over her cheekbone before sliding his gloved thumb over her lip.

“Hurt you? Darling, I’m here to rescue you.”

Her brain couldn’t make sense of those dark words dripping with the promise of…the promise of what? Feyre tried a step backward, tripping over her own nervous feet to fall to the ground. The man lunged and she braced herself for the pain of his blade, for blood and misery before finally death. But all she found was fingers around her body, hoisting her into the air.

She flailed, heel connecting with his jaw. He swore and the two fell to the ground gracelessly a second time, him tearing her nightdress to keep her pinned beneath him.

“I do so like you like this,” he all but growled as she tried to yank that mask off his face. If she was going to kill her, she deserved to look him in the eyes. His fingers curled around her wrists, subduing her quickly—easily, before gathering both in one big, broad hand. The other came over her mouth and nose, cutting off her ability to breathe.

“Don’t fight me,” he whispered as she kicked out her legs from beneath him. Why was this happening? She was going to die. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

A tear slid down her cheek. How could he say that as he was suffocating her with his hand? She  continued to writhe, for all the good it did her, her screaming mind drowning out the words her attacker was saying. Lungs burning, desperately trying to gasp for air, Feyre couldn’t control her limbs. She felt herself getting dizzy, choking on her own pooling spit.

“I’m not going to kill you,” her attacker said, his voice far away. “Stop fighting me and I’ll remove my hand.” Her body went limp as she complied immediately, willing to do anything if it meant she could breathe again. And true to his word, her attacker removed his hand, letting her take a gasping, sobbing breath of air. 

“Good girl,” he praised softly, caressing her cheek a second time. “If you do everything I say, no one has to get hurt. Can you stand?”

“No,” Feyre said, eyes closed as she focused only on the sensation of air in her body. She wasn’t going to help him abduct her, besides. Not that it mattered. He had her wrists bound before he picked her back up like she was weightless to him, walking her toward her front door with ease.

“My boyfriend has cameras on the door,” she said, unsure if she was warning this man or helping him. “He’s going to see you.”

A chuckle rumbled from his broad chest. “Oh, I am well aware. Your boyfriend is too busy hunting tonight to check…and by the time he does, you and I will be long gone.”

The cool night air was like a caress against her clammy skin. Feyre saw the car—sleek and dark—parked so brazenly in the drive. 

“The police will find you,” she warned, deciding for a little boldness despite her swimming head and desperate desire to fall asleep.

“That would require Tamlin to call them…and he won’t. No, my darling—this is personal and you’re simply caught up in the middle of it. Now—can I trust you to behave in my back seat, or do you need to go in the trunk? I don’t want to put you back there…but I will.”

“What do you mean?” Feyre demanded, mind swimming.

“I mean, I don’t want to die on the road—”

“About hunting,” she interrupted, looking up at that ghostface mask. “About Tamlin not calling the police.”

Her attacker seemed to hesitate, muscles going taut beneath her. “I had a whole presentation planned. Why spoil it?”

“Tell me.”

“Your boyfriend is a killer—just like me. He taught me, in fact—or rather, we taught each other. He can’t involve the police without risking himself so he won’t.”

“Am I bait?”

“Oh, Feyre darling, you are so much more than that. For now, you’re merely my guest. Now—can I trust you in the car?”

Ferye closed her eyes. If she wanted to survive, she’d have to be careful. She had the thought just as her attacker laid her in the back of his car. She panicked, seeing him hovering over her, and immediately kicked him in the throat. He stumbled back as Feyre filled her lungs with air and screamed. She didn’t yell help—but screamed at the top of her lungs hoping a neighbor would come out.

“Fucking shit,” the kidnapper groaned, lunging forward. With her wrists bound, Feyre couldn’t do much, especially when he picked her back up. “Go ahead. Scream as loud as you want—-” She screamed directly against his ear, causing him to jerk back a step. He didn’t speak, merely popped his trunk and dumped her unceremoniously inside.

“Remember I tried,” he said before slamming it shut. Feyre immediately started looking for the little hatch that would open it, pulling it with her teeth.

The masked man was waiting, arms crossed over his chest. “Why must you make this difficult?”

“I hate you,” she bit back, heart racing in her throat. He only sighed before producing masking tape. After a moment, she found it pressed over her eyes and mouth before he bound her ankles, too.

“Open my trunk and roll out,” he dared her, the sound of his voice somehow more terrifying than the sight of him. “See how far that gets you.”

He slammed the trunk again, leaving Feyre alone in the dark. She screamed against the tape, trying to break it until her wrists were raw. He’d begun driving, the music faint through the fabric of the backseats. Would it have been smarter to pretend to be his friend? To lull him into a false sense of security? Feyre had never been particularly patient. In fact, she was spontaneous to a fault, acting without thinking and hoping it all worked out. Of course, that was for school assignments and ghosting friends—never because she’d been kidnapped.

Think, Feyre. 

She couldn’t, though. Not beyond her immediate problem, which was the tape over her mouth and eyes. If she could just get it off, Feyre thought she’d be able to think more clearly. Figure out a plan and execute it. She rubbed until her wrists ached and her head pounded, but at no point did she manage to do anything but chafe her skin, exhaling for air roughly through her nose. 

Eventually, the car came to a stop, the music cutting off abruptly. Lost to the dark, Feyre went limp as the sound of shoes on gravel flooded her senses. A moment later, cold air rushed into the trunk as hands lifted her in the air.

“You’re a terrible actress,” her captor murmured, his amusement plain. “I’m going to unbind you when we get inside. Are you listening to me? Nod your head.” Feyre did.

She heard the sound of numbers being keyed into a pad followed by the smell of warm cedar, drowning out the unmistakable scent of snow. Feyre was set on something soft—a sofa, before the tape was peeled off her eyes, and then her mouth. She was in a cabin, she realized. Well decorated and comfortable—and likely remote. Had he taken her up into the Illyrian Mountains?

“People will be looking for me—”

“No they won’t,” he replied smoothly, reaching for the edge of his mask. He was showing her his face? Feyre panicked—the only reason he’d do that was if he didn’t intend for her to tell anyone. She almost begged him not to, but a second later he’d peeled it back, revealing…well. Not what she’d imagined.

He was handsome, the asshole. Dark hair paired with eyes so blue they seemed violet were the first things she noticed. He was staring down at her, his sensual lips curled into a smile. The sharpness of his jaw and his high cheekbones gave him an almost aristocratic air, and his warm, brown skin was utterly unblemished and smooth. 

She’d been imagining him as some ugly man. This was worse, somehow. If he was caught, he’d have prison groupies. People would wonder if he’d really done anything horrible at all given how lovely he was to look at. That charming smile certainly didn’t help. 

"I remember you," she said. "From the art studio."

Rhys grinned. 

“Let me explain to you how things are going to work between us,” he began, running a hand through his thick hair. “There is nowhere for you to run, and if you try, you’re likely to plummet to your death or freeze before I find you. No one is looking for you. Repeat that as often as you need to. Tamlin will make all your excuses. He’s not going to rescue you. Until I’m done, you are at my mercy.”

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked, wishing she could curl herself into a small ball. 

He chuckled. “No, Feyre. I’m not going to kill you. I think we might get along perfectly well so long as you don’t do anything foolish.”

Like running away. The look on his face told her he expected her to. She didn’t have shoes, was dressed in a pair of leggings and an oversized t-shirt. She wouldn’t get far, but maybe he was lying. Maybe he banked on her fear to keep her compliant. 

He made a show of pulling a pocket knife from his pants and freeing her, frowning at her raw, bruised wrists. Feyre drew them against her chest, looking up at him warily. “What now?” He shrugged. “I don’t care what you do, so long as you remain within these walls.”

Fat chance of that. But Feyre nodded, hoping she looked properly scared. The cabin itself was small, and filled with cameras. He’d see her. Fine. He had to sleep at some point—he couldn’t be monitoring her all day, every day.

It was a bit of a stretch to call it a cabin given the home had two floors. It was remote, though, and seemed to function mostly off the grid, and had a rather nice kitchen she doubted he knew how to use. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a den he seemed to work out of—she wasn’t sure, given he didn’t open that door and merely gestured to it with a casual, don’t go in there.

Maybe it was where he tortured his victims. 

Feyre was given a room down the hall from him, devoid of a lock. “Look up,” he murmured, chin gutting toward the camera. “Wave to Tamlin.”

Feyre glanced up, unsure which of them she hated more. “He can see me?”

“He’ll see this,” Rhys murmured, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s easy enough to send it to him.”

“You could get back at him without involving me,” she heard herself say, wondering if that made her a traitor. This had nothing to do with her, and Feyre felt as if she was being punished unfairly for whatever was going on between Rhys and Tamlin. 

He shrugged. “Consider this a rescue.”

A rescue? Feyre was going to kill him. Maybe he saw it, because he nodded toward the twin bed shoved in the corner. “There’s some clothes in the closet you can use—”

“Who did they belong to?” she demanded, heart leaping in her throat.

“My cousin,” he replied, eyes narrowed. As if he were offended she might suggest there’d been another captive in the room. Feyre didn’t want to think about that—it made her panic all over again. 

Rhys left after a few more self satisfied words around how he’d find her if she tried to escape so not to bother. Feyre wasn’t listening, already thinking about escaping through the window. Was it locked? Her bedroom door wasn’t, which felt like a test. Was he hoping she’d try and escape? 

Feyre sat on the edge of that bed and talked herself into her plan. Ignoring that it was cold and isolated and that she was woefully unprepared, Feyre instead thought about Rhys.

He wasn’t a god. He was only a man. He might have cameras on her, might have her watched, but he couldn’t search miles and miles of forest. The only advantage he had, supposedly, was that he knew she was missing before anyone else did. Feyre had grown up running through the backwoods and something about the slick way Rhys had his hair shoved off his stupid, too-perfect, face, told her he could not boast the same.

Feyre found booties in the back of the closet, and a million pairs of leggings hanging in the closet besides sweaters that were far too big for her frame. They’d double as a blanket, she decided as she pulled it all on. 

He was probably watching her. Feyre turned toward the camera and the blinking red light and offered her middle finger before throwing open that window. 

“For fucks sake!” Rhys’s voice called from somewhere inside the cabin. Feyre scrambled out the window, toppling feet over head into the frigid snow. Rhys’s fingers skimmed her ankle, attempting to drag her back inside. 

Scrambling to her feet as he came right out behind her in that stupid mask, Feyre realized it was a lot harder to run in snow than she’d expected. She had a head start on him for a solid ten seconds before he slammed into her, taking them both back to the ground. Rhys was made of solid muscle and was heavy. 

His bare hand wrapped around her throat, arching her neck upward until his lips touched her ear. “I told you not to,” he said as she writhed beneath him, desperately trying to get out from under him. 

“I don’t care what you say!” Feyre screamed. Rhys grabbed her arms, holding them in one broad hand as he restrained her thoroughly.

“You will—” he began, but Feyre head butted him, earning a furious curse in her ear. He half fell to his side, losing his grip on her wrists, which gave her time to scramble back to her feet. Rhys was just behind, grabbing her around her middle before hauling her up on his shoulder.

Feyre screamed, and though Rhys stumbled, he didn’t drop her like she’d hoped he would. 

“Scream all you want,” Rhys roared in response, as if he needed to make his point. “No one can hear you!”

“Tamlin is going—”

“He’s not coming!” Rhys interrupted, his fury finally scaring her. She hadn’t been frightened before—not truly. But right then, draped over Rhys’s shoulder while he wore that mask in the dark, his voice dripping with condemnation, Feyre was frightened. He sounded irate, dragging her back into that cabin with sure steps.

He didn’t take her back to that same room. Instead, Rhys dropped her into a different one—one that looked distinctly lived in. One that belonged to him, she realized. Feyre attempted to scramble up but Rhys was consistently faster. He had one leg, and then the other bound to the posts at the end of the footboard.

He sat on the bed beside her, laptop resting on his thigh. He pulled that mask up over his face, tossing it to the bed beside her. 

“Look for yourself,” Rhys snarled, shoving the open messages on the screen in front of her face. “Look and see how much he loves you.”

There were a slew of messages between them, and yet Feyre’s eyes snagged only on one.

Kill her then. 

She waited to see if she’d cry, but nothing came. “You’re lying.”

“He’s not coming for you,” Rhys informed her, eyes bouncing over her face as if he were searching for something. “This is between us, and you’ve become collateral.”

“Then why don’t you kill me?” Feyre snapped, yanking at her ankles trapped in the leather cuffs. They were bondage cuffs, she realized, rather than handcuffs. 

“Why would I kill you?” he replied, cocking his head to the side. “Tamlin might not be mounting some heroic rescue, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t view you as his. His little toy to play with until he gets tired of her…” Rhys murmured, sliding the side of his finger along her neck. “I’m not supposed to touch.”

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t do this.”

“I asked you not to leave,” he continued, ignoring her plea as his fingers made their way down her shoulder. “Left the door open so you knew you could move freely through the house. You’re so desperate to get back to him, but I know what he does to pretty little things like you. Where they end up. How their families mourn.”

“Stop,” she whispered, unsure which terrified her more—his touch, or the threat of what Tamlin might eventually do.

Rhys caught her wrist, binding it over her head before Feyre’s mind could catch up with his actions. She was wholly restrained and he was holding a knife as he walked around the bed. 

“You’re still bait,” he murmured, one hand sliding over a wooden bedpost. “He can see us right now, you know. He’s watching, hoping I’ll kill you before you tell me something you shouldn’t.”

“He doesn’t tell me anything,” she whispered, trying in vain to wriggle away. 

“If you didn’t know anything, he wouldn’t have responded at all. He’s slipped up—you know something,” Rhys declared, running the sharp edge of his blade across her leggings. The fabric snagged, ripping neatly from ankle to waistband.

“I swear I don’t,” she protested as cool air caressed over her now exposed thighs. He wasn’t done as he ruined that oversized blue sweater, too, leaving her in nothing but the shredded remains of fabric. Violet eyes swept over her now naked form and rather than sadistic amusement, Feyre swore she saw unguarded desire staring back at her.

“You do,” Rhys murmured, pausing between her legs. She tried to hide herself from view, but she was restricted by the restraints. “You just don’t remember.”

“How is this supposed to help?”

“Who said anything about helping?” Rhys questioned, tossing his knife beside his mask. The weapon left a small impression atop the black duvet, sharp end pointing toward her ribcage as if to warn her not to try anything.

Feyre pulled against her restraints, for all the good it did her. “Then what are you doing?”

“I’ve been watching you for a long time,” Rhys told her without moving. He did, however, gesture behind him to a wall half hidden in shadow. There, hanging in a gold frame, hung a familiar work of art. Her first ever painting sold—it was a moody seascape Tamlin had accused of being cliche. She’d been brand new, and yet talented enough to be accepted into a showing where an anonymous buyer had overpaid for it.

Feyre still had that first check tucked away in a desk drawer, and when she felt overwhelmed or dejected, she’d pull it out to look at. That same buyer had purchased something from every collection she’d done, always paying far more than she was asking. 

“That was you?”

“I have an eye for beautiful things you know,” he informed her, his gaze a brand against her skin. 

“You’re jealous?”

“Desperately,” he replied without irony. “It’s always been like that between us. He has everything I want.”

“Rhys,” she whispered, unable to look at him anymore. She wanted to tell him not to do this, and didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was afraid. 

“He’s watching,” Rhys told her, glancing over his shoulder. “Keeps hacking into my system to see what you’re doing. Will you smile for him, Feyre? Let him think you’re happy?”

“Just let me go,” she pleaded as her captor slid to his knees between her legs. “I won’t say anything.”

“I can’t,” he murmured, lips ghosting over sensitive skin. “I want to keep you.”

Alive, was the unspoken word between them. Did he realize that was a low bar? A bar already set in hell, so far beneath his feet there ought to be no trouble clearing it. And yet…Feyre turned her head as he kissed up his leg, stomach tight from anxiety. 

“Like this?”

He shrugged. “I’d untie you, but I think you’d kill me with your bare hands if I did.”

“I think you’d like it,” she shot back, squirming when she felt his warm breath tease between her legs. 

“I’m hard just thinking about it,” he agreed with a grin. 

His tongue slid up the center of her pussy before Feyre could think of a good comeback. She yelped, trying—and failing—to escape the feeling. It had been too long since someone had done this for her, which was how Feyre explained the bolt of lust racing through her. He didn’t stop, eyes pinned to her face to see if she liked what he was doing.

Feyre was resolved not to react. Men always tired of this act after a minute or two, doubly so when they weren’t being catered to on their back, but instead forced to kneel. It was easy, at least in the beginning, to ignore his tongue teasing her clit. She thought about how cold the snow had been when she’d fallen out the window and reminded herself he’d shoved her in a trunk. That he was a killer, too, and toying with her boyfriend.

Or ex-boyfriend. Feyre wasn’t really sure what they were anymore. She supposed they were over, given he’d told Rhys to kill her. Feyre’s eyes slid to the camera in the corner of the room and somehow, she could feel him watching. Could feel his anger, too—as if this were all her fault. As if she’d kidnapped herself, tied herself up, and was now being forced into pleasure, too.

Are you happy now? Feyre wanted to scream it. 

“Eyes on me,” Rhys growled, forcing her to look back down at him. How long had it been, anyway? Her body hummed at the loss of contact, proving that though she was trying not to feel anything, she couldn’t block him out entirely.

“You’re wasting your time,” she whispered.

“All my time belongs to you now,” was his frustrating reply. He returned his tongue back to her pussy and this time, though she tried, Feyre couldn’t refocus on anything but his touch. It was all wrong—his mask lay on the bed, the knife still pointed toward her, inches away from her exposed skin.

For all she knew, he was lying to her and would kill her when he finished.

“Please stop,” she whispered, pulling on her restraints.

“Come, then,” he said in response, his voice muffled. 

Feyre didn’t want to come. For a while, she writhed against her restraints until he physically pinned her to the bed, holding her still so he could continue his slow torture. Feyre thought he liked when she fought him—that he wanted to bring her under submission. She held herself back, whimpering from the effort as she counted in her head. 

“Do you need a distraction?” Rhys murmured when he heard her reciting the ingredients to a recipe. “Something to turn off that meddling brain of yours?”

“No,” she gasped, but he was on his feet, hands undoing his dark trousers. “I don’t need—I’m fine, I’ll finish—”

“I know you will,” he replied, pulling his long, thick cock from his pants. Feyre couldn’t not look at it as Rhys moved around the bed, extending his restraints so he could reposition her. Feyre fought him, slapping Rhys hard in the face when he undid her arms. He grunted but didn’t react other than to sigh, his frustration plain. With the longer rope, he could tie her hands to the bedposts without overextending her arms while her head now hung off the edge of the bed.

“I won’t,” she informed him.

“You will,” Rhys replied, pinching her nose when she pressed her lips together. As he waited for her to take a breath, he rubbed his cock over her cheek while his other hand slid across her breasts to play with her nipples.

Feyre tried—oh, how she tried—but in the end, she had to take a gasping breath of air. He pushed the head of his cock between her teeth, not caring when sensitive flesh scraped roughly against the jagged edges. The hand that had once pinched her nose now held her throat, squeezing just enough to warn her not to try and bite. 

She did anyway.

“Don’t do that again,” he warned, taking his knife and resting it on her stomach. Feyre didn’t believe he’d use it until he took the hilt and began using the smooth silver to tease against her clit.

She couldn’t argue with him, mouth filled with his cock. She widened her jaw to take a breath as he angled his hips, pushing himself further until he was backed up against her throat. Feyre gagged lightly, praying he wouldn’t keep going. 

She didn’t want to throw up.

Clearly neither did Rhys. Groaning softly, he whispered, “You suck so well.”

She wasn’t doing anything, really—Rhys moved his hips, setting the pace so he could fuck her mouth. Feyre screamed around him when she felt him push the hilt of the knife into her body so he, too, could fuck her with it. He’d been right about one thing—sucking his cock kept her focused on what was happening between her legs. She could think of nothing else, her mind torn between the air coming into her lungs and what Rhys was currently doing with his mouth. 

With his legs spread, he’d returned to licking her clit, focused wholly on that and nothing else. How did he not cut himself on the blade, she wondered as she tried to wriggle the knife out of her pussy.

It didn’t work. Whatever he was doing, he was skilled. Feyre was reacting, her body tightening around the hilt of the blade thanks to the skill of his tongue. Rhys groaned when she sucked in more air than she’d meant to, lips forming a seal around his shaft.

“Just like that baby,” he moaned before picking up his pace. She was going to come and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Feyre tried, eyes leaking from the cock bruising her throat as saliva dripped down her neck. He was going to come, too.

Quick, she realized with some relief. He was timing himself with her, well aware she was close to completion. At least he wouldn’t draw it out? Or he had something else planned. Feyre didn’t know.

Didn’t want to know.

Didn’t want to admit that this was the best she’d felt in a long, long time. How fucked up was it that she hadn’t been able to get off for months, and now, tied up and forced, she was careening toward the sort of pleasure that threatened to unmake her. Was this how stockholm syndrome worked? Her body, flooded with pleasure, began to think that maybe it wasn’t so bad to be stuck here with him.

“Keep sucking,” Rhys moaned again, his hips losing some of their controlled rhythm. Maybe it was better to just get it over with. Feyre sucked around him, though she refused to move her head and help him.

Rhys licked faster, moving in precise circles until her hips began to roll into him, chasing the inevitable. Feyre clenched, finding purchase on the hilt of the blade. Rhys rubbed it just against the perfect spot, his tongue unwavering and Feyre was undone. She screamed around his cock, body bowing off the bed and directly into his mouth. She heard him curse though she didn’t care, half ruined from the pleasure now ribboning through her. Feyre was a star, white hot as it erupted over a silent sky.

She’d forgotten, just for a second, he still had his cock buried in her throat. With a twitching jerk, Rhys came into her throat, his come spilling out the sides of her mouth to join the mess of spit pooling along her collarbone. 

Panting, he pulled himself out of her to show her the knife coated in her own release and dripping with blood. His blood, she realized with alarm, noting the gash sliced over his palm.

“I got too excited,” he breathed, wiping it over her naked breasts. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

“Untie me,” she whispered, tugging against the restraints. “Please, untie me—”

Despite his injured hand, Rhys was quick about it, undoing her hands first, and then her feet. She’d told herself she was going to hit him for what had just happened, but instead Feyre merely sat up while he stepped out, half naked from the waist down, only to return with a warm rag he used to wipe up the mess of come and blood. 

“I’m not going to kill you,” he whispered into her hair, pulling her against his chest. 

Feyre looked up at him, unsure if she believed him. “Tamlin told you to.”

“I wouldn’t kill my worst enemy to satisfy him.”

She swallowed. “And…if I wanted to kill him?”

Rhys grinned. “Say less, pretty baby. Say less.”

[lecsainz]

love notes

pairings: charles leclerc x fem!reader

warnings: cute french nicknames and charles being an amazing boyfriend.

authors note: i would literally die if i saw charles playing on the piano some taylor's song, just imagine how perfect it would be.

word count: 824

Y/N woke up to the soft sound of Charles humming a tune. She opened her eyes and smiled, seeing him lying next to her, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling rhythmically.

"Bonjour, ma chérie." Charles said, opening his eyes and giving her a sleepy smile.

"Good morning, my love." Y/N replied, leaning in to kiss him.

They cuddled for a few more minutes before Charles sat up, stretching his arms above his head. Y/N couldn't help but admire the way his muscles rippled under his t-shirt.

Y/N blushed, feeling a surge of affection for him. She loved the way Charles spoke to her in French, using terms of endearment like "mon amour" and "ma chérie." It made her feel special, like she was the only woman in the world who mattered to him.

"What do you want to do today?" Charles asked, turning to her.

Y/N shrugged. "I don't know, maybe explore the city a bit more? Or we could just stay in and watch a movie."

"Sounds like a plan," Charles said, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "But first, breakfast ma belle."

They got up and headed to the kitchen, where Charles whipped up a delicious omelet with cheese. Y/N watched him move around the kitchen with a smile on her face.

"What are you thinking about?" Charles asked, noticing the far-off look in Y/N's eyes 

Y/N smiled, turning to face him. "Just how lucky I am to have you," she said, taking a bite of the omelet. "You've changed my life in so many ways, Charles. I don't know where I'd be without you."

Charles leaned in to kiss her, his lips soft and tender against hers. "You don't have to thank me, mon amour," he said. "Being with you is all the thanks I need."

Y/N blushed, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. She loved how he took care of her, always making sure she had everything she needed. And she loved how comfortable they were with each other, able to spend lazy mornings like this without feeling the need to fill the silence with small talk.

After they had breakfast, Y/N was curled up on the couch in Charles' apartment, reading a book. Charles had disappeared into the other room, and Y/N could hear him fiddling around with something. After a few minutes, she heard the sound of a piano.

Curious, Y/N put down her book and walked into the other room. Charles was seated at the piano, his fingers dancing across the keys. He was playing one of her favorite songs - "Daylight" by Taylor Swift.

Y/N couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Charles, how did you learn to play that?" she asked.

"I wanted to surprise you, mon amour," he said, smiling. "I know it's one of your favorite songs."

Y/N was touched. She walked over to the piano and sat down beside him. "You're amazing," she said, leaning in to kiss him.

As Charles continued to play, Y/N couldn't help but feel grateful for the man sitting next to her. They had only been dating for a short while, but already she felt like they had a deep connection. And this moment, with Charles playing her favorite song, was the perfect example of that.

After Charles finished playing, they sat there in silence for a few moments. "That was beautiful," Y/N said finally. "Thank you for playing it for me."

"Anything for you," Charles replied, taking her hand in his.

Y/N smiled and leaned in to kiss him. "I can't believe you learned that song just for me. You're so sweet."

"Well, you're worth it," Charles said, returning her smile. "I love making you happy."

Y/N's heart swelled with affection for him. She couldn't believe how lucky she was to have found someone like Charles, who not only accepted her for who she was, flaws and all, but also went out of his way to make her feel loved and cherished.

As they cuddled on the couch, Y/N couldn't help but think about how much had changed since they had started dating. She had been hesitant at first, unsure of whether she wanted to get involved with a formula 1 driver, but Charles had won her over with his kindness, intelligence, and sense of humor.

And now, she couldn't imagine her life without him. He had become her rock, her confidant, and her partner in every sense of the word.

"I love you," Y/N whispered, snuggling closer to him.

"I love you too, ma belle." Charles replied, wrapping his arm around her. "I can't wait to see what the future holds for us."

Y/N smiled, feeling grateful for the present moment and excited for what was to come. As they sat there, listening to the sound of the waves crashing against the shore, she knew that whatever the future held, they would face it together, hand in hand.

[bitchimasnake-sss]

"remember that time when-" ft. r.zoro!

ft. zoro x fem!reader

set-up: you're pms-ing and this man is your greatest friend and even greater enemy rn (but you know you love him); drabbles to soothe your delusional soul <3

warnings: none! very wholesome lol

-contrary to popular belief, this man actually knows what periods are (wow, the bare minimum!!!) - when he was younger, he had listened to kuina go on about being a woman and its disadvantages and all and i believe he thought she was talking smack (i mean at the end of the day, "a swordsman is just a swordsman") - so when 15 year old zoro stumbled across a library, he decided to waltz in and just pick up a random biology book to understand female anatomy (it happened one after the other, completely unplanned) - when i tell you his little fifteen year old pea-sized brain was blown away (he learnt way more than he probably should have) - (please i beg u he can read, trust me 😭😭) - but just because he knows its a thing doesn't mean he understands it. so, yeah, he actually does know what it is, he simply does not care - in his logic, he had bled multiple times and still always bounces back so like what's the big deal??? "what's the big deal? it's just blood" he's sipping on a bottle of sake, gulping down its remnants in a single breath when you had complained about cramps one evening "excuse me?" nami is ready to strike him down "i said its just blood" - nami did, infact, then strike him down - post-dating zoro still thinks its no biggie "oi, yn" he's poking your shoulder, "what's wrong?" "cramps" you grumble against the pillow he laughs, "ah, they'll go away, get up and get going now. don't sulk around, you're my fav ketchup packet" "tf did you just say?" "ketchup packet?" - you refused to talk to this man for the next two days - at the end of the second day, he had to write a formal apology (with chopper's help) and speak it out loud before you started entertaining his bullshit again - see the thing is this mf is reserved, superhuman and has an absurdly high pain tolerance so it's hard for him to sympathize exactly - he once caught you crying cause you had seen a mama chimpanzee kiss it's baby chimpanzee and hug it tightly and he will forever bring it up "zoro you remember that time you got lost in dru-" "yn, remember that time, we were passing through a jungle and you saw some chimp-" he ended up getting a sucker punch to the face he deserved it. - but just because words aren't his thing doesn't mean he isn't looking out for you - everytime you're laying there on the bed, unmoving, he'd wordlessly crawl into the bed next to you. he's give you a gentle back massage or start rubbing soothing patterns onto your belly "you want something?" he mumbles slowly, hands skimming softly over your waist - this man would not and i repeat absolutely would not allow you to do any physically demanding work though "hey, let me handle that" "zoro, i am not a child!" "you sure look like one to me." he snickers, "remember the time you saw that mom chimpan-" "zORO FUCK OFF!!" - you need something from the top shelf? he got it. you are helping ussop carry gunpowder from the storage? go sit down, your boyfriend's got it - does it sometime frustrate you? yes - does the crew use this opportunity to make his lazy ass do a fuck lot of chores? also yes - he will still 100% make ketchup jokes (he's gross like that) - but name one man who'll treat you more gently than this bozo, i dare you - it might be something as lame as a period, doesn't mean he woudn't go to the end of the world to make you feel slightly better (even if he teases you about it endlessly)

sanji's part <3 luff's part <3

[josiesullysblog]

His Prize

~AGED UP Neteyam x Na’vi reader

~DarkNeteyam, explicit content, CNC?? Characters aged up to, 22

~Proofread?- no

~Summary-Neteyam is in love with [Y/n], although they aren't in a relationship.

~Note-Everything that happens is consensual!!! Wanted to make that clear before you read, hope you enjoy it!!

***

Neteyam loved a good challenge. He loved being able to showcase his talent, loved hearing the praises everyone would say, “Wow Neteyam you're so advanced for your age!” or, “I think you might be better than your father!” whatever compliment it was he thrived off it.

Neteyam at a very young age understood that one day he’d become the leader of his clan. His father always said, “A strong leader always has a stronger woman behind him,” he took these words into account. He knew if he ever wanted to be a great leader, better than his father he’d need the perfect mate.

He thanked Ewya that his parents never arranged a mate for him, allowing him the freedom to pick his own. Although his parents did push a certain girl. Kya was cute, she was everything a man would want in a mate, submissive, and always did what was asked of her, but Neteyam didn't want that.

He liked fighting, he wanted to break his mate and watch the fight leave their eyes as he finally claimed them as his, he wanted a prize. He’d, of course, treat them with the respect a woman deserves to have, but he knew no girl here would put up any fight. They’d willingly want to come to him, they’d fall to their knees begging for him. This changed when he met you.

You were like a firecracker. Always had something slick to say, never let anyone step all over you, it was a match made in heaven. Neteyam was going to break you, make you regret meeting him, but at the same time save you. Save you from your boring life and show you the real world.

“What are you looking at?” you gave him a stank look, and he smiled, “You,” you just laughed as you got up, “i’m too bad for you, I wouldn't want to taint Toruk Makto’s golden boy.” you walked off swinging your hips.

Neteyam's smile deepened, you truly believed you were worse than him? This was going to be fun.

You were bored. You had the same schedule every day, nothing new, and you were longing for something. Anything to finally make you feel content. You longed for something, and Neteyam was going to make sure you knew it was him.

“Hey, Teyem,” Kya smiled at the boy. Neteyam’s eyes were on you, he watched as you made bracelets, “hi, Kya,” the girl blushed. Usually, the boy only said hi and then left but today he said her name, “I was wondering if you needed help with anything!”

Neteyam looked at her, “Anything?” her breath hitched, “anything,” it came out as a whisper, “Hm, aren't you a good girl always trying to help everyone,” his eyes examined her. Her breathing had become irregular, and her mouth was slightly open. Neteyam would be a fool not to notice how the girl was obviously sexually attracted to him.

Neteyam’s eyes fell back on you, “what do you know about her?” Kya looked at you, “[Y/n]?” the boy nodded, “she’s lazy, she never does anything always moping around,” Neteyam wanted to cut the girl's tongue off for speaking like that towards you, but he wasn't stupid.

A girl like Kya was always noticeable in a group. She was often the leader in situations and if he were to kill her people would notice. But a girl like Kya was also a whore. He saw the way her eyes lingered on his brother or other hunters.

If Neteyam were to make a dumb decision and get with her, she’d be tainted. Ruined by someone else because Neteyam knew Kya was no virgin. But [Y/n], although she claimed to be worse than Neteyam, was fresh meat.

Nobody dared mess with her, she always had a rebuttal. Nobody wanted her because she was a handful, perfect for Neteyam. “I see,” Neteyam stood up and placed a hand on the girl's back, “Thank you, Kya,” he then walked away.

Kya’s eyes lingered on you, what could you possibly have that she doesn't? She wasn't afraid to admit, she wanted Neteyam for his title. Imagine her the next Tsahik, she understood she’d need to put an act on. But Neteyam was always looking at you. She had to get rid of you, make Neteyam understand it was her he wanted.

You played with the water in front of you. You were at peace Pandora was so big, and you thought it was sad you might never get to see all its wonderful parts. You were so gone, you jumped up when you heard sudden movement behind you.

“Who's there?” your heart raced as your eyes searched for something moving, “didn't mean to scare you,” Neteyam came out with his hands up. You rolled your eyes, “If you're here telling me I need to go back you have wasted your time.”

He laughed, “i’m not here for such things,” you looked at him, “Then what are you doing out here?” you didn't believe him. You convinced yourself that you could read anybody, but you found it difficult with Neteyam. “I could ask you the same question.”

You huffed, “I asked first,” the boy came closer, “have you always had such a mouth?” your eyes widened, “have you always been so intrusive?” the boy shrugged, “Maybe.”

“Well, I won't be answering any of your questions,” you turned away from him, “a girl with a mouth like yours needs to be tamed.” you turned to him before charging toward him, “You have no right to say I need to be tamed. I am not some toy-,” he cut you off by putting a hand on your throat. It was a gentle yet firm grip, “let me go.”

It was times like these when you remembered your place, that men's strength was no match for you, and no matter how strong you thought you were they could still overpower you. “Why should I? I’ve been here for only minutes and you’ve been nothing but rude toward me.”

You fought in his grasp, “You know if you really wanted me to let go, you’d fight harder.” The boy's grip became harder, “I know you have more fight in you, but I think you like this.”

His smile was wicked, “you like being helpless at the disposal of me,” you shook your head, “then fight,” you tired but he held you tight. “What I thought.”

You didn't want him to know, that this secretly turned you on. He was the only person to put you in your place, it was rare for anyone to do that.

He let go of you, letting you fall to the floor, “I bet if I were to open you up right now, you’d be wet.”

You coughed as you tried putting distance between yourself and the boy, “Don't run, you know you love this,” you couldn't lie you loved every part of this. You never expected Neteyam to be like this, he was so good at hiding this side of himself.

Neteyam bent down to your level, trailing a finger down your leg, “you're so beautiful,” your breath hitched, “so needy,” he laughed. “No, i’m not,” he looked at your eyes you still had a fire in them.

Other girls would give up by now, but not you. You were determined to fight till the end. “I love how you fight me,” he gripped your ankle pulling you in, “it makes it more fun for when I break you.”

“You won’t break me,” his grip became tighter as his smile deepened, “wanna bet?” his other hand traveled to between your legs, “your soaking.”

You fought back a moan, “There's no point in fighting now, baby,” he caught your clit causing a moan to slip out, “Give in to me, you never have to worry again.”

You threw your head back, “never,” Neteyam nodded, “I’ve always loved a good challenge,” he plunged a finger inside you, “so tight can't wait to fill you up!”

You started moaning, and you couldn't hold it back, “that's right baby,” he picks up speed as he feels you tighten around his fingers. He was going fast and you felt yourself coming near, “slow down,” if anything your words made him go faster, “After you cum on my fingers, you’ll do it on my dick.”

Your eyes widen, as you felt yourself let go. Your body twitched as he let go of you, “open wide,” he brought his fingers to your mouth. You moved his hand as you tried to catch your breath, but he grabbed your cheeks and pushed his fingers into your mouth. “See, it's not so hard is it?”

You choked on his fingers till he finally let go of you. He stood up, “Get on all fours,” you knew why he wanted you to. You shook your head, “That wasn't a request,” you looked into his eyes, “Please, just,” he laughed, “are you begging?”

You couldn't believe it yourself, “I just need time,” you said as you tried to stand up but he pushed you to the ground, “Play with your nipples.”

“What?” you looked at him crazy, “You heard me. If you want time you’ll listen,” it was such a humiliating thing to ask. Yet you still did it, “look into my eyes,” you looked at his eyes, “Look at you, such a slut for me,” you rolled your nipples as he degraded you, “I shouldn't be so nice to you,” he said causing a shiver to roll down your back.

“Please,” you said as he put his foot between your legs, “grind,” it just kept piling up. You did what he asked, “No one will ever see you like this,” you nodded as you felt yourself near, “I’ll give you a week, every night I expect you to edge yourself.” he got down to your level.

“If I find out someone else has touched you, or you’ve come without permission I will fuck you for everyone to see,” you nodded as he stood up and walked away, “be a good girl.”

You laid back thinking about what just happened. That boy was going to be the death of you.

Kya watched as you helped the elders put boxes away, “is that all?” you smiled at them, “Yes, thank you, dear!” you walked out deciding to head somewhere else.

Your mind kept going back to Neteyam. The way he handled you was such a turn-on, you smiled thinking back to it. You did as he asked, besides the no cumming part. What he doesn't know won’t hurt him, you thought as you walked.

As you were walking, a hand pulled you causing a gasp to leave your throat. “What the fuck,” you said yanking the hand away, “if you wanted my attention should've said my name like a normal person,” you looked up at your captor to see Kya.

Kya has an imaginary battle going on with you. Ever since you two were children she always tries to be better than you. She never wins although you don't care enough, you do think it's funny seeing her get all railed up.

“Kya what's your problem this time?” you rub the spot on your arm she yanked you by, it was definitely going to bruise. “Why are you spending time with Neteyam?” you couldn't help but smile. This was over Neteyam?

“Why do you care?” the girl’s nose flared as she spoke, “Please [Y/n], everyone knows me and him are expected to mate,” you shrugged, “I don't keep up with the local gossip.”

“Enough with your remarks! I’m telling you right now stay away from him,” you looked her up and down, “or what? You're going to kill me?” now you probably knew getting her all worked up wasn't the smartest thing but you were bored.

She gasps, “No, I won't kill you, but I’ll do something that makes you wish I did.” you laughed, “Can't wait!” you were starting to get under her skin, “you must be drugged him,” she said, “why would he want a girl like you?”

You didn't know the answer to that, why did he want you? “He obviously doesn't want you, Kya. Grow up fighting me won't make him want you,” she narrowed her eyes at you, “and he so obviously wants you?”

You looked at her funny, “Answer your own question dumbass,” she was becoming increasingly annoying, “I don't know what you did to him, but I promise you I always get what I want.” you turned around flipping her off, “whatever makes you sleep at night.”

The most annoying thing about you was, you didn't care. Kya’s threats were meaningless to you, she knew that. No matter what anyone said, it was like they went in one ear and out the other. She’d never voice this out loud but she was jealous of you.

You didn't need anyone's approval to be happy. Her whole life she’s been fighting for that number-one spot and you don't even try, yet you still got it.

Her parents push her every day to be this amazing girl, who gets all the guys and has all these friends. Your parents love you no matter what. She understood you both had different personalities, your personality was more carefree. You didn't listen most of the time, but Neteyam still wanted you. He doesn't even look her way.

You don't have all the friends she does, you seem happier alone though. You spend your time with the elders, always listening to their stories. She hated you so much she wished she was you.

“Teyem!” she giggled as she watched the boy. He seemed lost in thought but his eyes still looked at her, “Kya,” she smiled, “what are you up to?” he sighed, “Nothing,” Neteyam rarely had a moment to himself. He wanted to kill the girl for interrupting him.

He was imagining what faces you’d make as he fucks you hard. “We should hang out together!” that was the last thing he wanted, “why?” her face flushed, “to get to know each other better, last time we spoke you were asking about that girl-,” he smiled, “what girl?”

Kya smiled, “[Y/n],” She couldn't contain her happiness, maybe she was wrong, and he didn't like you. He sighed, “she's pretty cool,” Neteyam said, “pretty lazy,” Neteyam's head looked at her, “what else is she like,” he smiled at the girl.

“[Y/n] only does things when she feels like it,” Neteyam nodded, “I was just talking with her about how she doesn't deserve a boy like you,” Neteyam’s smile fell, “What?” Kya laughed, “She's so boring, I was only humbling her.”

Neteyam gripped her arm, “what did you tell her?” his gaze became hard. “Huh?” he hit her on the head with his other hand. He dragged her onto a tree. “You better hope she doesn't take your advice.”

The girl cried as Neteyam’s hand grabbed her neck, “Aw why so sad?” he smiled, “Did you touch her?” she shook her head, “No, Neteyam I didn't!”

“So, if I see her, she won't have a mark on her,” her mind goes back to when you were rubbing your arm, “Neteyam I didn't mean to! I was just trying to get her attention!”

Neteyam faked sympathy, “I bet, it was a simple accident,” the girl nodded but Neteyam’s grip got stronger, “let me tell you something,” he looked her up and down, “ever come near my mate again, I’ll rip you limp to limp,” he smiled before letting go.

“I’ll tell everyone! That you did this to me!” she cried from the floor, “did what? They all know you're a whore, these marks on you? They got there because you got too carried away after a fun night, and who are they going to believe? The whore or Toruk Makto’s son?” he smiled before walking away.

“They told me if I keep working hard, I’ll be ready before my birthday!” you smiled at your mother, “My little girl is growing up!” she wiped fake tears from her eyes.

You laughed till you both heard footsteps, “Good afternoon Mrs. [L/n]!” Neteyam said as he flashed a smile, “Neteyam! What a surprise!” you rolled your eyes, thankfully your mother doesn't see. “I was wondering if I could borrow your daughter for a little bit?”

Your mother nodded, “That's alright with me!” you stood up, “See you later mom,” You kissed her and walked ahead of the boy. “Such a good boy in front of others,” you said when the boy caught up to you, “always, my in-laws need to know their daughter is in safe hands.”

You looked at him, “In-laws? So soon?” he laughed, “Oh, you’ll learn with me I like to move quickly,” he nodded, “What if I said no?” he shrugged, “You won’t.”

“How do you know,” he smiled, “because i’m the best thing to happen to you.” you hated how right he was, “You always have to be right,” he nodded, “love a quick learner.”

Once you two were a far enough distance his persona changed, “last time we spoke I gave you two rules to follow,” you nodded, “yet you have a bruise on your arm,” he said which made you smile, “this wasn't from a guy, Kya just grabbed me to hard.”

“I said if I found out somebody else touches you I’d be upset, did I not?” you nodded, “no guy touched me!” he smiled, “somebody could be a girl as well, [Y/n],” you pulled your arm back, “it wasn't like that.”

He was this mad about Kya wait till he finds out you came this week.

“You still broke my rule, so now we're going to play a different game,” he gripped you, “it's called tag,” he smiled, “I’ll give you twenty seconds to run, and if I catch you I can do whatever I want you.”

You smiled, “And if you don't?” he sighed, “I’ll leave you alone forever.” you thought about it. “Deal.”

He smiled, “Better get to running, pretty face.” With that, you immediately booked it.

***

HEYYYYY!!! Hope you enjoy this story! So much fun writing about Neteyam in a darker light, hopefully, you all appreciate it!

[violetsiren90]

*WIP Wednesday*

Pairing: masochist!Bang Chan x dominatrix!f!Reader (idol au) - ft. all Skz members

Genre: one-shot; professionals to ???; smut/angst/found family

Summary: When your favorite client comes to you with an unusual request, you're unprepared for the world, and the heart, you're drawn into.

Content warnings (for snippet only): 18+ (minors, DNI); it's really just a conversation and some allusions to pro dom services.

Word Count: TBD.

Author's Note: Serious question - how do we feel about this premise? I've got a few thousand words and some notes at this point, but I might fuck around and actually do this.

Your brow furrows and your tongue slips between your lips as you take in what he’s just asked of you.

“…Go with you?” You blink.

He nods, lacing his fingers together and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“I know you have other clients, so we’d compensate for that, of course, if you did agree to come. Make it worth your while.”

“How long are we talking?” you ask, already despising the notion of your freedom having a price for which it could be sold to the highest bidder.

You are a business woman, but ultimately you take orders from one person and one person alone: yourself. The phonebook of an NDA you’d had to sign to take Chris on as a client was a hefty enough imposition by JPY Entertainment on your professional autonomy. You tolerate it for his sake, as his whole world seemed to be one of bindings and restrictions - the least you can do is to offer him the sort that would grant him some sacred semblance of reprieve. Relief. You like Chris. That is the only reason you are even entertaining the current proposition.

“Honestly probably about a year,” he admits, raising his eyes to look at you with a little grimace.

You scoff softly, leaning back and crossing your arms as you tilt your head and offer him an expression that asks him to be serious. He smirks in return, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as his warm brown eyes find yours with confidence.

“I can afford it.”

Can he, now? Badly trying to repress a grin, you take in his words with a nod.

“Okay,” you posit, “Assuming you actually can…” you watch him shake his head, grin still plastered on his face, “…what would this look like?”

“Oh, um…” he glances at the ceiling with a little hum and widened eyes in a way that lets you know he’s just a tad nervous, and it makes the barriers you’d begun to construct against the matter at hand shift on their foundations. This fucking kid. “Well, you’d come along with our crew - under the title of physiotherapist, of course. Basically, you could see the world with us, come to our shows - and I could continue to take advantage of your...invaluable services.”

He follows his last remark with a smirk that is incredibly boyish, and certainly not the sort you’d expect from a man who just payed you top dollar to beat two orgasms out of his beautiful body.

You purse your lips as you consider.

“I’m not an escort service, Chris” you say, softly but firmly. “Or a toy to bring along on a trip. And my play rules wouldn’t change.”

He frowns a little, his handsome features schooling themselves with concern.

“No, no, of course not! You know that’s not what I think of you.”

It’s not phrased like a question, but you know he’s asking.

“I know,” you offer softly with a little smile, “Your company though?”

“This would be on your terms, there would be a contract meeting and everything,” he says earnestly.

He’s obviously thought this through. You sigh.

“How long until you need an answer? I have to think on it.”

“We leave for Australia on the 17th, so probably by the first of the month to make the all the arrangements and, y’know, yeah,” he says, standing as you do.

You grab your duffle and pull your lanyard over your neck.

“I’ll let you know in a day or two,” you remark, pulling the strap of your bag onto your shoulder, and he smiles, pushing a hint of a dimple into his left cheek.

It’s a lazy, lopsided smile. The kind he only ever sports after your sessions, and never before. You think of that smile as you close the distance to your car, and wonder if you can bear the thought of its absence from that face for months on end - even if it wasn’t your problem, even if its owner was halfway across the planet.

“No, no…” you mutter with a sigh as you toss your duffle into the trunk and pull it shut. You slide into the front seat, eyes trailing back up to door that just closed behind you.

“Or…” you hiss out another sigh as your forehead gently collides with the steering wheel.

“…fuck.”

[morgana-ren]

On the subject of cheating…. How do you think Astarion would react to a dark urges Tav who doesn’t show any disapproval towards him for infidelity but does try to brutally murder all of his other flings

I can’t reconcile if he would be upset about them having too much agency in this situation and stop it or just into Tav being possessive of him in the way he’s possessive of them

He wakes to the pleasant and unmistakable tang of blood.

It's not uncommon for Astarion to greet the morning steeped in the sweet, saccharine scent of blood. Not at all. In fact, it's most welcome upon first waking, ranking among a deep, rich brandy and defiled silk sheets for his favorites. A metallic bouquet of a lovely, robust breakfast just begging to be supped on, just for him. If you were to ask him, there's truly nothing finer in the world.

An indulgent inhale has him sitting up, slipping a lazy hand through his hair and tongue running over his fangs as his mouth waters. The pit of hunger gnawing at his gut isn't quite so terrible as it used to be when he was but a filthy spawn, but he wouldn't ever deny himself the decadence of breakfast served up to him in bed.

The source of the delectable scent lies flopped over on the opposite side of the mattress, and he glances over with sleepy, hazy eyes to admire the sight. Her long, silky hair splays raggedly over her face, one of her arms limply hanging off the edge in what cannot be a comfortable position. The sheet haphazardly wrapped around her only scantly covers her rear, and by proxy, the sloppy mess he'd made between her thighs a few hours prior.

Clearly, he'd worn her clean out.

He chuckles; he can't help it. He's almost proud of himself-- if it wasn't so commonplace, that is. It's so terribly difficult for these weak and paltry little things to keep up with his kingly stamina, and he cannot begrudge the delicate humans that end up beneath him for losing consciousness.

Still! It's time to wake up, as he's remarkably hungry and he will not go another second without sinking his fangs into her swan-like neck.

"Darling, you sucked me dry and left me ravenous," He reaches for her, tracing a teasing claw up the dotted curve of her spine. "It would be positively unacceptable to leave me in such a state before you go."

She doesn't respond to his sentiment, and so after several seconds of testing his patience, he prods at her upper arm, eventually resorting to jostling her lightly with his hand, pinching her flesh between his clawed fingers--

--and it's only then that he realizes that her skin is ice to the touch, and he cannot feel her chest move with her breath in his palm. While that is entirely normal for him, it's not normal for small human women.

The sharp aroma of blood is far too palpable, even for his palace.

His red eyes truly focus on the girl contorted in his sheets for the first time: Her skin far too pallid, her stench far more enticing than it had been hours ago. His hand goes to brush the hair from her face, and there's a slick, wet feeling between his fingers as he does.

He is hit with the subtle yet bitter scent of freshly dying blood. Something that is usually sequestered only to beings beginning a state of decay. Something that should not be in his bed.

Unsettling, he thinks, but mostly irritating. Dead, hmm? He's almost certain he didn't kill this one on accident. Fairly certain. He callously rolls the woman's dead weight onto her back, frowning as he's met with a scene that he's quite certain he couldn't have done accidentally.

What was her throat is now a gaping maw of blood and bone-shine, scraps of gore clearly ripped out from inside. Her mouth-- or what is barely left of it-- is twisted in an eternal wordless scream, her face eternally contorted in some unseen horror. Her lovely eyes are wide and frozen in terror, unblinking and milky. Upon further inspection of her body, there is a hole where he assumes her still-beating heart had once been, clawed savagely free from her ribs by some brutal, unrelenting force.

He scowls, needling his lower lip with his teeth. It's a shame, he thinks with an exasperated sigh. He's sure was a beauty before all of this.

Another vicious, deadly beauty clearly demands his attention now, and he pushes the dead whore off the bed with an annoyed huff, snatching his long silk robe from the bedpost before affixing it around his body.

"Such a pity," He fastens the tie around his narrow waist, stepping carefully around the bedframe to stand in front of the newly made corpse with a grimace. "You were so vivacious last night, dear girl. But you're making the wrong kind of mess of my sheets, and I cannot abide that."

With a careless tug, he rips the remains of the young woman off his mattress, her mutilated body landing on the floor with an uncomfortable, wet thud. He steps over her, striding towards the door, feeling decidedly irritated. He was planning to spend a lazy afternoon in bed, but it appears something more urgent demands his immediate attention.

"Good morning, my lord--" A servant greets him just outside of his door with a sweeping bow and an expertly balanced tray. Astarion doesn't bother to look at him, instead grabbing a morning glass of wine, taking several deep swigs before finally sneering unpleasantly down at the man.

"Where is my wife?"

Another scraping bow, but Astarion doesn't stay to witness it. Rather, he takes off down the hall in search of someone more important. Someone that, he imagines, was rather busy last night after he fucked-- Hells, what was her name? He doesn't remember. Did he ever know?

"In her garden, sire."

"Right," Astarion carelessly tosses the glass back onto the floor, where it shatters to pieces. "There's a rather putrid corpse on the floor in there. Have it taken care of. I want it spotless before I return."

"Yes, my lord."

He tries to recall as he makes his way through his palace and towards the garden, and ultimately decides he doesn't care.

He finds his lovely wife right where he expects to, taking a leisurely stroll in her strangely fruitful garden. The scent of damp, rich soil permeates the air, mingling with odd, exotic flowers he has brought her and lush, fertile plants that she has coaxed into life with her hands. Blossoming organic life from nothing is not something that he imagined was in the wheelhouse of a favored child of Bhaal-- quite the opposite, really-- and yet, she seems to have nurtured a niche talent for it of late.

It irks him that she's grown somehow cold to his affections. She no longer stares at him with owlish eyes and flushing cheeks and a rapidly beating heart; rather she seems to shrug off even his most endeavored attempts at seduction with an ease that, if he didn't know for a fact that he was the most powerful and attractive man in a country mile, might hurt his pride.

She seems entirely at peace and unbothered, gently cradling a small rose between her fingertips, admiring it as it slowly blooms into a lovely, blood-red bud. The placid expression of someone either entirely unacquainted with the art of murder, or a masterful artist with it, and he knows all too well which one. As he approaches, she doesn't acknowledge him with anything other than a brief turn of her head and flick of her eyes.

"Your garden is looking lovely as always," He saddles up behind her despite her aloof silence, gingerly sliding his arms around her waist and leaning to scent along the side of her neck. "As are you, my sweet girl."

She only hums her acknowledgement, her ever-present sly semi-smile unfaltering as he speaks, still clearly far more taken with her flowers rather than his company and flatteries.

A deadly mistake for everyone other than her.

"Been busy this morning, little love?"

"Oh, only as much as usual," She gives him nothing--no guilt, no anxiety, just the hints of a mischievous, murderous smile-- as she releases the flower from between her fingers, turning instead to continue sauntering through the row. "I try to keep busy."

A quick sniff reveals all he needs to know. He doesn't need to get any closer to the freshly filled hole to smell the rancid stench rising from it. Underneath the sopping wet dirt, mingling with fertilizer and fallen leaves is the unmistakable stench of dead flesh; A muscle steeped in still blood, to be specific. Buried beneath soil alongside the foreign seeds lies what is left of the mangled heart of the woman he'd taken to bed last night, now planted in his wife's garden in some macabre ritual to sustain yet another carnivorous horror she's gotten her hands on and is now coddling into growth.

"I can see that," He croons, eying a fresh mound in the dirt, clearly freshly dug. "Is this one new?"

"Just this morning, dear," She lulls softly, a barely discernible playful edge to her voice. "Newly planted."

Dozens more peculiar vines twist up from the ground in various states of growth in nice, even spaces carefully organized into rows. Under the lively essence of plants and sticky-sweet flowers is the painfully apparent stench of decay and rot; Months and months of the still-lingering scent of blood of all the lovers he'd taken, turning spoiled and foul in putrefaction in her grisly little garden. All of their lives ended preemptively by his wife with the same feral glee that a rabid mongrel must feel upon sinking its fangs into a terrified, defenseless creature.

All for daring to indulge in him.

What a senseless thing. Died so futilely and no doubt miserably at the hands of his wife, alone and panicked only feet from their powerful king, and for what? Finding their way into his bed? How absurd. Who could resist him? Who would dare? He almost pities the funeral procession of poor creatures whose hearts have become fodder for the dirt, no honoring of their lives save his consort's nursery, fed and weaned on their innards. Their final moments belong to his insatiable wife's ruthless bloodlust through no fault of their own, and yet--

--Something about her vicious possessiveness over him smolders in his core, igniting a twisted arousal that coils the length of his spine and constricts like a serpent until he simply cannot stop himself. Deadly, precise, perfect little wife of his, so vicious and yet so precious to him. He swears her bloodlust only serves to stoke the flame, and how he longs to devour her.

(How long has she denied him? How long has she teased and tested him, tantalizing him with memories of burying himself inside of her sweet, tight heat with merciless drive, supping from the delectable blood of her soft body, her voice crying his name like a chant to some dark God until she rips what is left of his soul clean from him to take it into herself. She would yield for no one, a primal and ferocious creature beneath the veneer of illustrious, undead beauty, and yet she would heel to only him, letting him lose himself in her warmth, her fire until he burned--)

He reaches around and whirls her to face him so that she cannot feign indifference under his scrutinizing gaze. She knows better than to fight his manhandling and allows him to spin her towards him, though she refuses to wilt under his sultry glower. Her expression remains entirely passive as his hand reaches up to take her chin between two fingers, squeezing hard enough to have her wincing.

"Another one, darling?"

"You dislike the roses?" She blinks big eyes at him, the perfect picture of innocence. She hasn't been innocent a day in her life, and today certainly isn't a start.

A part of him wishes he could remain angry-- or at least a little indignant-- about the fact that she believes she has some overarching and indisputable claim on him, but deep down, he knows that she's right; she does have a staked claim in his heart in a way no one else ever possibly could. Even as his eyes and body might stray from her, he is forced to admit time and time again that nothing compares to his wrathful little lover. The strays he shepherds into his bed don't fill the gaping hole she leaves within him in her absence, her wretched denial of him. It is only silently that he acknowledges his wayward lust is just his spiteful response to her cruel neglect.

"Don't play the fool for me, my dearest girl, you're a terrible actress. Another concubine. Another corpse in your grim little graveyard. Is calling it a well-tended monument to your jealousy perhaps too romantic?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, my love," She smiles gently, lifting a hand between their chests and up to her face, slipping a finger between her plush lips. He smells the lingering blood on it and yet he cannot take his eyes off her tongue as it curls sensually around the length of her knuckles and how immaculate it might feel on him. He cannot help himself but think just how graciously daddy Bhaal has blessed him with his beautiful daughter; How fiercely alluring it is to watch his undomesticated little monster clean up her homicidal mess.

It started as all things do: With a seed. A bladed joke bloomed into irritation and resentment. His endless libido and her cresting bloodlust come to blows over priorities. The only woman who dared to gainsay him, her lovely little hands covered in blood and the power of Bhaal coursing through her veins keeping her too wild to be truly tamed by his vampiric blessing. His appetite for domination was insatiable, as was hers.

A child of Bhaal would not be tamed-- even by him.

He craved obedience and reticence-- he craved raw reverence and worship. To be viewed with wide eyes and admiration and blind devotion from some poor, pitiful creature too weak and foolish to resist him; To be seen as a God before a miserable little mortal; For his subject to offer willingly for a chance to taste of his splendor.

It is the only thing his beloved would never give him: acknowledgement of his superiority; submitting before him, allowing him to enforce his will upon her willingly. She is a fanged and clawed creature, wild by nature, and she would not purr her praises chained at his feet. She commands respect-- even from him.

She could never play the fool for him, encouraging him to believe that she was helpless against him, or weak, or pitiful, or foolish. It would insult her pride and her lineage. She is a force of nature in her own right, and he could never truly own her without her consent-- consent she has withheld.

And so, he would tell you that he simply retaliated.

She never spared him a sour word when he teased the waters about bringing other people into their marital bed. She only smiled that damn smile of hers and told him that he can do as he wishes as the king. Hells, she hardly seemed to notice when he first took some pathetic creature into their sheets for some harmless fun. The reaction he yearned for from her, some measly sign of her devotion to him, she wickedly denied him, seemingly knowing full well the impact it had upon him.

It drove him to madness, a spiraling misery fueled by his pride. He refused to beg for her, and she would refuse to kneel before him. He came to believe that truly she did not crave him with the same veracity that he longed for her. He no longer sought her out, and she did not come seeking. Surely, if she loved him, she would show some sign, some indication of caring that his fingers caressed a pale pastiche of her rather than where they desperately longed to be: Tracing her lovely mouth, coaxing her clever tongue, circled around her neck, between her warm thighs--

--And then corpses began popping up like flowers, and his beloved suddenly took up gardening.

She grinds his patience to a fine powder, and something about that gets his fires burning hotter than it ought to. Her insouciant dismissal of him, the absurdly casual slaughter of insignificant sex partners and then having the audacity to seem almost bored of his presence. She clearly cares enough to rip the bleeding hearts out of his inconsequential conquests, and yet, here she stands, utterly unfazed by him, having the audacity to feign indifference.

"If you're jealous, my love, you only need say so," He hushes to her, batting her cheek softly as he forces her to look up at him. "You needn't kill everyone who finds their way into my bed. I would cease if you simply said the words."

"Jealous?" Her brow furrows, head cocking, her lips jutting into a little pout. "I don't know what you mean."

What he asks is simple, so dreadfully simple. So easy, so, so easy--

Acquiesce to me.

And yet, she dares to deny him even as there is blood on her hands from strangling and wringing his full attention from his lover's corpses.

The wall of the greenhouse he built for her isn't particularly comfortable, but he couldn't care less as he shoves her against it, bullying his body against hers with brutal force, slamming her head against the glass with a lightning-fast palm encircling her throat.

"Why do you insist on being such an obstinate little brat?"

She opens her mouth to reply, and he squeezes tighter in response, choking the air from her little neck and stoppering the words on her tongue. There is a flash of something in her eyes once they open again, but he isn't entirely certain which sin it's indicative of: wrath or lust, or some degenerate mix of both.

It had to be her.

"I don't know what you mean, my lord," She croaks as he allows it, her hand clasped on his wrist as he clenches the rounds of her neck. He swears he sees her lip twitch in the ghost of a smirk even as he suffocates her. He holds all the power over life and death over her, and yet she is insufferably calm.

"I warned you not to play stupid, darling. You know very well what I mean." He growls against her ear, frustration and arousal building to impossible levels. Of all the women in Toril, it had to be her-- it had to be--

"Admit it," He hisses, sharp fang nipping at her ear. "Just admit it, and ask-- beg me, and I'll stop."

He feels the chuckle bubble in her throat even as he cannot hear it through the pressure he applies to her windpipe. "Beg what, my lord?" Her eyes narrow, her amusement apparent even as she has a practiced expression of apathy, whispering back to him with a strained voice still somehow full of unmitigated audacity. "Do you think I suffer?"

His lip curls downwards, and he realizes that he has no leverage here other than her violent jealousy, which she will happily unleash upon his unfortunate bedfellows rather than swallow her pride and cling to him as she should. She has no qualms with murder, and he might as well hand-deliver her victims. It has become an inevitable truth that whoever finds themselves romping beneath the sheets with their king won't be leaving alive because the queen would rather die than admit she cares that he spends his affections elsewhere.

"You can't hold out forever," He knees her legs apart and wedges himself between them, grinding his lust into the clothed heat of her core. "You will beg for me. You will acquiesce. You know your place is at my side."

He pushes forward again, lips brushing against her cheek, his warm breath on her neck sending shivers spiraling down her spine. The way she rhythmically gyrates her hips deliberately against where he wants her most has his hands flexing, kneading deeper into her flesh. His nails dig into her deceptively soft skin, sliding one hand up her body to grope gratuitously at her curves before crawling up to thread his pale fingers through her hair. With the silky strands weaved between his knuckles, he yanks, exposing her throat to the mercy of his razor-sharp fangs like a wolf perched over carrion. He'd die before admitting the overwhelming, frantic need she inspires within him, but he swears if he doesn't have her now, he will perish.

She exhales ragged and husky, squirming against him in apparent need, but still manages to stand her ground. "I am at your side, my lord. Your front, to be more specific."

"On your knees, on your back, whatever I demand. Give in to me. Heed my command, my love," He releases his fingers from her neck, both his arms snaking behind her to scoop her ass in his palms and hike her up against his waist, bidding her wordlessly to lock her legs around him. She does it instinctively, throwing her arms around his neck, tugging playfully at his silver hair as she does. He keeps her up with easy purchase against the wall, keeping her prisoner between a wiry cage of eager limbs and foggy glass panes. "Submit to me of your own free will. Kneel to me, your husband and king, and submit to me fully."

His voice is low and husky as he exhales against the shell of her ear, doing his best to swallow down the desire to rip her pretty dress to shreds with his bare hands and ravage her on the filthy ground of her greenhouse.

"All you need do is say the words," He mutters, barely audible even to her, the scent of her driving him to the precipice of insanity. "Say you belong to me, body and soul. Submit to me, girl, and I'll never have need of another."

He feels the derisive chuckle in her throat reverberate against his own mouth and pulls away to observe. Her eyes are glassy and low as they meet his, moist lips parted in a little 'o', trying so hard not to do that hateful little smile of hers. His hand tightens in her hair, jerking his hips ruthlessly against her once again. So close now, he can feel it, he's going to destroy her, ruin her, tear her to pieces only to put her back together and do it again--

She dares to deny him, dares to have the raw audacity to mock him-- he's going to hurt her so badly, sink his fangs into her neck and drain her fucking dry, force himself inside of her until she has to beg him through hiccupping sobs to stop, unable to fend him off in his full power. He will show her who is the master--

"No."

She cranes her head forward just a little and gives him a mockingly gentle peck on the mouth. It's deceptively gentle and cruel in its intention, entirely meant to taunt him. In his shock at her gall, he is stalled, almost paralyzed and entirely unresponsive and numb to the tidal wave of rage and lust that collides in a nuclear cocktail deep in his gut. It's but a brief moment before he regains control over his senses, and when he does--

"Maybe," She flicks her tongue out, licking a small, red stripe up his cupid's bow. "But not yours-- and you can try, my love."

He releases his grip on her hair only to grab her cheeks, digging his fingers into her jaw so hard that he can feel her gums scrape against the ivory ridges of her fangs. Her wince of pain doesn't escape him, fueling the inferno inside of him as he snarls, baring teeth down on her as a predator might.

"You dare to play games with me? You are a miserable, stubborn little whore and I'd see you put back in your proper place!"

It's more animalistic growl than spoken sentence, and even as he squeezes her face, he can see the twitches of a smile on her crumpled mouth. He can smell the blood on her tongue, the utter defiance in her expression, and despite his frenzy of anger, he throbs between her thighs.

--and yet it's him on the cusp of inescapable frenzy, the taste of her now blasting away the dull, gray months and the now; this one fiery moment where she is wholly his, reminding him of the untamable bonfire of desire she stokes within. His beloved consort, his wife, until death take them both or not at all--

It should drive him into a blind, red rage, but it just makes him harder, pulsing against her insistently, his body demanding entrance to what is rightfully his--

"You will always belong to me."

He crushes his mouth to hers so hard it pains the both of them, more devouring gnashes and fierce, hungry greed for her than passionate kiss. His fangs break the skin of her lip, his tongue thrusting between her teeth, determined to taste every inch she offers up to him. She mewls weakly into his mouth, trying to break the kiss to breathe, but he won't allow it; she only breathes by his will and he'd see her reminded of that--

A battle he will win.

"Mine-- only mine--"

He pants it sloppily into her open mouth, still desperately trying to swallow her essence into himself. She manages to tug away from his unhinged fervor, though only briefly, just to heave and whoop air into her lungs, desperate to catch her breath before she speaks:

"Not if you're not only mine."

It's a fool's facade, this game they play. Around and around and around once more, each demanding prostration of the other only to burn themselves on their own encompassing greed for the other. A toxic whirlwind of emerald-green jealousy and blood-red rage, enveloped entirely by hazy, punch-drunk lust. Two titans locked in a battle for dominance, chasing the vulnerability of the other one.

He hard-swallows, using every ounce of strained willpower he has in his willowy body to retreat away from her, casting his savage need into an abyssal pit inside of him and sealing it before it swallows him. instead. Slowly, he manages to peel away, slowly setting her feet back on the ground, doing his best to compose himself despite the very blatantly obvious signs of arousal and his apparent state of both mental and physical dishevelment.

"I won't humor you forever, darling," He purrs, giving her one last squeeze before stepping back away from her, distancing himself from her control over his body that he loathes. "I always get what I want. You should know that."

She blinks up at him again, her lips puffy and skin smeared with swatches of blood that he has to bite his tongue to keep from tasting. "Not this time."

His lips quirk in a condescending grin at her adorable little show of defiance, resituating himself within his linen pants without shame. "We'll see, my dear."

With that, he abandons the 'conversation,' turning to walk out of the greenhouse, only sparing one last glance at her garden of flesh-- and then once back at her. It breaks his willpower in a way he is miserable to admit, but his need for her overwhelms his pride.

One last snarl in her direction, and he turns to stalk out, itching to backhand the smugness from her pretty face. If he does, he knows well enough that he will not be able to walk away from her. He will take her here and now in a maelstrom of blood, violence, and ruthless sex, and he will lose this little game of control, and he cannot have that.

Still, that doesn't mean she is allowed to believe she has any choice in the matter.

"It's been long enough. I am expecting you in my bed tonight. Do not make me come searching for you. You won't like what happens if I must seek you out."

She seems surprised and almost pleased with his minor acquiescence. It comes in the form of a demand, but she knows full well that it's the best she's going to get. She offers him a sweet smile, smoothing her skirts back down her legs from where he'd hiked them up around her still-quaking legs. He can still smell her, the wet between her thighs, the rich, royal blood flowing through her veins, her body that sings to him a siren song luring him to his fall. If he doesn't break something in soon, he is going to combust--

"We'll see."

He traipses back into the palace, body shuddering and shivering in its effort to control the raging hormones. He is ravenous, needing to drain someone dry and be drained dry-- and soon. Another well-trained servant greets in the halls, cautiously approaching upon seeing his dour expression, bowing from some distance away in case his master decides to lash out.

"My lord--"

"A concubine. Now. Sent directly to my chambers. We are not to be disturbed, no matter what you hear. Do not keep me waiting."

[towriteloveontheirarms]

There is a first time for everything (Osferth x barmaid!Reader)

synopsis: They say there is a first time for everything, yet never in a milion years would Osferth have thought he would lose that specific first time to someone as gorgeous as you.

warnings: Osferth being teased for being a virgin, basically pwp, p in v, oral m receiving, flirty reader, afab reader

word count: 1.8k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

Dividers by me

“Are you going to stay a virgin forever, baby monk?” One teased, boisterously handing him a cup of ale, just as you passed to fill up their drinks. Osferth’s eyes landed on you almost immediately to, what you assumed, make sure if you had heard that. Only to visibly come to the conclusion that no delusion in the world could convince him that you hadn´t. His ears were pink and his cheeks burned cherry red. He looked immensely uncomfortable with the teasing, almost like he wants to drown himself in the cup, which gains him a sympathetic look, before you move on to serve the next table. From afar you can still see him take a sip of his drink, trying to appear unbothered by the comments. Just as one of his friends slapped him on the back, causing him to spill some of his drink on his robes. "Monk boy needs to get laid!" he laughed, causing Osferth to further blush and want to die of mortification.

As you pass the table yet again, you give Osferth a small wink and a reassuring smile, though you also make an effort to let your hips sway a bit more than before. You felt yourself weirdly drawn towards his seemingly sweet nature amidst the chaos and depravity of his friends. Osferth felt his face heat up even more, he couldn't help but stare at her ass. He wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. Instead, he just continued to wish his friends would stop embarrassing him in front of you already.

Later that night, after closing time, Alenna found Osferth sitting alone, nursing yet another mug of ale. She walked over to him and sat down beside him.

"Where did you leave your loud friends, baby monk?" You lean in teasingly with her elbows propped up on your thighs and a lazy smile on your lips.

Osferth looked up at you, he noticed how close you were sitting, and he could feel the warmth of your body close by. He also noticed how your breasts pressed together against your tight blouse, and he couldn't help but feel aroused despite himself.

"They... left." he managed to say between sips of ale. He looked away, feeling his face grow even more crimson. "I think they went to visit some brothel or other... They wanted me to join. Said I needed to get laid or something..." he trailed off, not wanting to continue the sentence.

“Hm, it was hard to miss that." You giggle at the memories of their earlier antics. Then you become calmer. "And what do you want?"

He looked at you, his eyes wide and innocent. He had no idea how to act around someone so beautiful and confident.

"W-what do you mean 'what do I want'?" he asked. He had never been approached like that by a woman before, and he didn't quite know how to handle it.

You chuckle and reach out to stroke his cheek with the back of her fingers. You lean closer to him, taking note of his scent before speaking softly.

"Desires. You want something don't you?" Your breath is hot against his ear as you whisper the word. "Or maybe you're tired of those loud friends telling you what to do?”

You pause to let the words sink in for a moment then you speak once more. “To ask in more plain language... Do you want to lose your virginity or are you content keeping it? It is all up to you. No one else should make that decision for you."

Silence settles over them. The choice truly is up to him and whatever it would be, she would respect it. Osferth felt his heart race as you spoke softly into his ear, sending shivers down his spine. He swallowed hard, trying to gather the courage to speak.

"I... I don't want to keep it," he managed to say, his voice barely audible. He could feel the stiffness growing between his legs as he thought about losing his virginity.

"Aren´t you sweet?" You coo against his lips, teasing a kiss, before you lets your lips wander down his neck. Never once actually letting them touch his skin. "Just remember, should you ever wish to stop or want me to do something specific just tell me. I want this to be as pleasant for you as it possibly can be."

As you began to tease him with kisses along his neck, you also remove his robes, listening the soft moans. The blond shut his eyes tightly for a moment, he had always been taught that sex was something shameful and dirty, yet he found himself getting harder and craving the touch with each passing second as you undressed him.

When you reveal his cock, he watched as you admired it, your hand moving gently over it. Applying soft pressure to make it leak even more of the pearly precum, which collected at the tip of his member, from your place on the floor between his legs. He felt a surge of pleasure throughout his entire body.

“Is that alright?” you ask in a raspy voice as you feel him shiver.

He nodded silently, unable to find the words to speak. So, he let out a soft moan as Alenna’s hand continued to work magic on his length, driving him closer and closer to release.

"Use your words, baby monk. Tell me what you want." You try to coax an answer out of Osferth. Though it is clearly visible that he is overtaken by the pleasure he had never felt before.

His mind raced as he tried to think of how to express what he wanted but found himself unable to form coherent sentences. All he could manage was a series of incoherent grunts and groans as your hand continued rubbing his cock. The shaft twitched seemingly restlessly in your palm as you move your head down to lick small stripes at his sensitive, flushed tip. Instinctively Osferth´s hand comes to guide your head deeper onto his cock. Slurping and slight gagging sounds fill the room until you eagerly get pulled off him with a desperate whimper.

You know he is close. It is etched into every small muscle and crease of his face and so you let him move you away before you ask. “Where do you want to come?”

"Fuck me... please... fuck me..." He managed to gasp out. “I want to come inside of you.”

And with those words, he surrendered completely to the pleasure of the moment, letting go of any shame or hesitation that he might have felt any remnants of before.

Quickly you move your skirt and any other clothes out of the way and sink down on his lap with his cock buried deep in your tight folds, gasping at how well he filled her out. Osferth´s hands find their way to your breasts, cupping them gently and massaging them as he felt her tightness wrap around his throbbing member. At the same time, you bury your hands in his hair. The pace of your thrusts is barely matched by his desperate strokes, trying to keep up with all the intense sensations. He felt like he was drowning in a sea of pleasure, and he didn't want the moment ever to end.

The slight upwards curve of his cock has Osferth´s length rub against that special spot inside with every thrust, making you see stars as you throw your head back in pleasure.

"So good." There is a drawl to your words from the cloud of pleasure that overwhelms your own brain. "Fuck, you can touch me harder. I won't break."

Osferth let out a low groan and complied with her request, increasing the force of his strokes, and gripping her breasts more firmly as he felt her body trembling above him. He could see the pleasure etched onto your face like you were an open book and he found himself feeling incredibly satisfied by bringing you such joy.

"I'm not gonna last much longer..." You mewl, bringing one of your hands down between your thighs to caress your sensitive pearl, heightening the pleasure that made your walls grip his cock even tighter. Osferth felt your approach to orgasm and increased the depth of his thrusts even further, wanting to give her as much pleasure as possible before you both released. He watched as your hand worked its magic between your legs, committing the movements and your in pure ecstasy contorted face to memory. When he is sure what to do, the blond gently pushes your hand aside to replace your finger with his thumb, rubbing the same circles into your flesh. As he takes over on rubbing circles into your clit your hands go to hold onto his shoulders to keep from slumping against his chest.

It doesn't take long for your movements to falter under his ministrations, waves of pleasure shaking your body as the knot that had built in your lower stomach snaps. Osferth however continues to fuck into you, chasing his own release, which claims him only moments later. Encouraged by your fluttering walls, rolled back eyes and downright sinful moans.

As you let out a long, drawn-out moan and cried out in pleasure, Osferth let out a loud groan and came inside of you, filling your womb with his thick seed as he experienced the ultimate pleasure of release for the first time. He felt like he was on fire, every nerve in his body burning with need even after his peak had stopped overwhelming him.

You stay in Osferth´s lap until the two of you have found your breath again and his cock has softened inside of you. Only then, you stand up to go clean up.

"How was that for a first time?” You ask him with another lazy smile and hazy eyes that glow in the light of your previous orgasm as you fix his messy hair with gentle touches and clean his cock with a damp towel. Osferth looked down at you with a mixture of satisfaction and exhaustion, his member still throbbing under the gentle, lukewarm towel. He nodded in response to your question, unable to speak for the moment due to lack of breath.

"I do not feel like I've done justice to how amazing you felt around me." He answers once he regains his mind, a weak grin grazing his lips.

He couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over him. A bell like giggle escapes you at his statement.

"Well, you could always come back tomorrow..." You invite him in a sultry tone, eyes falling half close to give an equally seductive look.

The next day you hear his friends before they even enter the tavern. Smiling to yourself as you go to greet them and take their orders of assumingly more ale, it becomes more clear that they remained unaware as to what happened to their friend after they left the prior night. So, Alenna gives Osferth a wink and whispers loud enough for everyone to hear. "I cannot wait to see you again later. I had a lot of fun last night..."