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loveindefinitely · 7 months

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༊*·˚ LIKE THE WAY I FUCK ('CAUSE I GET ROUGH) — an undercover mission with your superiors leads to compromised positions (in more ways than one)

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + könig

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, canon-divergence, age difference, slight power imbalance, jealous/possessive behaviour, discussions of violence, tags to be added

// NSFW CONTENT BELOW THE CUT //

Turns out, undercover missions involve a lot more make-up, perfume and dresses than you'd anticipated.

Being a seasoned task force operator, it's been months, if not years since you've been to a party outside of your barracks. Let alone one of this calibre; CEOs, billionaires on Forbes Top 50, politicians.

It's off-putting.

All of it; it's stressful, and it feels as though your skin's crawling, having so much skin on display, so many eyes on you at once. You feel as though you’re an animal at a zoo, being inspected by families with their snotty-nosed kids.

"Sit-rep, Diamond?"

Swallowing around a dry mouth, you reply to your lieutenant's request through your earpiece, tone low and careful. "All as planned, Lt."

Ghost hums a low sound in reply, and your shoulders loosen slightly from their tense position.

You knew that your superior was already inside, having arrived ten minutes earlier. A small, selfish part of you wished that you'd have arrived with him, if only to see how he cleaned up.

Ghost? In a suit? It's like one of your deepest, most dirty of desires come to life.

Such thoughts that you'd never let leave your lips -- thoughts too likely to wreck your entire career and any opportunity to keep your relationship with the man.

"König?" Is Ghost's next question, although it's just the other man's name alone.

Right.

König.

The other superior featured in your dreams. Thoughts. Wank-material?

Whatever they are, they're becoming all too common, all too realistic, and all too risky.

"Successful entry," König replies, heavily accented voice low and quiet -- he's amongst people.

Your limo comes to a stop outside of the decorated museum, and a suited man opens your door with gloved hands. His upper lip is covered in a well-groomed pencil moustache, and you have to stifle a chuckle. Soap would’ve appreciated it.

With a small smile, you incline your head towards him, lifting up the fabric of your skirt so it doesn't brush against the gravel. It’s so… impractical, and you really can’t help but respect those that dress up like this on a regular basis. Looking down at your outfit, you let out a low breath.

When Gaz and Soap had burst into your room with shit-eating grins and a garment bag, you had just known that your dress was going to be... extravagant at best, and downright sinful at worst.

You were correct, of course.

So, here you are, walking down the red carpet into the building, cameras flashing and paparazzi screaming, in this... dress.

Silky black, strapless, and with crossing lines of fabric across your bare back. Chiffon skirts fall behind you, with a slit rising all the way up to where your thigh meets your hip bone. A gun hides beneath, strapped around your inner thigh, paired with your right, adorning a delicate yet hefty knife.

You look... not at all like a Sergeant on Task Force 141.

You look like a celebrity, one just out of her fans' reach. It's a surreal experience, and the mere thought of your two superiors (crushes) seeing you like this... It's frightening. Maddening. And, maybe, a tad bit exhilarating.

Gaz had insisted on doing your make-up -- having so many sisters made him a fully-fledged artist, apparently. And an artist he was, talented with the brushes of eyeshadow and flicks of eyeliner against your skin.

Soap, for his part, had begged for you to let him do your hair -- but considering his only experience was his mohawk, you were less than lenient. With a huff, he’d let you go to Laswell’s wife with the request, as long as he picked out your jewellery.

And now, hours later, your heels click against the stone tile as you enter the museum.

Soft lighting cascades all of the guests in gentle hues of yellow, laughter and polite mingling surrounding you as you enter the main ballroom, skirts brushing against your legs.

Chandeliers above glisten, a live-band plays beautiful jazz, and servers walk around with trays of champagne and finger foods.

It's nothing like you've ever experienced.

This mission, somehow, terrifies you more than the weight of a sniper in your hand and an order to neutralise.

"Target, six o'clock," Ghost's voice carries through your comms as you take position near the corner of the room. There’s fewer people here, and it allows you a moment to breathe and recalibrate.

Your eyes dart to the direction your lieutenant has supplied, and you catch sight of your target immediately. "Got eyes," you murmur softly, smile on your face as you pretend to fix your hair.

"Affirmative," König answers then.

"I haven't seen you before."

Whipping around to the source of the words, you find yourself face to face with a man who you've seen the face of too many times to count.

"Apologies for startling you," he inclines his head respectfully. He's got a few inches on you -- although you find it hard to consider him tall when you're with your superiors more often than not. His skin is closely-shaved, his blonde hair gelled to the nines -- and a smarmy, trust-fund baby smirk to top it all off.

Extending his hand, he announces, "I'm Phillip. Phillip Graves."

...Graves.

The last name of your target -- the son of your target.

"I'm Louise," you say with a sweet smile, taking his hand and shaking it. Your undercover name was going to have to come into play sooner than you'd hoped. "It's a lovely atmosphere, isn't it?"

"Positive, Diamond?" Ghost's deep voice instantly responds to your subtle codeword.

"Not as lovely as you, I'm sure," Phillip flirts, and you pretend to bat your lashes and hide your face from him.

"Ah... thank you, Sir. You're quite dashing yourself," you meekly reply, giving him a soft smile.

Men like this were so easily played, you found. Not at all like the military men you were surrounded with on such a constant basis. Not at all like…

You can hear both König and Ghost swear underneath their breaths. Releasing the hold on your bracelet -- the one with the built-in comms button -- you shyly bite at your lower lip.

Phillip’s eyes track the movement, and if not for the stakes of this mission, it'd be almost comical.

"May I have this dance?" He asks, offering his arm for you to take. He’s adorning an obviously wealthy suit, dark blue and silky – and it rubs you in all the wrong ways.

You can hear your heart pound in your ears -- this wasn't the way the mission was supposed to go. But, then again, you didn't get into Task Force 141 by expecting every mission to go as planned.

"I would love to, Sir," you smile, wrapping your hand around his arm, allowing him to escort you to the main dance floor.

Subtly folding your hands together around his arm, you're able to push down the button on your bracelet. "You want us to dance in the middle of everyone? I'm not the best of dance partners..."

Phillip chuckles, but through your inner ear piece, you can hear König report, "Got eyes, Diamant."

Chills run down your spine. Either from this situation or…

Or something else that you're not entirely supposed to -- or allowed to -- feel. Not for those two men, and certainly not for your superiors.

"I'll lead you, darlin’," Phillip leans down to whisper into your ear, his lips brushing against your skin. They’re thin, and chapped against your own skin.

His hand moves to sit at your lower back, just above your ass, and the other moves down your arm to interlace your fingers with his. It's an intimate position, your front pressing against his as he starts to lead you with the beat.

Of course you knew how to dance; you wouldn't have been picked for this role if you couldn't.

However, you deliberately misstep a few times, just to play into Phillip’s ego -- his desire for control and intelligence.

"For such a beautiful girl, you sure aren't the smartest," he jests, and it takes everything within you not to just swing your fist and leave him twitching on the dance floor. You could, realistically speaking, but that would cost you all the mission. And you would not let yourself, nor König or Ghost, down.

Instead, you nervously flit your gaze from him, moving in closer to his chest. By his squeeze on your lower back, you know it's the right decision. "I... I'm doing my best, Sir."

You want to crawl out of your own skin at the way you’re feeding into his misogyny, how you’re downplaying your own strengths.

He huffs, a demeaning, cruel thing.

"I want to shoot 'im," you hear Ghost mutter, and you'd be a liar to say that those words in that tone don't make you clench your thighs together as you sway against Phillip.

"Make it a competition, ja?" König quips. There's... irritation -- anger, maybe -- behind his question. It's so unlike the gentle giant of a man, and that fact alone has your breath coming out in a short pant.

Phillip, of course, thinks it's him making you so flushed.

With a vindictive smirk, he spins you, completely throwing you off balance. Maybe a tad too dramatically, you find yourself falling into his arms, giggling a little bit.

...It's worth it to hear Ghost grumble under his breath through the comms.

This whole situation doesn't feel quite real, and you know that their attitudes are nearly definitely due to the stray in plans. That's fine. That's all it can possibly be. It’s all that you’ll allow it to be.

But your mind has never been kind, and your imagination has always had the habit of wandering.

"Let's go get some drinks, hm?" Phillip asks, his hand falling dangerously close to 'inappropriate hand placement' territory.

You shoot him a seductive smile, nodding as he pulls you to the open bar, his arm wrapped tight around your waist, leaving you glued to his side. It’s a possessive position, and you find yourself wishing it was either of your superiors holding you in such a way instead.

"Don't drink anything he offers you," Ghost warns. You almost have the mind to chew him out for not trusting you with something so obvious, but... There's something about such subtle

protectiveness that only feeds your elementary style crush on the man.

"I would love to," you reply as Graves leads you to the bar, hand only moving lower with every step the two of you take. Fear trickles down your spine, your hands squeezing tightly together at your front.

"Say the word and we get you outta' there, Princess," Ghost quips, sharp and to the point.

With your hands already together, you manage to reply an agreement in Morse code -- quick, successive taps of the communications button.

"Good girl," König replies, just a touch breathy from the quietness of his words.

You manage not to trip on your feet, but it's a close thing.

a small snippet, because i feel really bad for my lack of posts!! life is so insane atm its like a satire.

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heeliopheelia · 4 months

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GET HIM BACK! (s. jake)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

includes: making out, skin marking, fingering, unprotected sex, riding, brief hair pulling, choking, slight bulge kink, degrading, praising too, slight exhibitionism, facial, cursing

word count: 3.3k

synopsis: 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘨𝘶𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘦𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘢𝘨𝘰

note: i really hated the build up to the one i posted before so i rewrote it as promised... sorry for the confusion guys ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

guts event masterlist ⋆♱✮♱⋆ main masterlist

“Your parents home?” Jake breaths out the words right into your mouth as he runs his tongue over your bottom lip.

It’s been mere three minutes since you first heard his loud and obnoxious bike speeding down your quiet street. He’s careless and tact-less as always, and for some reason that’s what draws you in even more.

He never keeps you waiting long. He doesn’t beat around the bush. He’s always one foot out the door of wherever he is, always waiting for a single call or text from you. He knows what he wants and is always vocal about it, a go getter type of a man.

So it was expected to have him climb up the low roof of your porch and hear his gloved hand knocking on your window not even ten minutes after you texted him a not so innocent wanna come over?.

As if that was even a question. Of course he wants to come over, wants to see you any chance he can get. He doesn’t need to think for a second to grab his helmet and ride to wherever you are, so needy for him. He’s known you for less than two months – met you at a party and kept hooking up weeks after, and yet here he is, wrapped around your finger, with nothing else in his mind but you.

You’re not much better yourself, dreaming of his beaming face every night that you somehow don’t end up spending with him. You’ve grown attached to him, so attached that the tearing inside your chest becomes more hurtful whenever you’re not with him, day by day he takes a firmer grasp of your feeble heart.

Your hands are grasping onto his worn out t-shirt, kissing him greedily and breathlessly as he giggles into your mouth, pulling you closer and closer into his chest.

“They came back an hour ago,” you answer, raising on your toes to make the angle more comfortable for the both of you.

Slowly, he pulls away and presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, then to the other one. “That’s kinda inconvenient, no?” He asks, nosing at your cheek and you close your eyes and nod your head, melting as the leather of his glove brushes against your skin as he lifts your chin up with his fingers.

His warm lips are on yours again, hand pulling your face upward to leave you breathless in a matter of seconds. “Wanna go out with me?” He whispers in your lips. He hums when you shake your head. “No? Jay’s party’s still going. We could go, hm?” He kisses you again even when you shake your head no. “Wanna just stay here?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out quietly, eyes never meeting his.

“Okay, as you wish, baby,” Jake smiles into your lips. “I don’t mind. Anywhere with you is good.”

Before you get the chance to swoon over his words even more, he’s pushing you backwards and against your dresser, putting his helmet down on it before caging you in between his flexing arms. He kisses you dizzy then, angling his face to the side to press and suck on your lips better.

It’s so Jake-like to make you forget about all of your surroundings, to kiss you into oblivion until your lips are swollen and burning. You never complain – why would you when you know you can only have him for this summer, before college starts again and you’ll be out of your hometown for another year. You always take him in, again and again, because you’re scared you’ll wake up from this dream too soon and never see him again. And you can’t let that happen.

This time he pushes his tongue inside your mouth, the warm muscle working against yours. Your hands finally relax from where they’ve been clutching onto his black top so desperately, only to travel up into his hair. You tug on it gently, feeling the slightly sweaty strands underneath your fingertips.

Jake pulls you flush to him, pushes his hips into yours for any type of fraction and groans lowly in his throat when he gets what he’s been craving for for the past hour.

“Couldn’t wait till tomorrow to see me, baby?” He teases, but you’re nodding your head quickly before he even has the chance to finish the sentence. He smiles into your lips as your desperate fingers pull his shirt up and off of him, leaving you pressed to his toned chest.

The two of you messily make your way to your bed, bare of any duvets and blankets as it’s too hot to sleep under any. You fall on top of him and part your lips only to latch onto his neck, tongue lapping over the bite marks you leave afterwards.

Jake chuckles at your feverish suckling onto his skin, never objecting to being marked by you. He tugs on the leather gloves with his teeth, pulling them off and throwing them on the floor, fingers immediately going down to follow your lead and dispose of your top. You’re only wearing underwear underneath the big t-shirt you sleep in and the sight makes Jake’s mouth water. He runs his hands over every inch of your burning skin, impatiently unclasping your bra as you’re still busy with his bruised neck.

You pull away, visibly pleased with yourself, then lift yourself on your arms and smother his swollen lips again. Jake grunts, kissing you almost just as fervently, hands going lower and lower until he grabs a handful of your ass and rolls his hips up into yours.

You let out a whimper at that, an even louder one following when his slim fingers skim over the soaked cotton of your panties.

“You need to be quiet, doll,” he chuckles breathlessly, drowning the sounds you make with his lips when he slips his fingers underneath the fabric and gets a feel of your slick pussy. “I don’t think we would want your parents walking in on us like that, hm?”

“Y-Yeah,” you stumble out, shifting as you’re laying flat on his chest, face buried in his collarbone and eyes fluttering when his moves only grow bolder. You shudder slightly, feeling his long digits teasing your clit with butterfly touches.

“Ease up, pretty girl,” Jake coos, other hand wrapping around your waist to keep you steady when the first of his now soaked fingers slips inside your tight hole. You nuzzle into him further, breath becoming unsteady as you whine quietly. He moves his hand, burying it deeper and skimming it over your walls.

Couple seconds later he adds in the second finger, the heel of his palm pressing to your clit and making you jolt slightly in his firm hold. He strokes inside you slowly, feeling you progressively getting wetter with his every push. You’re panting, hot breath hitting his skin and making his dick twitch in his pants.

He’s plunging his fingers deep inside of you, your walls squeezing him and stretching out his lips with a satisfied smile. You can’t help but buck into the air in the little space that Jake gives you, when he picks up on his pace. His fingers thrust in and out of you, one by one, never losing their rhythm.

Curving his fingers, his knuckles brush against the spongy insides of your hole, making you moan shakily.

“You good?” He asks, the hand on your waist caressing you gently.

You sigh, hands reaching up to squeeze his shoulders. “Yeah,” you whisper because that’s all of your voice that you can muster.

“Yeah?” He can’t help but tease and you can hear the grin that’s plastered on his pink lips. But this time you only respond with a nod of your head.

With your face buried in his skin, hands wrapped around his neck tightly, you know you’re cumming when the warm wave hits your stomach breathlessly. You’re whimpering in his collarbone, really trying your hardest to keep quiet, but with the twitching pleasure spreading through your body, and his hard bulge pressing into your stomach, it’s quite difficult to stay sane.

Jake gives you a second to breathe before removing his dripping fingers and unbuckling his pants with it. He somehow manages to shake out of his jeans while keeping you steady on his chest and you shiver when you can feel his warm cock resting between your bodies now.

“Stay still for me, baby,” he coaxes you before shifting you on his hips.

Next second, you can feel his tip prodding at your sensitive pussy and he glides his cock between your glistening folds, coating it in your slick. He readies you with a squeeze at your waist, and slowly starts sinking his length inside of you.

“Wait, Jake-,” you choke on your words when he buries himself entirely inside of you, stretching you out and making you lose your composure completely. “I’m still s-sensitive,” you mumble out, about to nuzzle your face in his neck when his hands grip your waist.

“Now, up you go,” he says and lifts you up, making you sit on his hips and take in even more of his cock.

You moan rather loudly, sinking your teeth in your bottom lip to stop yourself from spilling any more sounds. Jake slowly rolls his hips up into you, quiet grunts leaving his own mouth as his hands settle on your hips. He starts guiding you up and down carefully until you’ve fully adjusted to him.

He only lets go once you’ve picked up on a steady pace, bracing your hands on his stomach, the feeling of his hardened muscles making your cheeks heat up. The way your pussy spreads around him is making him go crazy, and now and then he realizes that the combination of feeling you topping him and looking so fucking pretty at the same time, is nothing less than lethal.

You’re so soft under his hands, soft around his cock, soft hands pressing on his abs – everything about you is so damn soft. You’re making him feel almost too good. To ground himself, one of his hands goes up to your hair and tugs on it slightly, making you arch your back and show your pretty, glistening with sweat neck.

He grits his teeth when you speed up slightly, eyes misty and sparkling down at him in your dimly lit bedroom. You’re riding him so well, taking his heavy cock with little struggle.

“So good,” he pants out, fingers digging into your ass. “You’re doing so good.”

You can feel your muscles straining whenever you lift yourself up, tired legs making you drop down onto him a little more forcefully than you initially planned but you’re rewarded with his low moan and eyes shutting tightly, long lashes brushing over his cheeks.

The room feels almost too hot, the house is too quiet for the lewd noises coming out of both of you. Your rhythmic bouncing on his aching cock soon changes to messy grinds as your knees give out and thighs burn. Your movements are shallow and visibly weakened, so to help you up, Jake brings his knees higher and roots his heels into your mattress only to thrust up into you, meeting your hips halfway.

You mewl, your legs twitching when he makes your hole take even more of him. He can feel your slick mixed with his precum seeping out and covering his stomach, and he desperately needs more.

Swallowed by the haze, you push your hips backwards and try to meet his thrusts, making his moves stutter and a strangled groan bubbles up his throat.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he says through clenched teeth before grabbing you by your hips and pulling you off of him. Before you get the chance to ask what he is doing, you find yourself with your back slammed to the mattress, and Jake’s hands grabbing your calves and throwing them over his shoulders.

When he enters you again, you feel your eyes rolling back a little but before any sound can make its way out of your throat, Jake’s veiny hand slaps over your mouth as he leans his face closely to yours. Your whimpers are muffled now as he picks up on his previous pace and the now changed position makes your walls clump down on him even fucking tighter.

“Keep it down. We don’t want your mom barging in and seeing her daughter folded in half like a slut, do we?” His words only make you moan louder as your fingers dig into his toned shoulders. At your reaction, Jake’s lips spread with a sly smile as he raises his eyebrow. “Do we?” He asks breathlessly, watching as your eyes glisten in the dark room. “You really wanna get caught? To let somebody see you like that? Naughty, fucking, girl. Well, there you go.”

His hands leave your mouth and settle on your stomach instead. You just can’t predict his moves anymore, too absorbed in the pleasure spreading through your body, so when he pushes onto your stomach and presses you even deeper into the mattress, a loud moan ripples out of your lips. Jake groans too as he can feel himself moving so deep inside you underneath his fingertips. He pushes onto you even harder. Your head rolls backwards until you’re nearly facing the headboard.

It’s quite difficult to breathe and you’re not sure whether it’s from the stifling summer air that’s gotten into your room or the veiny hand that’s suddenly latched onto your throat. His hot cockhead seems to be hitting everywhere where you need it most. Nothing but dumb squeaks leave your parted lips and he thrives off of every single one of them, even deepening his thrusts to hear them grow louder.

His thighs clash into yours loudly and you yelp when he leans even more forward and the one hand that’s currently not on your throat clutches the headboard tightly. You can’t even do anything when the wood starts rattling against your wall.

“You like getting fucked like this? Who would’ve thought,” he hums, grinning down at you with the teasing glimmer in his eyes.

His thrusts are deep, making the tip of his cock kiss your cervix over and over again. The moans you sob out are like a shot of adrenaline in his veins, better than any drug he’s ever tried and suddenly the thought of having you to himself only for the next week crosses his mind. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to breathe without you now that he’s almost sure he’s addicted to you.

He works his length deep inside you. Your vision threatens to turn black and you’re already out of breath when he presses onto your throat a little harder. You send him a half-lidded look and he moves his hand away from your throat to push your sweaty hair away from your forehead because nothing can fucking take the sight of your fucked out face away from him.

Your lips are parted with the ragged breaths leaving them, hands fisting his hair and legs beginning to tremble against his chest.

“So pretty, all for me. All because of me.” You nod thoughtlessly at his words, mind taken over by the feeling of the soon to be approaching high. “So lewd too. Where did your shame go?”

“C- Close,” is all you’re able to say. You can feel every vein on his cock more prominently with every next thrust of his, all of your senses besides touch evaporating. You can’t even hear any more of his dirty words when your climax hits you like a truck, making you let out a loud moan.

Jake wraps one of his arms under your waist and lifts you up slightly, now folding you in half and making your orgasm hit twice as hard. He slows his hips down for a moment to help you ride it out, thrusting his dick with deep strokes.

He’s letting go of you soon enough, quickly forgetting about your sensitive self as he feels the twitching and aching between his legs begin, waiting for his own release. With a groan, Jake braces both of his flexing arms on the headboard and ruts his heavy cock into you feverishly, making you see stars and cry out of overstimulation.

You have to bite on his shoulder to stop the sudden scream from leaving your throat, your whole body ricocheting with his hard thrusts. Your thighs are drenched and so are his, so the skin slapping against skin sounds even louder than before, leaving the backs of your plush upper legs red and stinging.

He loves having you like that, limp because he’s fucked you just that good but body no less responsive to all that he keeps giving you.

“So fucking good,” he repeats himself before abruptly pulling out of your spasming pussy. “Get down here, baby.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you only nod and eagerly pull yourself down on the bed with your wobbly legs. Once you’re lowered enough, Jake angles his swollen cock right above your face and strokes himself quickly, only to couple seconds later cover your face with the thick white ropes of his release. You flinch slightly, closing your eyes as the warm liquid hits your cheeks, lewdly licking everything that’s sputtered over your lips.

“Oh, fuck!” Jake groans, a little pitchier than before, nonetheless just as pretty. You lift your head up from the mattress and swiftly engulf his leaking tip with your lips, milking him until he’s dry. Jake shudders above you and moans, watching you through almost closed eyes as you suck on his softening cock.

You pull away when there’s nothing else to take from him and the doe eyed look you’re giving him makes him weak in the knees. He drops down next to you, brushing your hair away from your cum stained face before giggling and picking up the shirt you’ve thrown on the floor. He gently cleans you up with it, then leans forward to drown you with his lips.

You could kiss him for eternity, be buried with his soft lips on yours. He’s gentler now, pressing his mouth on yours and leaving peck after peck on them.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he whispers suddenly, hazy, nose brushing against yours and making you smile the softest smile at him. “There’s never gonna be anyone else like you, YN.”

And with your heart in your throat, you can only swallow harshly and speak through your clenched throat. “Love you too, Jake.”

There’s silence between the two of you for a moment as you just stay in the moment. Heavy breaths, gentle touches brushing against each other’s bodies and soft voices making promises you most likely won’t be able to keep.

“You won’t forget about me, right?” You whisper quietly, looking up at him with misty eyes as he glazes his thumb over your bottom lip.

He shakes his head immediately, flashing you this charming smile of his you’ve gotten so used to over the past two months.

“How could I?” He’s just as quiet. Then he gently takes your hand in his and presses it to his chest, allowing you to feel the hammering of his heart. “All of this is yours. I’ll wait for you.”

And that’s all you need to hear right now.

The two of you get dressed, giggling and smiling like fools as there’s nothing much left to say. Your hip is leaning on your dresser when he steps closer and kisses you again, sucking on your lips sensually and slowly, procrastinating as long as he can only to not part with you yet.

His gloves are back on his hands, helmet under his arm as he turns back to you and tries one more time, grabbing your smaller hand in his. “Go out with me now?”

You don’t know how you’ll be able to face your parents tomorrow.

You don’t wanna say goodbye to him tonight.

So with a smile on your lips, you nod your head and climb out of the window – hands intertwined together and his helmet safely tucked on your head.

But he was so much fun and he had such weird friends

And he would take us out to parties and the night would never end

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redcherrykook · 1 month

Text

── .˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ TENSION DEGREE 03

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College roomate!Jungkook x college roomate!reader- fwb 2 Lovers

You find yourself having to share your room with a very sexually active medical science major who so happens to fancy you. Good thing he´s as charming and spontaneous as you, leading to many crazy parties and places you probably should not be hooking up at. When Jungkook started ignoring all his booty calls after accidentally calling someone by your name, unable to fuck away the thought of you, he knew he was cooked. Would he really leave his playboy antics for that sweet company of yours?

series- three!

content: mild slow burn- fwb2l, roomates, mutual pining, player jungkook that falls devoted to reader, cocky!JK, Confident!reader, psychology major reader, banter, parties, lots of smut (duh), only one bed trope, skinny dipping, roadtrip vibes

episode- warnings: alcohol, sexual content (praise kink, oral fem. rec., brief grinding, penetrative sex, making out), feelings of shame around sex

Taglist: @khadeeeeej @ot7stansthings @whoa-jo @smoljjks @stvrlighytt @nono13bnd @jungshaking @junniesoleilkth @deepikhaprakash @rockstryoon @tatamicc @jjeonjjk7 @kookieandjoonberries @jcrl99 @httpjeonlicious @wnteraezz @aphrodyteeth @miniesjams32 @emojkoo @katie-tibo @user-190811 @massivebearharmony @hoseokteardrop @hoseoksluv89 @hoseoksluv90

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Day two of summer vacay in chae's wonderful beach house rolls around with the morning sun enlightening your eyes,

Jungkook ran back yesterday night after encountering that yes, the air is much colder after having been in the water

With a shower you were to tired to take, he had gone to sleep after you,

As planned, waking up with your backs turned to each other

You wish, at least

"Shit" you curse under your breath, rubbing your tired eyes once meeting with that tired face of his,

Still shirtless, in grey shorts,

Thick, morning boner full on display,

His soft sleeping sounds reminding you not to be creepy, however, you couldn't help but analyze the features on his pretty face,

Round, big nose, straight dark eyebrows, beautiful brown doe eyes that are kissed closed by sleep, tiny moles and to crown it, plump little lips with the most sexiest of Piercings,

"Done now?" He smirks, opening his eyes afterwards

You scoff, immediately getting up from the bed,

"Wasn't looking" you mumble, walking into the bathroom,

"At least admit it. I also admitted to staring at your tits yesterday" he groans playfully, tossing around once more

"Creep" you Laugh, throwing a towel from the bathroom on his face,

The laughter gets echoed right back to you, alongside the words

"They look great, what can a man do"

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The beach is one of the most peaceful places on earth,

At least it used to be,

Not anymore for Jungkook, who had watched his best friends back get massaged and coated in sunscreen by no other than Hoseok,

The guy who's been talking about how hot she is,

The one constantly looking at your body like its on display for purchase,

It had especially become a place of Chaos when he felt his hands itch to replace his, to feel your body under his hands and be the one making you moan out of satisfaction

It was a place of peace,

Before you and Hoseok watched your best friend , Jungkook, go and make out with some girl you played volleyball with mere hours ago

Shamelessly, he walked over as she sat there alone, whispering sweet nothings into her ear while she giggled, stroking his arm and tugging on it

The look he gave her, licking at his lips while staring down her very exposed chest,

The little black swimsuit doing nothing to cover her full breasts,

And when he kissed her, pulling her in by the neck before crashing their lips together,

You just looked at Hoseok who's mouth was hung wide open,

"Oh don't mind him that's normal" you stroke his shoulder, laughing softly as his wide eyes shift from the show to your own, neutral ones

Jungkook wasn't one to stop because of a new location,

If anything, he likes the thrill of a new type of girl

"Is it though? Does he even know her name?" Hoseok exclaims, pointing at them

"His hand oh my god jungkook what the fuck" he says again, slapping his hand over his mouth dramatically

You giggle again, laying back down to resume your tanning sesh, this time, ass facing upwards,

"She probably told him but i bet he forgot. Ignore it really"

So he listens, ripping his eyes away from the scene to get back to his book

Jungkook continues to seduce the girl in his arms, while trying his best not to remain eye contact with your ass so perfectly in line of sight

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Later that night, after Hoseoks fifth drink, the situation gets brought up again,

And again, and again

A rather quiet yoongi even joining in to praise Jungkook of his womanizer charms,

It doesn't bother you,

Does it?

"Why did you go up here so early?" He asks when shutting the door of your shared room,

You shrug, unable to explain it yourself

Now standing in front of each other, a couple meters away, he chuckles,

"Jealous?"

one simple word,

You shake your head, "why would i be? If you wanna bang someone you dont even know that's on you kook"

Admittedly that came out a lot more bitter than intented,

"Oh come on like you don't wanna sleep with Hobi?" sternly, he scoffs, stepping closer to you,

"No? And if i did what's that to do with you?" replying a bit harsher in tone than anticipated once more, he grins clearly amused at your growing frustration

The air gets heavy with his silence, sounds of his steps approaching you making up for the loss of conversation,

"Because it makes me mad, bunny" he begins, assertively looking into your wake eyes,

Followed by sighs as he´s looking down briefly,

"That he meets you for two days and gets to have a chance with you, while I've been lusting after you like a bitch in heat"

The words get stolen out of your head and tongue, unable to register a reply that's thought out,

"I didn't sleep with her. I didn't want to either" his voice is moving your thoughts around into incoherent messages, syllable by syllable

"Every time we play this little back and forth, god i just want to take you then and there" you swear his tone dropped a lot lower, gentleness remaining in the way he speaks his truth,

spilling out like a curse

It´s too late to hold back, too much has been said for him to chicken out now,

Trying to hide his sweating palms beneath the mask of cockiness, a smug smile making up for the roraring noise inside his mind,

Why did I say that?

You're smiling too at this point, whether out of shock or liking,

You have to admit, it feels good, being wanted

Wanted by someone you want just as much

"I'm sorry for being so pushy, just, tell me to stop" he whispers, hands finding your waist as he pulls you in,

Closeness isn't enough to describe the position, your chest pressed against his upper stomach, your hands around his back while his grip stays on your waist,

His hot breath faning over the skin on your face, tingling along the flowers of desirs he left to bloom with the passion in his eyes,

The spell breaks once your eyes meet his,

"Stop this- this is stupid" you groan, pushing his warm body away from yours,

He scrambles, surprised, his hands still resting on your waist, caressing up and down slowly,

There´s a decent amount of distance between your bodies, his touch shifting from possessive sexuality to warmth and security

Feeling your smooth skin under the roughness of his hands makes him feel calmer, knowing that it also makes you feel comfortable

"Why stupid?" He breathes out, nervously biting at his lip while his kind eyes scan over your features, landing on the look in your wide, shining eyes

Nervousness

You sigh, combing through the strands of your own hair,

How are you supposed to tell him that you want him,

Want him for more than once,

To be more than a checkmark on his list

"Just- look" you stop, placing your hands on his shoulder, his own ones stroking your waist reassuringly,

almost as in saying to keep talking to him

You're safe with him, he'll always catch you,

Like a best friend should

A storm of worry anxiety and all sorts of horny feelings engulf you, racing through the corridors of your open mind,

He listens patiently,

"I don't want to be a quick fuck and then we never speak of it again"

Visibly, he cringes, nose scrunching up while he shakes his head,

"What the fuck? Did you think that's what this is?"

Slender fingers grip the curve of your waist tighter, his face leaning closer to yours, tilted in confusion

He isn´t angry however, the sound of his voice being coated by gentleness and worry, maybe even frustration that lingers,

Contrasting the harshness of the spoken words on their own

"Well, that´s what you do isn´t it jeon? You- you sleep with them once. just, one time"

Struck by your words his face softens, his eyes grow wider at the realisation of the uncertain boundaries,

It´s true, that is what he does, but it isn´t what he wants with you, it hasn´t even crossed his mind

Instead, Jungkook's mind has become a place of hustle, a melting pot of desire and desperation,

For one, to hold you close, feel, touch, kiss every inch of your vanilla scented skin,

For two, to explain just how much more you are than a simple number,

A hookup,

"That's.. different. You're my best friend" he breathes out, looking over your delicate features,

"That is why we can't kook" you say, furrowing your brows,

"But i want you, look no i- bunny i really really need you, i know you want me too"

Silence, not the response he expected,

"Right?" he asks again, hoping for reciprocation

You bite back a small smile,

"I want you kook"

A faint blush spreads across his cheeks, nonetheless, he couldn't care less about how whiny or desperate he sounds,

Letting your thumb graze his cheek, your eyes wander to his lips,

"Just kiss me y/n, please bunny" he whispers,

"But what after? " you whisper back, anxiously recieving the butterflies in your stomach that flutter down your thighs

Your chest borderline bursting from the pounding of your heart, barely able to confine to the restrains of your body, threatening to break out

He senses it, moving his fingers up and down your waist once again,

"Friends with benefits? I want you, in every way possible physically and as my best friend. But god i can't stand another second pretending to just be joking when all i want is to make you feel good" he rambles, the moonlight slipping beneath the curtains to illuminate his already angelic face, painting his sincere expression in the most vulnerable of lights

"I'm scared" small, faint traces of sincerity hold together the half truth,

You're not just scared, you're petrified, horrified at what the future of this new version, this "us" could possibly hold,

Which doors will close,

He nods, cupping your face in both his hands,

"Me too, but we won't change. I promise bunny"

It doesn't take any more words to make yourself surrender,

Leaning into your own desires, into his trust,

He kisses you, kisses you like he's been waiting to for an eternal time,

Jungkook feels like home,

Like a cinnamon scented candle in a cold November night,

Like the stars that make your night brighten when you spend it crying,

He kisses with feeling that reminds you of your favorite tunes,

There's so much to him, so much to savor,

So you do, you do just that as you return the kiss with the same passion, intensity lingering between your lips,

His large palm wandering to the back of your head, pulling you in deeper while soft groans escape his lips muffled,

Your tongue licks at his lips, begging for more, he grins,

"kiss so good bunny, can't get enough" his praise going straight to your underwear, soaking the white lace in your fluids,

It's new to him aswell, although acurring naturally to him, like a habit, it's strange to hear himself sweet talk someone during sex,

To feel the urge to praise them, worship them,

He figures the intimate connection of being best friends is what refrains him from sticking to his usual antics, to consumed by your positive reaction to waste another thought on what may be the reason

You moan into the kiss, sweet, soft sounds filling his ears with excitment

Like a perfect storm his hand wanders down to your hip,

"Jump sweetheart" mumbling the words into the kiss didn´t change your response, immediately jumping to be caught by the thighs, automatically wrapping them around his defined waistline, snaking him close

His hands move to cup your ass under the flowy dress, squeezing while expressing about how good it feels to have your warmth spread on his,

He's intertwined with you, sewn together by the curse of greed and lust, eagerly growing as he feeds into it, pushing your body back on the bed,

His kisses haven´t stopped until now, your hand sneaking up into his shirt, small fingers delicately tracing the hardness of his abs,

"You're so fucking Hot kook" you smile into the kiss, pulling away shortly to take a peak at his swollen lips

He giggles, taking his fingers to trace the skin on your neck "oh really bunny? Like you haven't been torturing me with your skimpy lounge shorts at home?"

"Was waiting for you to man up and fuck me like one too"

Your boldness doesn't faze him, used to your confidence and the way you would deliciously drive him crazy,

Like a siren, luring him to break all his codes, only for a taste of your sweetness

Things move quickly, first his shirt gets long forgotten, discarded and abandoned somewhere in the room where your dress meets him in a matter of seconds,

"Let see how long you can keep up this bratiness" he winks, latching back on to your lips

His lips, his hands, his groans and moans reaching everywhere, they suck, lick, kiss, squeeze and caress wherever they can,

Tugging your nipples with his teeth, groping the other one up in the meantime,

You're a mess, whining and moaning, it's becoming harder not to beg and cry out for him

Abandoning your pride somwhere along the way, your fingers tug at his hair once his lips have kissed down your stomach,

"Kook please" you whine, meeting his proud eyes with your pathetic, needy one

"Such a mess, no trace of that brat left in you is there?" he says, taking your chin into his hand while showing off his satisfied smirk,

"A good little slut hm?"

The humiliation doesn't feel good, it's making you shiver with guilt and shame,

Having heard it so often from his mouth doesn't take away the sting of it,

Being grouped in as just another slut, just another girl that he got inside his bed

Sex like this, casual and nasty as it is, has never been easy for a woman as it is for a man,

While kook gets called a sexy Player for sleeping with the entire college, the girls who engage are the ones labled sluts

Determined not to ruin the moment, you blink away the feeling of disgust that rises from a pit somewhere inside,

Betrayed by the small, really, barely noticable crack of your voice when you speak,

"Yeah" is all you say, swallowing a ragged breath afterwards,

His eyes glance to yours apologetically, immediately removing his hand from your chin and using it to stroke your cheek while pulling himself up to you,

His open mouthed, warm kisses flutter all the way from your shoulder up your neck,

Low, husky vocals reaching your ears,

" m'Sorry bunny.. should have checked first" he pauses, placing a kiss to your lips carefully

"Want to stop?" he whispers, making you shake your head in return

With a last kiss to the forhead, he moves himself back to be eye Level with your hip

"S'okay bunny.. doing so good for me, can i touch you here baby?" While encouraging you, the dominance never leaves his hold,

his fingertips and kisses dance across your thighs to the waistband of the soaked panties

You nod frantically, loosing yourself in the feeling of your fingertips wrapping around his locks repeatedly,

He smiles, pulling your drenched underwear down to your ankles where he places a kiss before coming back up, tapping your knees to spread for him

He bites his lip at the sight of your glistening heat,

placing his hands under your thighs while begining to softly lick across your cunt, moving slow and torturous with each lick of his tongue between your folds,

Teasing your entrance, pushing in ever so slightly before lapping back up to suck on your clit,

"Taste so good , so sweet" he grunts on your skin, listening intently to each and every little whimper and moan, every tug on his strands pushing him to keep pleasing you,

"Gonna cum soon jungkook" thighs trembling, hands tightening he can feel you clench up,

His skilled tongue pushes you over the edge once he begins focusing on your clit,

With a groan from his side, he kisses your cunt, embracing you while you moan, enticed with your high seconds earlier,

His arms wrap around your waist, a hand finding its way to push strands of hair away from your face

When you eyes open, you're a blushing mess, kissing his lips swiftly to pull him in again,

More, you want him more,

He grins into the kiss, guiding your smaller hands to his waistband,

"Want you to take this off bunny" he mumbles,

In compliance, your hands slide the sweatpants off his body, pulling his black boxers down with,

You're practically drooling at the sight of his thick length, fully erect and blessed with a pretty pink tip,

He hums, guiding your hand to wrap around it, your thumb swiping across the tip, making him moan in return

" so big.. n you sound so good" you say, eyes locked on his body, your hand wrapped around him, abs glazed with sweat and his tattoos full on display on the muscles of his arms,

He moans softly, pulling you to straddle him, his big eyes focused on you, every part bare to him, every trace of your soft skin sticking to his,

He groans louder, head falling back once he feels the warmth of your slippery cunt coat his dick

A scene he had masturbated to more time he can recall,

nothing could compare to feeling your slick run along his shaft, to see your perky tits squeezed up in front of him,

You're long gone with all sanity, kissing and licking up his neck to elicit his pretty sounds, now from inside the room instead from outside the walls,

He massages the flesh on your hips, softly grinding you on him while you busy yourself with his neck,

The tip of his stiff cock perfectly hitting your clit with every roll of your hips

"Please kook, i need you" you whine, arms swung behind his neck, your wet, needy heat pressed firm against his hard cock,

He bites his lips, taking your cheek in his hand with a look so alluring you can't stand another second longer without him inside you

"So eager bunny, so so needy aren't we?" He smiles before pulling your face up to his, chasing after your soft lips

You moan, nodding slightly in response

While his lips kiss away at yours, his palms wander down your waist, holding your smaller form pressed onto his,

Without so much as an effort, you're lifted softly, laid on your back while he towers over you,

"Gonna take me well won't you?" He teases, running his finger down your needy pussy, begging to be filled with him,

The tip of his dick twitches, precum already dripping out from the sight of your aching heat,

He humms, reaching for a condom

"Gonna take it well kook promise" your reply is close to a whisper, laid sprawled out on your back while he's in front of you, wrapping the condom over his desperate cock,

Aching as much as you, he slaps his dick against your clit a few times,

"Be good, yeah?" he says, running his tip along your folds,

It's impossible to muster up any reply, only pathetic pleas and whines leave your lips, quivering, eyes half lidded

That doesn´t satisfy him enough, needing to hear you

"Words baby, come on, you can do it pretty" he repeats, stroking your bottom lip with his thumb,

you take his thumb into to your mouth briefly as a way to make space for time,

"Gonna be good" you whimper, stroking his stomach with your fingers

"That´s right bunny, good girl" he cooes, running his hand down your body until it rests on your inner thigh, his cock lining up with your entrance

"so tight oh god" he says, pushing his length into you inch by inch,

Filling you to him, molding you to his form,

"So deep- nhh" you're pleading, whining, almost involuntary your back is arching, craving for him to reach every crevice of your body,

As if it had been wating for him to enter, to be welcomed

"Mhmmm bunny, look at you, taking me so well" he mutters, slowly thrusting into you, with each push of his hips,

Of his strong from meeting your fragile, equally vulnerable state,

A loud whimper escapes your lips,

"Sound so pretty, prettiest girl look at you baby" he hums, one of his veiny hands reaching to squeeze your breasts, he tugs at your nipple, earning a loud moan from you

His tongue darts out to swipe across his lips, grunting, eyebrows furrowed in concentration,

then, hips angle, hands pushing into your own soft ones, pulling him in deeper,

"You feel so good kook! So mh- so full" you stutter out, eyes rolling into the back of your head

He's on top of you, but he's everywhere,

His scent lingering on your skin, in your senses, his voice and the way he groans engraved into your memory, addicting you to him,

His hands and lips claiming each and every spot as his, you belong to him now,

"You're so pretty, fuck so tight" he moans lowly, kissing you shortly after,

You know it now, the final part of him

Once his small moans pick up in sync with the pace of his powerful thrusts,

You can't help but sing along,

Singing his name like it was the most beautifully composed melody known to you, the only thing on your mind

Him,

His kisses

His cock

His fucking face

Over and over the melody leaves your lips,

"Kook! Kook!Kook!"

A song familiar to you, one you heard countless of times slipping through your paper thin walls,

Only now you are the one singing it.

"Thats it bunny, sound so good" he groans into your shoulder, savoring every inch of your skin he can kiss while thrusting his hips into you,

You tighten around him, feeling the knot in your stomach close to snapping,

"Mhh fuck baby gonna come for me?" He asks, licking along your ear, his hands still secured on your hips to hold you still as he pounds,

The flesh of your full hips turning white under his tight grip, but you don´t care,

It feels too good

"Yes kook gonna come" you gasp, the sensation of his finger rubbing small circles along your puffy, swollen clit overwhelming you,

"Come for me, pretty, doing so fucking good"

The knot in your stomach snaps, shaking through your system loudly, wrecking beneath him with a loud moan that seems so strange coming from your voice,

Uterlly submitted to him, your hands digging into the skin of his shoulder, leaving a trace of evidence that you painted him,

Stained him with your body,

With your wholeness.

He knew too, that he'd be addicted now

"Good girl that's it baby, came so well- fuck" his voice rings softly in your ear,

His head lifting from your shoulder,

Once his drained eyes meet your face,

So flushed out, pink and sweaty, pleasure coating your skin in the most darling ways,

He's never seen someone so flawlessly beautiful,

Hard, slow thrusts follow your orgasm, allowing you to enjoy it to the very last drop of your essence that has dripped on to him,

Also allowing him to reach his own high, overtaken by your beauty, by the way you feel colliding with his body,

"Gonna come bunny, feel so perfect ´round my cock" he grunts, leaning his face down to press a hasty kiss on your swollen lips,

Eyes closing, the time stops for him,

Stops for the feel of his lips moving against yours,

For the sounds that are trapped below the kiss,

And that's when he releases too,

Moaning a loud, deep moan into your lips, his hips halting inside you as he´s practically collapsing on top of your frame

The sounds of your breath panting onto each others face comforting you from the intensity

"Did you.. feel good too?" you pant, moving your nails along his back,

He places a small kiss on your cheek, "You´re perfect bunny, don´t worry" he says with averted eyes, barely able to be kept open well into the night

Shielding you from his smile, from the one placed on your face as well,

So close to yours,

Beneath the tilt of his head, creeping closer while focused on your lips,

There lies something much deeper, bubbling inside your entirety

Once his soft lips lock on yours, his smile slight but you feel it, feel it through the soft motions,

Once you realize he's stroking your hair, fingers tangling through your messy strands,

Even the pounding of your heart doesn't seem to matter anymore.

"Let me get you cleaned bunny" he mumbles against your lips before getting up for a warm towel.

#jungkook fanfic #redcherrykook #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook x you #bts fanfic #bts jungkook

754 notes · View notes

writeriguess · 9 days

Note

Maybe katsuki x reader where everyone forgot reader's birthday but not him?? I'm craving for hurt/comfort angst 😔

The day started like any other. You woke up with a sleepy smile, remembering what day it was. Your birthday. As you got ready, you were excited for the celebrations. You were sure your friends and classmates would shower you with well-wishes and maybe even surprise you with something.

However, as the hours passed, you noticed something strange.

Nobody had said anything.

The usual bustling hallways of U.A. felt unusually quiet, at least when it came to acknowledging your special day. People walked by, engaged in their conversations about training or upcoming tests. Even your closest friends—Deku, Ochaco, and Iida—hadn’t mentioned anything.

Lunch came and went, and still, nothing.

Maybe they were planning a surprise? But even that seemed unlikely by now.

By the end of the day, disappointment weighed heavily in your chest. You sat on a bench outside, watching the sunset. It wasn't like you expected a huge party, but it hurt that no one had remembered, not even a simple "Happy Birthday."

Just as you were about to give up on the day, you heard familiar footsteps approaching.

You didn't even need to look to know who it was.

Katsuki Bakugo.

"Oi," his voice was gruff as usual, but there was something different today. He stood in front of you, hands in his pockets, staring down at you with those intense crimson eyes.

You blinked up at him, trying to muster a smile. "Hey, Bakugo."

"Tch. What's with that face?"

"It's nothing," you lied, shaking your head. "Just... thought today would be different."

"Different, huh?" he scoffed, but there was no bite in his words. Instead, he took a seat next to you, much closer than usual. "Maybe it’s ‘cause you’re surrounded by idiots who can't even remember what day it is."

You raised your eyebrows, turning to him. "You remembered?"

Bakugo rolled his eyes, his gaze shifting away as if he was irritated by the mere question. "What, you think I wouldn’t? You’re stupid if you think I’d forget something like that."

Your heart skipped a beat. While Bakugo was always blunt, his words carried a warmth today that made your chest feel lighter. You had expected him to be the last person to remember, considering how he usually acted like he didn’t care about trivial things. Yet here he was.

He suddenly stood up, yanking something out of his pocket and tossing it toward you. You caught it with fumbling hands and looked down at the small box wrapped in simple, plain paper.

"Happy birthday, idiot," he muttered, his back now turned to you as if he was embarrassed.

You smiled, feeling the familiar warmth of tears pricking at your eyes. "Bakugo... you didn’t have to—"

"Shut up. Just open it."

With shaking hands, you peeled off the wrapping paper and opened the box. Inside was a necklace with a tiny charm shaped like an explosion—a nod to his quirk, but it was delicate, beautiful, and clearly something he had picked out himself.

Your heart swelled with emotion as you looked at the charm, running your fingers over it softly.

"Do you... like it?" Bakugo's voice had dropped in volume, and when you glanced up at him, his face was turned away, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

You stood up and slipped the necklace on, smiling softly. "I love it, Bakugo. Thank you."

"Tch. It’s not a big deal," he grumbled, crossing his arms. But his eyes flicked toward you, taking in the way the charm rested perfectly against your skin.

For a moment, there was a heavy silence between the two of you, the setting sun casting a warm glow on everything.

Then, Bakugo finally broke the silence, his voice quieter than usual. "You're not as invisible as you think, you know."

You blinked, surprised by his sudden admission. He refused to look at you directly, his eyes focused somewhere in the distance. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he sighed, clearly annoyed he had to explain himself, "you’re important. I notice stuff about you, okay? Like... your birthday." His voice lowered at the last part.

Your heart fluttered at his words. Katsuki Bakugo, of all people, had been the one to remember when everyone else had forgotten. And more than that, he had gone out of his way to make you feel special.

Before you could stop yourself, you stepped forward and hugged him tightly.

Bakugo froze, his arms hanging awkwardly by his sides as you pressed yourself against him. But after a moment, you felt his muscles relax, and one of his arms moved to gently rest on your back.

"You're not so bad, Bakugo," you whispered into his chest, your smile growing wider.

"Shut up," he muttered, though his grip on you tightened ever so slightly. "You're still a pain in the ass."

You laughed softly, pulling back just enough to look up at him. "Thanks for making my birthday special."

He smirked, finally meeting your eyes, the softness hidden behind his usual fire. "Don’t get used to it, dumbass."

But as you stood there together, the sun setting in the background, you knew that today had been perfect. Katsuki Bakugo, the one who was often rough around the edges, had been the only one who remembered—and that made all the difference.

Requests are open. Send as many as you like.

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unyieldingmemory · 27 days

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Reckless (Sylus x reader)

He sees you take a bullet, and remembers what it feels like to be scared.

Tags: sfw, hate/love relationship, very angry mc

It all happened fast. The screaming, the flying bullets, and the realization that you, your aethor core to be precise, was the root cause of it. You were invited to this party as mere bait.

You ducked under a table and scanned the room for the nearest exit. Then your eyes fell on a little girl trembling under another table. You were filled with more rage. This had to be the most selfish, psychotic thing he'd ever done.

You helped the little girl towards the back exit but before you could follow her out, something clipped the back of your thigh and your body hit the tiled floor. You ignored the strange shadows and eerie whispers that then followed because it hurt like hell to move. You had never been shot with a bullet before.

The amazing thing about the human body is that even through terrible pain, it will generate the energy to cuss at someone who deserves it. The strange shadows from before were Sylus' evol, transporting you to the rooftop of one of the nearby buildings. He'd propped you up against a wall, demanding how many bullets you'd absorbed. Now as you took a good look at him, you were filled with energy.

"Bastard," you glared. His eyes rose from your bleeding leg to your glowering eyes. "Use me as bait, fine!" It wasn't. You wanted to strangle him for it, "But there were women, and children, and families there," you had to catch your breath. The indifference he wore on his face drove you crazy. "You scumbag!" you shoved him. He caught your arm, and regarded you coldly.

"Some kids are born unlucky. You need to grow up, sweetie" his answered condescendingly.

With that, your hatred for him was restored. "You're the worst." He might not have taken your family, but he belonged with those ruthless criminals. He only cared about power and those stupid weapons. "And I mean it this time," you hissed.

The corners of his lips drooped at the conviction in your voice, and he trained his eyes on your injured leg instead, "save it for later. We have an urgent problem right now."

You swat his hand away. "Don't touch me. I don't need your help," you snapped. He ignored you.

"These aren't normal bullets---" he swiftly caught your flying fist. "I need take them out now," he tried to reason but you weren't listening.

"I don't care," you yelled at him. You wanted to get away from him. He was the reason you got shot in the first place.

He squeezed your fist. He was growing frustrated, but he couldn't simply walk it off. Not this time. "If you cherish your life at all, you will cooperate with me."

"Let go of me!" You kicked him with your other leg. He caught your knee and slammed it down.

"You're not going anywhere," he pushed you down on the concrete by a strong hold on your shoulder. Pain coursed through you and you closed your eyes and counted silently, waiting for the pain to subside. "You're not going anywhere," he repeated, more calmly, "until they are out."

You focused on the cool, rough stone pressed against your cheek. You knew you were laying on your stomach, but it hurt too much to move.

The tight fabric of your pant leg came loose and provided you with some relief. "I will be as fast as possible," he said from above, "brace yourself."

The pain nearly took you out. You didn't care who saw or heard you scream. All you wished for was an anesthetic. After a while, it subsided to a manageable degree and your breathing evened.

You felt him release your shoulder and you rolled onto your back slowly, breathing heavily. He stood watch over you. Your eyes followed his towering figure, and lingered on his glistening fingers. They dripped with your blood. He'd taken the bullet out.

"Better?" his voice was shaken, as if he wasn't the one who shed blood on a regular basis. You wanted to chastise him, but not a muscle in you moved. "Y/n." He said your name more impatiently, the panic rising in his tone. He hated how pale you looked, how quiet you'd grown. Where did all your energy go?

Your eyes followed him as he came to his knees and leaned over you. His eyes searched your face and his chest rose and fell unevenly. He didn't look so calm and smug now. He looked scared, the way he should have looked when he brought you to this party.

He never got scared. Ever. Not until now. All because of you. Your heart swelled against your better judgement. "Why can't you care like a normal person?" your throat tightened, "why do I have to get hurt for you to look at me like that?"

"I'm so sorry, kitten," his voice was full of regret. He forgot you were not the impenetrable woman who conquered him so long ago. He'd almost lost you.

He remembered then what it felt like to be scared.

Thank you for reading!

#love and deepspace #lnds sylus #sylus x reader

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rowarn · 4 months

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THEE DEARLY WED !

kyle 'gaz' garrick/reader | MDNI

tags: noble!reader, noble!kyle, arranged marriage (not to each other), forbidden love

cw: technically infidelity (kyle and reader cheat with each other despite both being engaged), loss of virginity, cunnilingus, wet and messy, body worship elements, consent, soft!kyle, piv, soft sex, simultaneous orgasms

a/n: thank u to everyone in the silly discord server for helping me decide on this one LMAOOOO i never woulda done it without you. also!!! don't expect any kind of accuracy on this, it is merely a work of fiction!

; it was decided when you were young that you would get married to someone you didn't even love. your heart belonged to the electrifying Lord Kyle Garrick despite him being in the same boat as you.

8.1k words

From the time you were a child, you had been fated to marry someone chosen by your parents. It was a silly, annoying custom among nobility and one you simply didn’t get a choice on. He was decided for you the moment you were born.

It’s all you’ve ever known. Your betrothed, Owen Knightly, was someone of high standing. It would be remarkably good for your family to marry into his.

You may have even been content with the life you were given if he had never come into your life. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if you weren’t in love with someone you simply couldn’t have.

You met when you were children. You were barely five years old and he was a few years older than you. It was one of your fondest memories, one that always brings a smile to your face when you reminisce.

“This is Lord Kyle Garrick,” your mother had crooned as she introduced you to the young boy who knelt upon one knee and gingerly kissed your hand. It was a sweet, innocent display of affection that had you swooning right then and there.

Your families ran in the same circles, the Garricks were on equal social standing as your own family. Every party and gala that the two of you were invited to, you managed to gravitate towards each other. Both of you knew how wrong it was – how it would ruin both yours and your families lives if you stepped one foot out of line. But the draw between you two was undeniable. You could see it in his eyes when he stared at you from across ballrooms, the longing that you experienced just the same.

Fate was incredibly cruel and fickle. You watched as Kyle grew to be a handsome man, desired by aristocratic families from all over the country. He was handsome, well bred, and so kind. You’d have to be blind to not see how incredible of a man he was.

Anyone would be lucky to be his betrothed.

You just wish it was you.

Unfortunately, the lucky person he was engaged to was chosen for him from the time of his own birth, someone whose status would benefit his family. The two of you were never fated to be together. It was a painful, irrefutable fact.

Still, that didn’t stop the two of you from making eyes at one another every time you saw each other at aristocratic gatherings.

He was the only thing that made a long, boring gathering interesting. Every time you received an invitation to a gala or a ball, you felt the excitement of being able to see him again.

Even if you were with your own fiance and he was with his.

“Good evening, Your Grace,” Kyle greeted, bowing down to place a kiss to the top of your hand.

“Hello to you, My Lord,” you smile, meeting his gaze for an electrifying moment.

The two of you break eye contact quickly, all too worried about raising suspicion.

Your gaze met his fiance’s who stood off to the side, nursing a glass of wine. She seemed completely disinterested in the conversation going on, instead glancing around the room.

“Our wedding is coming up awfully fast,” your fiance mused, placing his arm around your shoulders affectionately, “Isn’t that right, darling?”

It made your skin crawl but you mustered up a proper, practiced smile to shoot him, “Yes, it’s just a few weeks away. Oh, My Lord, you’ll surely be attending, correct?”

“Oh come now,” your fiance chided, “Lord Garrick is surely preparing for his own upcoming wedding. He’ll be much too busy to attend ours. What a silly question for you to ask.”

“Nonsense,” Kyle smiled, a sight that made your heart race despite the irritation you feel towards your fiance’s condescension. His dark eyes flitted to you, dropping to your lips before meeting your husband’s gaze again, “I wouldn’t miss such a blessed union.”

“You flatter us, My Lord,” you breathe, biting your lip. Hearing the man you love praise your upcoming wedding, even if it was a charade he put on, made your heart ache terribly in your chest.

“My love,” Kyle’s fiance wraps her arm around his arm, making your heart seize up in jealousy.

Kyle barely glances at her, instead keeping those deep brown eyes on your, “Yes?”

“Can we dance?” she asks, pointing in the direction of all the couples currently dancing in the center of the room.

“Of course,” he agrees easily, bowing gracefully at you and your fiance, “Please excuse us.”

“I say we should have a dance as well,” your fiance says, taking your hand, without even bothering to see if you wanted to in his, to lead you to the group of dancing people.

You fight back a sigh as he pulls your close against him, your chest pressed against his. One of his arms wraps around your waist, holding your other hand in the air while you rest your free hand on his shoulder. It was a practiced pose you’d learned all your life but it still made you want to curl your lip in disgust at being so close to this man.

The two of you begin to sway across the dance floor in time to the gentle rhythm of the music playing through the room. You stare over your fiance’s shoulder at all the people scattered around the ballroom. You find this entire endeavor to be rather dull, just high society people sucking up to one another in an endless cycle.

“Isn’t that right, darling?” your fiance’s voice grates in your ear, drawing you out of your daydreams.

“What?” you ask, meeting his gaze, “I didn’t hear you.”

“You’re so cute,” he gushes, clicking his tongue, “Always zoning out. Don’t need to think about anything when you’ve got your fiance here.”

You bite your tongue, feeling your eyes twitch at his continued condescension, “I was just admiring the beautiful ballroom.”

“Indeed,” he hums as he spins you around the dancefloor, “As I was saying, however, that Lord Garrick is an incredibly refined man, is he not?”

“Of course,” you agree, wishing so badly you could look around the room to find the mentioned man just to catch a glimpse of his handsome face, “His family is held in such high regard, after all. It’s only natural.”

“Indeed,” your fiance agrees, “And his upcoming union will only increase their status.”

There’s a lapse in the conversation as you both continue to dance. The mention of your beloved’s wedding tastes bitter on your tongue, sullying your mood even more. You zone out until the music slowly comes to a stop, slowing your steps to a complete stop.

The music starts up again, another song beginning to play immediately. Your fiance opens his mouth to say something but stops short.

“Excuse me,” a familiar, smooth voice interrupts the two of you.

You turn to see Kyle standing there in all his glory, smiling kindly, “If you would be so kind as to let me have the next dance.”

“I was just about to go get myself some refreshments anyway,” your fiance grunts, passing Kyle your hand.

He takes it gently, treating you like the finest, most delicate glass. It sends shivers down your spines, just feeling his skin against yours.

“I thank you,” Kyle bows politely before leading you deeper into the crowd of dancing couples.

Once hidden away from the prying eyes of your fiance, Kyle tugs you snuggly against him, assuming the same position you had before. His spicy, floral scent invades your senses and makes your eyes flutter at how nice it smells.

“Where did your fiance go?” you find yourself asking, though you don’t particularly care about her whereabouts.

“Not sure,” he responds, “Said she wanted to go talk with some friends.”

“I see,” you hum, eyes drifting to your hand clasped in his. His thumb occasionally strokes over the soft skin atop your hand.

“I’ve been dying to have a single moment alone with you this whole evening,” he confesses, keeping his voice low so no one nearby could hear the adulteress confessions coming from his lips.

“My Lord,” you breathe, your heart picking up as you meet his soft gaze. He looks at you in a way you’ve never seen him look at anyone else and it makes you flustered, “I was so happy to learn that you were also going to be here.”

“As was I,” he agrees, squeezing your hand in his, “I wish so desperately the two of us could slip away unseen.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve found ourselves alone,” you muse, chuckling to yourself.

“There will be a rather gaudy announcement shortly,” he says, “If you can slip away during it, I’m sure that no one will miss either of us so long as we’re back in time for the desert to be served.”

“Where shall we meet?” you ask, all too aware that this song was winding down.

“There’s a balcony overlooking the back gardens,” he says, the two of you slowly coming to a stop.

“I’ll be there,” he smiles at that, carefully dropping your hand to your side despite the fact neither of you want to let go of the other.

You miss his touch as soon as it’s gone but you know that you can’t maintain physical contact with him without gossip and speculation filling the hall. It’s already a dangerous game the both of you play with the way you’ve spent secretive moments alone despite your engagements. You crave so desperately to be able to love him publicly like other couples.

“I know you will,” he bows, kissing the top of your hand before turning on his heel and vanishing into the crowd on the other side of the room.

You have no choice but to find your fiance afterwards, despite the way dread fills your stomach when you lay your eyes upon him. He’s standing among noblemen, chattering away.

When you come into view he beams, “There is my beloved betrothed,” he says, “Such a sweet little thing, no?”

“Ah yes,” one of the other men hum, looking you up and down in a way that makes you cringe internally, “You are a lucky man, Owen.”

“Aren’t I?” your fiance wraps his arm around your waist, tucking you firmly against him, “Such a lovely doll all for me. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, as expected, but such a pretty face. Anyone would be envious of a man like me in my position with a beautiful fiance on his arm.”

You want so badly to roll your eyes at his insults and pompous attitude. Instead, you tune out the conversation and choose to look out over the party hall where all sorts of people mingle.

Your gaze finds Kyle from across the room. His fiance is on his arm and that prickly sensation of jealousy fills your chest but quickly vanishes when he looks away from the people he’s talking with to smile at you.

The melodic sound of a bell ringing across the room gets everyone’s attention. It falls completely silent as the host approaches the top of the stairs, dressed extravagantly to the nines. As she begins to address the crowd, you catch Kyle slipping out.

You turn to your fiance, “I’m afraid I must go to the washroom.”

“Take your time,” he nods, “Do return before the cake is served.”

“Of course,” you smile and carefully follow Kyle’s lead and slip out into a side hall.

The labyrinth of halls were easy to navigate since they were all too similar to your own manor. The music and chatter from the party quickly faded the further into the manor you got until you were finally at the doors leading to the balcony. You push it open, slipping through the opening before letting them softly close behind you.

Kyle stood, leaning against the balcony, staring off into the gardens. He was beautifully illuminated by the full moon and it made you breathless.

He turns to look at you, smiling, “I knew you’d make it.”

“I always do,” you whisper, taking his outstretched hand when he offers it.

“You look absolutely marvelous,” he breathes, pulling you close to him just like when you were dancing. Only this time, he spins and presses you back against the railing of the balcony. He crowds himself around you, leaning in to brush his lips against yours but not quite sealing you in a kiss. Your breath stutters in your chest, your noses grazing together from the proximity.

“You look handsome yourself,” you whisper against his lips, “I wished so badly to be the one on your arm this evening.”

“You’re all I’ve thought about this whole time,” he assures, hands gripping your waist, pressing himself even closer to you until his hips meet yours, “Every time I look at her, all I can think about is you. I wish it was you I was marrying.”

“Me too,” you whimper, “Owen is such a pig. All he does is talk down to me. He thinks me nothing but stupid.”

Kyle clicks his tongue, “That idiot has no idea what he has. He has everything that I desire and he doesn’t even know how to appreciate the life handed to him.”

He reaches up and cups your cheeks, hands warm and soft against your skin. He smells so good and the dark look in his eyes, illuminated by the moonlight, makes your heart race.

He can’t seem to help himself anymore, surging forward to press his lips completely against yours. You gasp into the kiss, winding your arms around his neck to pull him even closer. One of his arms winds around your waist, pulling you up onto your tiptoes so your chest is pressed completely against his.

“I adore you,” he breathes before kissing you again, unwilling to break the kiss for more than a second as he talks, “I’ve never wanted anyone in my life more than you.”

As you’re hidden away on this balcony, secretly kissing the man you truly love while your betrothed is waiting for you to return back to him just down the hall, you feel tears pricking your eyes. You sniffle and Kyle pulls back, eyes softening at the sight of your tears.

“What is it, my heart?” he asks, thumbing your tears away despite the way more takes their place.

“I love you, Kyle,” you confess.

“And I love you,” he smiles but it only makes you cry harder.

You pull him snug against you, hugging him as tightly as you can. He hums, winding his own arms around you to return the hug. His large hand rubs your back until you’re left just sniffling and hiccuping.

“I hate this,” you whimper, “I wish I could marry you.”

“I know, my heart,” he sighs, pulling back to cup your cheeks again, “These cards we’ve been dealt in this life are so unfair.”

“How am I supposed to marry that man when you’re all I want?” you ask, taking his hand in yours.

He nods his head, “I feel the same. I know for a fact you’re who I’m meant to be with.”

A silence lulls between the two of you as you both lament the lives you’ve been given. While you both had everything materialistic one could want, neither of you could have what you really, truly desired.

With you still tucked against him, he whispers in your hair, “We should be getting back before anyone misses us.”

“I don’t want to,” you whine, “I want to stay here with you forever.”

“I know, my heart,” he mutters, “I wish that were possible.”

You sigh and haphazardly straighten your clothes out, “Let’s get the rest of this evening over with.”

“You head in first,” he urges you to the door with a hand on your back, “We don’t want anyone to see us come back together.”

You turn around and lean up, pressing one final, fleeting kiss against his lips before you turn and disappear through the doors. Leaving him behind makes your heart feel like a lead weight in your chest but you push through it and force one foot in front of the other down the winding halls.

You follow the sounds of the party still going, music and bustle of people getting louder and louder the closer you get. Stepping back inside, you notice everyone’s chatting happily and eating cake. Your eyes scan the crowd before falling on your fiance who is still chatting away with the same noblemen as before. You take a sharp breath, steeling yourself as you approach him, plastering a practiced, fake smile on your face.

“Ah, there you are!” he greets with a broad grin, “I’m sorry I didn’t get you a piece of cake. I didn’t quite feel like holding it.”

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes and instead shrug your shoulders, “That’s quite okay. I didn’t want any anyway.”

Your fiance nods, “Probably a good idea. Don’t want my betrothed putting on weight before the wedding!”

He and his friends laugh and anger flushes through you. Your jaw hurts from how hard you clench it shut so you don’t snap at your fiance. You catch movement out of the corner of your eye and turn to see Kyle’s fiance rushing up to him. He catches her as she throws herself into his arms and you once again feel the sting of jealousy.

You avert your gaze and tune in and out of the boring conversation your fiance is engaged in.

“Say, have you been crying, darling?” he asks, finally taking note of your red-rimmed eyes.

“Oh, no,” you laugh softly, “I’m afraid I’ve been struck down with a nasty case of allergies. All these roses must be emitting some dreary amounts of pollen.”

“Ah,” he nods, taking a bite of his cake as he looks around at the array of roses decorating the ballroom. “That makes sense. They are quite beautiful though. Perhaps we should have some planted once we’re married.”

You plaster on a fake smile again, “Maybe.”

He sends a smile to you in return before turning his attention back to the other men. You promptly tune out and let your eyes glance across the hall, hoping this entire ordeal will be over soon.

Before long, the party begins winding down and people begin to leave, bidding goodbye to one another.

“Oh, Lord Garrick,” your fiance greets as said man comes up to the two of you.

“Hello,” Kyle smiles, “I just thought I’d come and say goodbye.”

“Oh yes, goodbye, My Lord,” Owen bows.

Kyle turns his gaze to you and lifts your hand to his lips, giving you one last kiss goodbye. You wish so badly you could feel his lips press against yours again but you know that won’t be happening again for a terribly long time.

“I believe the next time we’ll meet will be your upcoming wedding,” Kyle said as he straightened up.

“Most likely,” you nod, “Unless someone plans to have another party again.”

Kyle huffs a laugh, “I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

You smile at the sound of his laugh. His fiance tugs on his arm, bidding both you and Owen goodbye before they’re off.

“I guess we should head off as well,” he says, much to your relief.

Your bed sounds absolutely heavenly right about now. And you, quite honestly, just want to get away from your pig of a fiance and put this night behind you.

Before you know it, the wedding is just a few days away and anxiety practically consumes you. It seems like the days pass all too quickly. The apprehension of a wedding you want no part of seemingly making it creep up faster.

Your days are filled with wedding preparations. You and Owen spend your time sampling food to decide the wedding menu and signing invitations that are to be sent out as soon as possible. It’s a rather dreary time.

One weekend, you finally have a chance to escape the anxiety-inducing manor. You make your way into town, intent on doing a little shopping for yourself.

You’re wandering from shop to shop – thankful that you’ve managed to get out without any of the help on your tail. It was all hands on deck as the manor was prepared for the wedding and after-party, except for you, that is.

You’re busy looking at an array of expensive, imported fabrics when someone calls your name from behind. You whip your head around and find Kyle standing there, pretty, brown eyes wide and sparkling.

“Kyle,” you whisper.

He says your name again, taking a few, long strides over to you until he’s standing in front of you, “I was passing by and I swore I saw you in here.”

“It’s me,” you smile, already feeling your heart race at having him so close to you once again.

“I see that,” he laughs, raking his gaze down your body before finding your eyes once again, “You look lovely as always.”

“Thank you,” you feel your cheeks flush at the compliment, “What are you doing in town?”

“I had some errands to run,” he explains with a shrug, “What about you? I’m surprised to see you out and about with the wedding preparations.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest, “I managed to find an opportunity to get out of there while everyone was preparing the venue for the wedding. You should see the place, it’s a frightful vision with all the decorations and flowers.”

“Ah, of course,” he hides his laugh behind his hand, “The wedding is awfully close now isn’t it?”

Your smile fades and you hum, anxiously turning to look at the fabrics again, “3 days away, I’m afraid.”

Kyle falls silent behind you, watching as you comb through the materials. Your shoulders seem so heavy and there are dark circles under your eyes that no amount of powder on your face could hide.

He reaches forward and snags your hand up in his, “Come with me.”

“Where?” you ask but eagerly follow behind him as he leads you out of the store. He could lead you to the end of the world and you’d follow him.

The streets are noisy and bustling, thousands of people going about their day and lives. It feels nice to not be tailed by your servants because this way you can just feel like a normal person in society. With your hand tucked within Kyle’s, you almost feel like a regular couple going about your day together.

Kyle leads you through the maze of the streets before the two of you find your way to his carriage. The horses idly lift their hooves and step back down, clearly antsy to get going.

“Where’s your driver?” you ask when he opens the door for you.

“Left him at home,” Kyle answers easily, “Don’t worry I’m an excellent driver. You’re in good hands.”

“I’m not worried,” you giggle, sitting back when he slams it shut for you.

The spicy, floral scent that seems to always waft off him still lingers in the cabin. The carriage rocks as Kyle hoists himself up into the driver’s seat, taking the reins for the horses before setting off.

The hustle and bustle of town is left behind as the two of you make your way to a destination you don’t know. You look out the window, admiring the view of nature. With the gentle lull of the carriage and the soft sound of the horse’s hooves on the ground, you realize just how sleepy you are. The wedding preparations were apparently more exhausting than you realized.

Your name sweetly being called is what roused you. A soft hand cups your cheek and you open your eyes to see the handsome face of Kyle.

“We’re here,” he coos, taking your hands to help you stumble out of the carriage.

You look around, finding yourself standing in front of an imposing manor.

“Where’s here?” you mumble, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Another manor that my family owns,” he says, slamming the door.

“I see,” you hum, taking a look around. It’s a lovely place with neatly trimmed hedges and a fountain in the center of the circle driveway.

“What about the servants here?” you ask, allowing him to lead you up to the grand doors.

“There aren’t any here at the moment,” he assures, “All the servants are currently occupied with my own wedding preparations. You don’t have to worry, we’re alone here.”

“That’s lucky,” you laugh, sharing a soft look with him.

Once the two of you are inside, you take in the beautiful manor. There’s a beautiful staircase and the walls are adorned with expensive paintings, some of which you recognize yourself despite not being too knowledgeable on art.

“This was to be my home after my marriage,” he explains, waving for you to follow him up the stairs to the next story.

“I see…” you hum, trailing your fingertips over the beautiful wood banister but then pause, “What do you mean ‘was’?”

He stops in front of a door and pushes it open with a soft creak. You peek inside and discover a lavishly decorated bedroom. Being alone inside of a bedroom with a man who is not your fiance was incredibly improper. But Kyle is the man you love so you step inside with your heart racing in your chest. It feels so wrong, this rule was implemented in you your whole life being broken like this.

“I mean,” he hums, “If you’ll hear me out on what I have to say then the wedding will no longer be on. Neither will yours.”

Your heart lurches up into your chest as he leads you to take a seat beside him on the edge of the bed. He takes your hand in both of his, cupping it in his lap, stroking his thumb across your knuckles.

“What are you saying?” you ask, voice tight.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a long time,” he explains, “I want you. I don’t want to see you married off to that pig of a man they’ve set you up with. I don’t think I can live a life married to someone else when all I can think about every single day is you.”

“Kyle…” you whisper, squeezing his hand tightly, “Are you saying you want to call off the weddings? Our families wouldn’t–”

“No,” he grumbles, “I don’t want to call off the weddings. I want to marry you. Our families would never allow it but,” he takes a deep breath, “If we’re not under their charge anymore then what can they possibly do?”

“You want to run away?” you gasp, anxiety filling your chest when he nods, “But that-!”

“Our lives would be infinitely harder,” he smiles ruefully, “We wouldn’t have any of the comforts we have now. Our families wouldn’t support us. We’ll be disgraced by society and our friends. It’ll be hard but it would mean we can be together like we desire.”

“Kyle…” you whisper, eyes wide as you stare at him.

“I understand it’s daunting. And if you choose to tell me no then I will do as you wish and continue to live my life this way,” he breathes, “I will continue to live with the agony of only getting to see you in secret, if that’s what you wish. But…” he reaches forward and cups your cheek in one big hand, “If you say yes then I will kiss you right now and I will show you just how much I love you and how much I need you to be mine.”

Your lips are parting before you can even make heads or tails of your own thoughts, “Yes, Kyle.”

Just as he promised, he surges forward and presses his soft lips against yours. The kiss is desperate and heated with one of his hands moving to cup the back of your head, keeping your lips firmly planted on his.

You whimper into the kiss, the euphoria of having your love’s lips once again too much to bear. You feel the bedding beneath you as he pushes you down, holding his own weight above you with one hand to avoid crushing you. But you crave to feel his body against yours.

You wrap one arm around his waist and pull him closer so his chest is flush with yours. Despite the layers of clothes separating the two of you, you can feel his body heat permeating through to you.

That spicy, floral scent that wafts off of him is all around you. Your heart flutters in your chest and your hands tremble like leaves in the wind as you desperately grasp at him. He doesn’t break the kiss, even as you feel the hardened press of his member between your thighs.

The air feels thick with every inhale, a foggy haze settling over your mind the deeper the kiss gets. After a moment, he finally breaks the kiss only to dive down to press his lips to your neck. His hands flutter around your clothes, working the buttons and ties open so the fabric can easily be pulled away from your body.

With every inch of bare skin exposed, his lips touch upon it and goosebumps rise in response. Your trembling fingers grip the expensive fabric of his shirt, needing to feel grounded to him as his lips wrap around one of your nipples.

You whine, back arching when his hand comes up to roll and pinch your other nipple between his fingers. You’d never been touched like his before and it felt electrifying, each swirl of his hot tongue making your thighs twitch where they rest around his lithe hips.

“Kyle,” you gasp, “C-Can you–?”

“What?” he asks, barely separating from your breast to ask.

“T-Take off your shirt,” you request, cheeks feeling impossibly hot from the new stimulating pleasure your body is receiving.

He chuckles, parting from the torture he’s inflicting on your nipple to sit up on his heels. He pulled off his suit coat, letting it fall to the floor. You watch with wide eyes as he pulls his tie free from around his neck before his fingers drift to his waistcoat to pull the buttons apart. You follow those long, pretty fingers as they meticulously undo his shirt button by button until the smooth expanse of his chest is exposed to your greedy eyes.

You reach up and slide your hands up his chest, pushing the articles of clothing off of his shoulder until he lets them drop to the floor to join his jacket.

He’s on top of you again in seconds, large hands gripping your waist, your skin dimpling under the grip he has on you. You whimper when he cups your breasts, thumbing over your nipples as you sigh in pleasure.

“Will you let me undress you completely, my heart?” he whispers, sounding breathless.

“Yes, please, Kyle,” you nod, eagerly lifting your hips so he can free your lower half of the last bit of clothes that cover your body.

He sucks in a deep breath when your pretty form is fully exposed to his gaze for the first time. He knew you were beautiful but like this, with shy hands over your bare breasts and smooth thighs clenched tightly together to hide the most intimate part from his greedy, prying eyes.

“You’re magnificent,” he whispers as if any louder would break the sanctity the two of you have cultivated together in this bedroom, “Why do you hide from me?”

“I-I don’t know,” you respond, cheeks burning hot as you avoid his gaze, “I feel so shy like this.”

He smiles, pretty teeth on full display, eyes crinkle up when he does. Gentle hands cupping your knees, he tenderly strokes your skin, “There’s no reason to be shy around me. I adore every inch of you and your body. Won’t you let me admire you like you deserve?”

His gaze is so soft and kind that you feel your body relax at his assurance. Your arms fall to your sides, letting him see those pretty tits again. His mouth waters at the sight of your perked nipples.

But then you let your thighs fall open and the prettiest little cunt he ever could have imagined opens up to his greedy eyes. Your folds are shiny with a layer of slick and his tongue suddenly feels much drier than it did a second ago.

He realizes, in that moment, that he needs nothing more than to quench this apparent thirst right there between your legs.

You gasp when he grips beneath your knees and spread you open even wider. Your hands fly to cover your face, unable to take the embarrassment that floods through you when his face gets closer and closer to your pussy.

Two fingers dip into your folds, a loud, sticky noise sounding when he parts them. Your clit is puffy and swollen while your little hole twitches and drools messily at the contact. Slowly, almost painfully so, his tongue falls from his mouth to lick a wide strip over your cunt. You practically wail when his tongue drags over your clit, the little bud hard and twitchy against his muscle.

His lashes flutter at the sound. It encourages him to lick over the bud again. It earns him another sound, like a little reward for every correct touch he gives you.

He focuses there, pinning your hips down when you start twitching and wiggling beneath him. His tongue swirls and swirls around your clit, drool and slick coating his chin and dripping down to the bed. He doesn’t care, the mess isn’t even on his radar. He’;s too lost in the sweet taste of you dancing on taste buds. You taste better than the most exquisitely crafted meal he’s ever had in his life.

Your hands slam down to grab the bedding, fisting it desperately until the fabric creaks under your grip. The feeling of his tongue swirling and licking your clit is too much, you feel like you can’t take a breath deep enough. He moans and sighs softly into your cunt with every sweet little sound you gift to him.

One of his fingers finds your entrance, the little hole clenching pathetically around nothing.

He detaches his lips from your clit, swallowing the sweet slick filling his mouth before asking, “Have you ever touched yourself here before?”

Your cheeks flush unbearably hot at the question but find yourself shaking your head, “N-No.”

He sweetly smiles at you, “I’ll be gentle.”

He hums thoughtfully and after a second, he begins sliding one of his fingers into you. It burns, even that minute stretch and his heart aches at the wince on your face. He leans forward and lets his tongue find your clit again, slurping it into his mouth so he can wrap his lips around it. The feeling makes your entire body tremble, your jaw falling open but no sounds actually come out.

He doesn’t let you think too much about this feeling, using your relaxed, almost brainless state to introduce a second finger. It finally makes a whine break through from your chest, back arching and eyes rolling back into your head once he sinks them to the last knuckle.

You never would have thought that something like this could feel so good. Your brain feels hazy, like no coherent thoughts can form. All you can focus on is how wonderful it feels to have Kyle’s thick fingers stuffed inside you while his pretty lips suckle on your sensitive clit.

“K-Kyle!” you wail, feeling a hot ball swell up in your tummy.

“What is it, my heart?” he coos, looking up at you through his lashes.

“I-Is it supposed to feel like this?” you meekly ask, lips swollen from biting them through your pleasure.

“Like what?” he asks, slowly moving his fingers snug inside your walls, careful not to hurt you. You’re coating them in sweet, syrupy slick and it’s a marvelous sight.

You twitch when he does that, your head falling back against the pillows, “Good.”

“You deserve nothing but pleasure, my heart,” he coos, eyes locking back onto the sight of his fingers stuffed inside your cunt.

When he pulls them back, they’re coating in a milky white sheen. The sight makes him moan under his breath, carefully fucking you with them in preparation for something bigger. He keeps the pace slow, not wanting to overwhelm you with pleasure. His fingers crook upwards, hitting that gooey little spot inside that makes your hips buck up. Your cheeks burn when you hear the filthy, wet, sticky noises that come from where he’s fucking you open on his fingers.

He can’t believe he gets to see you like this; open and exposed for him. Any ounce of shyness has completely evaporated, allowing him full view of you in your basest, dirtiest state.

“I’m a lucky man,” he huffs to himself, still fucking his fingers into that perfect spot in your cunt. You’re making the sweetest sounds and twitching so cutely on the bed from how good he’s making you feel on just his fingers alone.

You can’t even bring yourself to answer, too consumed with how fucking good it feels being fucked with his fingers. While you’re too dizzy to even think straight, he brings a third finger to your hole.

It burns when he pushes it in but he brings his thumb up to rub your clit. You relax again, pain and pleasure mixing intoxicatingly, allowing the third digit to easily slide in alongside the others.

He has you worked open on his three fingers, fuller than you’ve ever been in your life. You’re so hot and wet inside that it feels like his skin is burning, he can’t wait to know what it feels like to have you speared on his cock.

“K-Kyle, wait!” you wail, reaching down to grip his wrist.

He freezes, letting you push his hand away. His fingers slide out of your cunt, your little hole clenching around nothing now that it was empty.

“What is it?” he asks, panic gripping his throat, “Did I hurt you?”

“N-No, I just…” you’re panting as you clumsily sit up, “I-I just wanted a break. It was…a lot.”

His anxiety melts off of him and he smiles, “Alright.”

“Can I…” you look down at his own pants where you can see the bulge of his cock against his thigh. Even clothed, it’s intimidatingly big. You swallow down the anxiety at the sigh and reach out to palm at him.

“Oh, let me undress,” he pants, quickly shedding the last few layers until he’s as naked as you are.

His cock is long, thick and pretty. It’s hard, twitching against his stomach as it drools precum down the shaft. You lick your lips and reach your hand out, glancing at his face to make sure that he’s okay with it before your hand wraps around him. He sighs, shoulders relaxing where he stands at the first bit of pleasure on his neglected cock.

He reaches down to guide your hand, showing you how he likes to be stroked. Your movements are clumsy and your grip is unsure but the sight of his fat cock wrapped up in your pretty hand is enough to make his cock drool messily all over himself.

“Can I…” you look up at him, pretty eyes sparkling, “Can I use my mouth like you did for me?”

His cock twitches at the question, imagining what it would feel like to have his cock buried in your tight, hot throat. But he finds himself shaking his head despite how badly he wants it, reaching out to run his thumb over the seam of your lips.

“It’s dirty, sweetheart,” he coos, “You don’t need to do that.”

“But you did it for me,” you argue, pouting at his words.

He smiles, “It’s different. I live only to give something as divine as you pleasure, my heart. You don’t need to degrade yourself for me like that,” you open your mouth to argue but he pushes you back onto the bed, “Besides, I want to get to the main event.”

“This isn’t over,” you pout but settle into the pillows, letting him arrange your legs so they’re situated around his hips.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he laughs, “You are quite stubborn.”

“I’m glad you noticed,” you giggle, feeling incredibly at ease despite the imposing image of his monstrous cock resting on your stomach, showing you just how deep he’s going to reach when he’s inside you.

He leans down, letting his weight rest on one arm above your head. You feel safe, protected under his body like this and can’t help but wind your arms around his neck when you have him so close.

“Can you just relax for me, my heart?” he asks, lips brushing against your ear as he uses his free hand to direct his cockhead to your drooling entrance, “Just relax…that’s it. So good for me.”

You’re so wet and slippery as he slides the head between your folds that it’s embarrassing. Your body twitches beneath his when he slips the head over your clit before pressing against your entrance again. Your jaw falls open as he pushes inside ever so slowly, centimeter by centimeter.

Your nails bite into his shoulders but he ignores it. He knows it has to burn, has to hurt with how tight your precious little cunt is around his big, fat cock. He forgives you for clawing up his back like this because it’s the least he deserves for bringing your divine body any kind of pain. But he knows it will all be worth it when he’s finally balls deep.

You’re making the sweetest sounds as he works you open, sinking himself deeper and deeper with every passing second. Before long, he balls are pressing against your ass and his pelvis meets your clit. Your walls seize around him at the pleasure, a moan of his own breaking from his chest. There’s a deep ache from the way the tip prods against your cervix but even that still feels good.

You can’t keep quiet even if you wanted to as he begins slowly and gently working his hips back and forth. You have this delirious look in your eyes, they’re sparkling with your pupils blown wide and you stare at him like he’s a god. This pleasure you’re feeling for the first time is hypnotic, addictive.

“You can’t ever marry anyone else now, my heart,” he coos, gripping your chin so you look at him, “No man will ever be able to satisfy you like I can.”

You shake your head, “Don’t want anyone else, Kyle,” your words are slurred as you speak them, “Only want you. I only love you.”

“That’s right,” he whispers, sweat beginning to bead along his forehead, “Only me. You’re all mine, I won’t ever share you again.”

He pulls back to look between your bodies, seeing the way you’re creaming messily around his cock. It aids in the movements, makes them smoother and deeper. He prods against the gooey, tender little spot deep inside of you that makes your moans pitch higher and your pretty eyes roll back into your head. You’re the vision of sin.

One of his hands finds yours, threading his fingers between your own as he pins it to the bed. He uses it as leverage to work his cock in and out of you. His hips slap against yours over and over again.

He hits that tender, sweet little spot inside you that makes lights explode behind your eyelids. You eagerly spread your legs for him, wanting to feel him more and deeper. You’re gasping, moans being punched out of your lungs every time he sinks completely inside you.

You’re making a mess around his cock, thick strings of sticky cum connecting his hips to yours. Filthy, sticky, wet noises of your cunt being fucked just like it deserves fills the room.

“Kyle,” you huff, jaw falling open as your eyes widen, “I-It feels…”

He knows. God, does he know. He feels the way your walls seize around him, clenching and spasming as the orgasm builds inside of you. His balls draw up, his own orgasm brewing inside him.

“Hold on for me, my heart,” he pants, “I want us to cum together.”

“Wh-What do you mean?” you manage to stumble out, eyes fighting to roll back into your head but you want to see him.

He looks beautiful, sweat coating his skin. The sun is dipping beneath the horizon outside, painting the room in beautiful shades of orange that only make him look ethereal. The light coming in from the window behind him gives him a halo, he looks positively enchanting and you find your mouth suddenly feels dry.

This man is yours, all yours. He’s yours to hold and to keep. No one can keep you apart anymore. He’s here with you in this bed, sealing his own fate to be with you for the rest of his life because he loves you like he’s never loved anyone else in his life.

From the day you were born, you were told you were to be with someone else. But you knew, in this moment, that you were truly destined to be with Kyle. You were put on this Earth for the sole purpose of finding him and loving him for the rest of your life.

You squeeze his hand in his when he leans down, pressing his forehead against yours. You’re both panting and gasping into each other's mouths.

“Look at me, my heart,” he whispers, cock aching and twitching within the tight, snug, grasp of your precious little cunt, “Don’t look away.”

You wouldn’t be able to look away even if you wanted to. He has you hypnotized, big, pretty eyes are deep pools of black. His pupils are blown impossibly wide and his lashes flutter with every wave of pleasure he feels within your pussy.

Your body seizes up as that tight thread of pleasure suddenly snaps, “Kyle-!”

His lips meet yours, sealing you into a kiss as his brows furrow. The blissful clenching of your cunt brings him to his own end. He grunts as he spills inside you, rocking his hips to work both of you through the electrifying, dizzying high that you share together for the first time.

You’re whimpering and whining into his ear as he works the two of you down with lazy, messy humps of his hips. His cock is softening, coated in a hot, sticky layer of your cum and his. It’s a filthy mess, dribbles from his length when he pulls out. Your cunt still clenches through the aftershocks, spilling out onto the bed – not that he cares.

Your arms wind around his waist and you pull him flush against you again. You don’t want him to go anywhere, you crave having his body close to yours as you catch your breath and wait for your heart to stop pounding like a scared rabbit.

He lays on his side beside you, curling himself around your body as he tucks himself protectively into his chest. There’s a comfortable, soft silence between the two of you. You can hear the birds outside as they chirp and you can hear Kyle’s soft breaths and beating heart.

“We’ll stay here for a few days,” he suddenly says, “After that, everyone will begin looking for us. We’ll have to leave town by then.”

“Where will we go?” you ask, affectionately kissing his chin so he’ll look down at you.

He smiles, brushing some stray hairs out of your face, thumbing over the soft skin of your cheeks where they’re still flushed hot from your activities. You kiss his thumb when he rubs it over your lips, “I’m not sure. Somewhere that no one will recognize us – where we can start a new life.”

“Anywhere will be a good life as long as I have you, Kyle,” you assure, leaning up to peck his cheek this time.

“I feel the same, my beautiful,” he kisses your forehead, “magnificent,” he kisses your nose, “betrothed to be.”

He seals those words with a sweet, soft kiss to your lips.

this work belongs to rowarn. do not modify or repost to other websites. reblogs OK!

#kyle garrick smut #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #gaz smut #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick smut #kyle gaz x reader #kyle gaz smut #cod x reader #cod smut

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princessbrunette · 1 month

Text

⊹ ᜊ(ᜊ ´ ˘)੭ ♡ … REACH OUT AND TOUCH FAITH ♡

we often talk about jj and lamb!reader, and how those interactions go down. but we forget that rafe too has his feet planted firmly in the equation.

he’s so much worse. so much more manipulative. whilst jj drives you away from those toxic idealisms the strict church that raised you had you believing, rafe leans right into them. upon limbreys request he’s up early every sunday no matter what coke-fuelled-party he found himself at on saturday night to drive you all the way to church, the kook poster boy ushering you inside whilst you wear those pretty little pastel dresses— often getting through the service by wondering just what you’ve got on underneath. ♱ ⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

tw: dark themes! blasphemy, catholicism, rafe disrespecting readers faith. i have catholic trauma so this was healing in a weird way to write — but don’t read if you feel you are to be bothered by this content. you are responsible for your own media consumption.

in moments of silence amongst rafes mental spiralling — he’d come to the conclusion that you were sent to save him like an angel. he’d done so many bad things, lead astray by his father and the pogues and whatever else he could blame. but you, you were pure and untouched by this cursed island. if he had you by his side, he’d be forgiven for all the bad he’d done before.

that being said, he couldn’t help his lecherous gaze. his boyish tendencies and moments of self indulgence unsurprising to the addict himself. he wanted to see you on your knees and no not before a wooden pew — wet mouth and cross necklace glistening as you look up to the only lord you should know and worship. him.

there was so much that went over your head he found himself having fun with it. pretending he’s helping out around the house by leaning against your doorway and watching you organise your dresser for a moment before speaking.

“hey, uh— m’doing the laundry for your mom. gimme those.” he nods to your white tights and you furrow your brows.

“my tights?” you feel a little flushed at the mere mention of them. you might have scoffed if it were one of those pogues, but rafe was a good boy— he did good by you, that’s what your mother always told you anyway.

“yeah.” he nods like it’s obvious and you’re silly for even asking. “hand ‘em over already.”

a silence washes over the room, and you timidly slip them down beneath your thin little dress. rafe presses a tongue between his lips as if to act as some kind of glue to stop him from smiling but he does so anyway, scratching his cheek before stepping into the room with his hand extended to retrieve them. you keep eye contact with him the whole time too, you teasing little thing. it must’ve been a respect thing. you were raised that way. always look someone in the eye. it’s polite, and you’re a polite young girl.

he crowds your space before you’d even gotten them off, looming over you when you place the limp hanging fabric into his outstretched palm. he’s insatiable and he hasn’t pushed it far enough, so with his other hand he hungrily approaches once more. “yeah uh, look. m’washing all the delicates here so uhh… i’m gonna need…” he lowers his tone into a raspy drawl as a hand disappears up the hem of your dress to find the waistband of your panties, rubbing a thumb between the space that connected your skin and lace. he wishes he could play the shudder you let out on repeat. “these.”

you make no move to remove them, so being the kindhearted citizen that rafe cameron notoriously is— he stares right down into your eyes as he pulls them down for you slowly, lowering himself just enough so you can step out of them. “theres a good girl.” he praises and somehow it feels dirty and rude. you frown, because you hate the way it makes you clench around nothing though you knew he was somehow probably insulting you. he’s smirking obnoxiously when he backs up, looking down at the girly panties in his hand before walking out.

and of course he does wash them for you, but not after he’s jerked himself raw into the lace of your gusset.

another day rafe is around at the house, this time helping your mother with things regarding this magical cross that held the cure to her illness. it almost felt too good to be true, and you knew for a fact rafe felt that way too — but you defended her with each slight remark he’d make about it, as you felt it was your duty. who were you to believe rafe cameron over the lord himself?

one of limbreys wealthy friends arrives bearing gifts, and hands you holy water from a far away church she visited on her travels. it was packaged in a glittering cross bottle, and you marvelled at its beauty— vowing to save it for when you really felt you needed it.

of course, rafe had already come up with ways to mess with you regarding the gift. the two of you are left alone in the living room while your mother fills her friend in on all the exciting life updates she had to share.

“you know, uh— the most effective way to feel god… inside you and stuff, is to ingest the holy water.” rafe wanders around the table to you casually, reaching and gently grasping the bottle in your hand. “give it.” he orders quietly and you let go on instinct, turning to look at him.

“thats mine.” you argue and he scoffs out a chuckle at your childishness as he uncaps the lid.

“cant believe you didn’t know this.”

“thats not how holy water works, you’re just making things up.” your voice raises in pitch as you watch him pour some into the lid like he was pouring a shot of vodka. your brows are all pinched and he thinks it’s adorable how worked up you get about these things.

“yeah?” he smirks, dipping two fingers into the water before setting it down to grasp your jaw with his hand, gently prying it open. “open.” he demands, and once more you can’t help it. weak in the knees, you fall submissive to his commands and open your mouth, feeling the liquid coating your tongue through his coarse fingers. he rubs your tongue in circles and you suck off the water, hating any to go to waste. your eyes flutter like his touch is addictive.

he’s enjoying himself too much, dips his fingers again and stuffs them back in— and you’re just as hungry, grasping his wrist and letting out a greedy little groan as he strokes your tongue and stuffs his digits further until you gag. there’s drool on your chin and he’s chuckling now, giving it one last go before he’s pulling back to the sound of approaching footsteps. he doesn’t seem as frantic as you when you’re wiping your mouth free of drool, in fact— he openly laughs. “bet you feel Him in you now, huh?”

the final straw comes when the ever trusting limbrey asks rafe to stay with you whilst she’s off chasing whatever with big john routledge. you’d already told her you didn’t need a babysitter — coming up with just about every excuse to not be left alone with the cameron boy. you weren’t scared of what he’d do, no — he was predictable. you knew what he had planned. you were scared that you’d give in, unable to resist temptation.

only three days in and he’s cracked you, something about him having spoken to a priest who told rafe to pass on the message that you must cure him of his devious ways by sharing your body with him. it sounds bad when it’s put simply like that, but it was a whole thing — rafe can be super persuasive. you started off in outright refusal, but he kept chipping away at you until he was slowly approaching you with a trusting smile and a hand undoing his thick leather belt, and soon you were mushy in the brain. too mushy to deny him any longer.

before the end of the week he’s got you brainless and well trained, milking him of every last drop of the devil until you’re limp on the bed — legs over his shoulders. you were doing this for him. you were doing this for him.

plap, plap, plap — the sound of your sticky walls swallowing his cock with each full thrust harmonises perfectly with the sound of each creak your wooden bed frame makes. you’d never heard your bed make so much noise, probably because it’s never seen so much activity in your whole life. rafes above you now, hands gripping on your tits and rolling his thumbs over the nipples and you truly can’t see how that’s supposed to be helpful to the cause— but can’t bring yourself to care with how good it feels.

you’ve made a milky ring around his tip, so soaked with your own completion from his relentless thrusting that it’s created a puddle beneath your ass on the bed. you couldn’t believe yourself, if your mother could see you now she would surely disown you.

“ra—rafey!” you hiccup, grasping at his broad shoulders when it gets all too much.

“yeah— hey, shut up okay? you’re okay.” he pants, trying his hardest to be sweet and keep up the act still, quickly silencing you by cupping your clammy cheek and slowing down his thrusts. “you’re fine.”

“this isn’t right.” you’re incoherent, and it takes rafe a moment to figure out what you even said.

“oh yeah?” he asks, uninterested as he rolls his hips. he glances up at you, lips parted and wet from your greedy kisses. “that why you just locked your legs round me? huh?” he teases, carelessly and you whine, throwing your head back petulantly.

“uh huh. y’know why you get so — so fuckin’ wet? huh? s’because you’ve been holding out on me. why the hell would god create this fuckin’ perfect body if it wasn’t meant to be used by me, huh? answer me that.”

“i cant!” you cry, no— sob, because you couldn’t argue. rafe was too clever for your arguments, a rebuttal to every worry in your head. it still felt wrong and dirty, but yet you clung to him— indulging in your pleasure as you fall hopelessly towards another orgasm from the way his pelvis scrapes your exposed clit.

“shit… yeah, y’cant.” he’s close too— and when he leans down close to you, he wraps his fingers around the glittering cross necklace that lies against your breast, lifting it and pressing a kiss to the centre, before bringing it to your own lips. you weakly kiss it, struggling to keep your eyes open on his and he hums in approval, dropping his hands back down either side of your head to work on fucking you quicker. “should be worshipping me, kid.” he speaks between grit teeth.

you think he might be right.

#lamb!reader #rafe cameron prompt #tw blasphemy #tw catholicism

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agi-ppangx · 4 months

Text

relax (hwang hyunjin x fem!reader)

nerd!hyunjin x cheerleader!reader, secret relationship, heavy make out, suggestive at the end; 1.8k words

author’s note: alrighty so it may not be my best work, but i love love love the idea and i hope you’ll at least like it a little bit lol anyway enjoy and remember that feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated🫶🏽

06:47 PM

you: meet me in the locker room after the match

you: don’t be late~

hyunjin’s phone buzzed as he sat uncomfortably between other students in the stands, praying that the match wouldn't take too long. it was hot and crowded and hyunjin was wondering how people could go to matches every week or so and actually enjoy it. he didn’t want to be there, wishing to disappear or teleport to his room, but he knew he had to endure in order to see you. he missed you - not that he hadn’t seen you the same day in the hallway, but what good is it for him to see you if he couldn't even talk to you?

the loud sound of the whistle snapped him out of his reverie. the other students started cheering loudly, whistling and shouting when the match started and hyunjin didn’t know what to do - was he supposed to cheer as well? or maybe boo the opposing team? he was completely lost. in this whole confusion, hyunjin tried to find you on the pitch. he noticed a few other cheerleaders before the match, but there was no trace of you. what if you weren’t even performing that day and he was sitting there for nothing?

the cheerleaders started their chant as the first point was scored and it was only then when hyunjin stood up and finally noticed you. you looked ethereal - your hair bounced with every movement and the cheerleader outfit you were wearing made his head spin. he sighed dreamily - you were absolutely beautiful and he couldn’t get over how it was him who could kiss you and hold your hand and call you his. well, not entirely.

it was hyunjin’s idea to keep your relationship a secret. as he watched you in the hallway, always surrounded by handsome jocks and plenty of your cheerleader friends, he felt small, almost nonexistent. was he even worth being near you? he felt sick at the mere thought of people seeing you together and he didn’t want to embarrass you in front of your friends. did he feel good about the whole secret relationship thing though? absolutely not, but you assured him plenty of times that you’re willing to wait as long as he needed to finally reveal yourselves. he trusted you, so he just let himself enjoy the moment.

hyunjin adjusted his glasses as another point was scored. he was bouncing his leg nervously, waiting impatiently for the referee to announce the end of the match. it was getting late and hyunjin wasn’t satisfied with only looking at you from a distance - he needed to be closer.

── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──

you breathed a sigh of relief when the match was over, smiling at the team and congratulating them.

“great job, boys,” you let out, trying to quickly head to the locker room. however, one of the players had a different plan and wrapped his arm around your waist. you stopped in your tracks, freezing uncomfortably.

“i’m hosting a party tonight, wanna come?” he asked, his lips too close to your ear for your liking. you smiled faintly, trying to break free from his grip.

“i’d love to, but i can’t tonight, sorry,” you said in an apologetic tone, but he didn’t seem to buy your lame excuse. he removed his hand anyway and ran to the rest of his team, leaving you alone without a word. the rest of your cheerleader team went with the boys as well, laughing at their jokes and drooling over their athletic bodies. you scoffed, but paid no further attention to it as you sprinted to the locker room to get there on time.

the room was dark when you entered it, a shiver going down your spine as you closed the door behind you. you hoped hyunjin didn’t forget or worse - didn’t change his mind.

from the very beginning you were completely infatuated by hyunjin, his talent for drawing and loser-like personality. he may have been clumsy and a bit scatterbrained, but it was exactly what made him, well, him. you tried to persuade him to let go and be open about your relationship, but he was adamant on keeping it secret. it made you a little sad, of course, but you accepted his decision regardless. in fact, if you thought about it, you kind of liked hiding in closets and stealing kisses when no one was looking.

a sudden tug on the doorknob brought you out of your thoughts. you opened the door and saw breathless hyunjin barely standing. you grabbed his shirt and dragged him inside, smiling sheepishly.

“what took you so long?” you whispered loudly, locking the door and scanning his figure. he raised his finger, taking a moment to regulate his breathing.

“i tried to avoid the crowd and, um… got lost,” hyunjin mumbled with rosy cheeks, nervously scratching the back of his neck. you giggled, taking a step in his direction and adjusting the crooked glasses on his nose. he brought his arms to your hips - a habit you taught him. he was staring at you with wide eyes and suddenly the air in the room thickened.

“why are you looking at me like that?”

“you looked really pretty today. i kinda wanted to paint you,” he whispered with rosy cheeks, his gaze wandering back and forth between your eyes and your lips. you smiled at his words, feeling as your face got warmer. you were sure he was so gonna paint you after today.

“go on,” you said, your voice barely above the whisper. “i know you wanna kiss me.” hyunjin blinked a few times, his brain going haywire. although he had kissed you plenty of times before, usually it was you who initiated it, not him.

he leaned a bit closer, his breath speeding up as you placed your hand on his cheek. he hesitated when he felt your hot breath on his face, but one look from you dispelled his worries and he placed a sloppy kiss on your lips. his moves were uncoordinated, almost random, and you quickly started to get impatient, but decided to let him take control for now. he has to learn, you thought to yourself.

your hands wandered all over his chest and face as he slowly but gradually deepened the kiss, making your head spin a little. his grip on your hips tightened and you were going feral.

“hyune,” you breathed out, pointing to the shelf standing against the wall. even in his state he managed to drag you there and awkwardly helped you to sit on it. you brought your hand to his hair, tugging at it slightly and earning a quiet groan from him.

“shit,” hyunjin muttered as his glasses tilted on his nose again. he tried to fix them, but you grabbed his hand, bringing it to your neck instead.

“leave them be,” you said, parting your legs so hyunjin could stand closer to you. he yelped as you dragged him between them, the feeling of your thighs trapping him made his brain malfunction.

after what felt like eternity you broke the kiss to catch your breath. hyunjin’s cheeks were as red as a tomato and you laughed at his state. he looked drunk, his tilted glasses only added to the impression.

“what?” he asked dumbfounded, looking around.

“nothing, just-” you reached out to adjust his glasses. “there. you looked funny.” hyunjin pouted at your words and you smiled. you felt giddy when you looked at him and you never wanted the feeling to go away.

“but you told me to leave them like that…” you giggled at his reaction, a pleasant warmth spreading in your chest.

the comfortable silence settled between you two as hyunjin intently scanned your face, taking in every detail for the millionth time. your gaze wandered after his, his brown eyes observing your features like a curious child taking in the wonders of the world.

“who was that guy you talked to after the match?” he suddenly blurted out and it took you off guard. your face twisted in confusion as you tried to recall the situation. oh.

“it was one of the teammates. he hosted a party tonight and tried to persuade me to go,” you explained, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“oh,” he let out. “okay. do you… do you like him?”

“hyune, are you jealous?” he dropped his head - suddenly your shoes were way more interesting than your face. “hey, look at me,” you ordered him softly but firmly, placing a finger under his chin.

“sorry.”

you shook your head. “you have nothing to apologise for, okay? i’m sorry that it made you jealous.” hyunjin nodded at your words, a sudden wave of guilt overflowing his senses. “if it makes you feel better, he is a complete asshole. and i don’t like him,” you laughed and he smiled faintly, straightening his back. “now, where were we?”

you leaned forward and captured his lips in a passionate kiss, your tongue asking for entrance, which made hyunjin’s knees buck under him. he grabbed your shoulders, but you only ran your hand over his back in a soothing manner. though scared, hyunjin let your tongue in - it was sloppy and uncoordinated, because even if it was you who led the kiss, he still felt like a lost child in the wilderness.

“relax,” you mumbled into his mouth as you sensed his fear. i’m trying, he wanted to say, but he only let out a small whimper, dropping his arms to rest on your hips. with all his might he forced him to cool off. relax, hyunjin, he repeated in his head over and over again and he didn’t even notice when his tongue started to move with yours in unison.

“i missed you,” you suddenly uttered, breaking the kiss. hyunjin looked at you with wide eyes.

“really?” he asked and you giggled.

“of course, dummy. why are you surprised?” you tilted your head. “aren’t my kisses enough proof?” you teased, placing your hands on his chest. his heart was pounding, all because of you.

hyunjin shrugged his shoulders, his breathing speeding up. “no! no, it’s not that, i just… i dunno, i’m- i’m scared that this-” he moved his hand between your bodies. “-is just a dream. and i don’t wanna wake up.” oh. you looked him straight in the eyes.

“you know i’m serious when i say i like you, right?” you asked hesitantly, taking his hand in yours. it was sweaty from all the tension. you rubbed his palm with your thumb to calm him down.

hyunjin looked at you with a puzzled expression. “y-yeah, i know,” he said with a shaky voice. you placed a feather-like kiss to his cheek, then another one, going down to his jaw and neck, peppering him with soft pecks - a sealing of your words. he melted under your touch, his eyes wide open as he stared into the wall behind you, unable to move. “hey, you know what? i’m kinda hungry,” you said suddenly, bringing hyunjin back to you. he let out a small hm? and you spoke again with a smirk plastered on your face. “wanna eat some ramen with me?”

taglist ! @astraystayyh @laylasbunbunny @l3visbby @like-a-diamondinthesky @hanjsquokka @xichien @xocandyy @minhosbitterriver

#skz #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids headcanons #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz au #stray kids fluff #skz hard thoughts #skz hard hours #skz hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin scenarios #hyunjin fluff #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin hard thoughts #hyunjin hard hours

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bekolxeram · 4 months

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I'm late to the party I know, but I need to learn how to make gifs first. I actually find the Bucktommy dinner scene a bit awkward, but not because they "lack chemistry" or the "flirting is problematic". It's not supposed to be just a cute bonus scene, it's engineered to stuff as much information as possible into mere 55 seconds. Here is my read on it:

The good old always at the hospital joke, probably just Tommy trying to lighten the mood after such a hectic day for the 118, but mainly a set up for the next part.

Buck does not see the humor in it, he seems upset.

Tommy has apparently gotten to know Buck enough at the stage to immediately clock it, and under all the dark humor and sarcasm, he does actually care about Buck's feelings.

The scene of Buck and Eddie in the hospital room with Bobby ends up on the cutting room floor, we've only got that one shot of teary eyed Buck when he breaks the news to Eddie at his house, so this is the first time in the episode Buck gets to express his fear of losing Bobby, his father figure.

And here we are, controversial moment number 1. There isn't much context attached to this line, so viewers interpret it differently. I'm in the minority camp that thinks Tommy is being serious here, Lou's delivery makes it seem like Tommy says this out of concern. I believe it's a call back to this line from the medal ceremony:

Here Buck is talking about Phillip the same way Tommy and Chimney (possibly Hen too) talk about Gerrard: like he's dead. Tommy is probably wondering if Phillip is another Gerrard situation, and he invites Buck to talk about it if he wishes to.

Buck gives a humorous but one word answer, so Tommy gets that he doesn't want to get too deep into it.

From this line on, it's a set up for the Gerrard reign of terror in S8. Tommy reiterates the jealousy he mentioned in 7x04, that he wants to become a part of the 118 family, which he only had a little taste of before he left to become a pilot.

Tommy backstory crumb. Buck and Phillip at least see each other at family functions, Tommy doesn't have a relationship with his dad at all. Judging by the medal ceremony, he doesn't seem to have any family left.

It confirms Gerrard as the anti-Christ anti-Bobby. Buck becomes the person he is because of Bobby, while Tommy behaved the way he did in the 3 begin episodes because of Gerrard. It acknowledges Tommy's toxic ways back in the days, but as we can see by the time Bobby became captain of the 118, Tommy was already on friendly terms with Chimney and Hen, we might have a chance to see the transformation in between next season. I've heard that season 7 is supposed to be a soft relaunch of the entire series, so maybe Gerrard is a good plot device to make new viewers understand the positive influence Bobby has on the firefam.

Classic deadpan humor from Tommy, Buck gets the message that he wants to keep the conversation lighthearted.

Now Buck has the power to decide which direction he's leading the conversation into, and he gives us controversial moment number 2, he brings up daddy issues and makes it horny. Look at his smirky face, he's definitely not trying to have a serious chat about father complex. He's the one who starts flirting, not Tommy, and it shows us unlike the nervous fumbling at the beginning of their relationship, Buck is now comfortable enough to initiate flirting.

Tommy can't say no to that face, so he flirts back, but it can also be interpreted as him being in denial of his obvious daddy issues. More conflict and angst for S8?

More flirting. Boy's got rizz towards all genders. He basically admits he might have "daddy issues" in a sexual connotation.

Now comes THE controversial moment of the scene, if not the episode. I've seen people online bashing Tommy for "making it sexual" (Buck did), "interrupting a meaningful conversation to satisfy his daddy kink" (no one is actually talking about any kink), or even "exploiting Buck's trauma to put him in an inferior role in a dom/sub relationship" (What? That's not what d/s is about).

I raise you the point that the word "daddy" is no longer some kind of kink exclusive lingo. This word has entered the popular zeitgeist the last couple years, and now it basically just means a sexy older man. I bet the daddy kink thing doesn't even cross the mind of most of the GA, they just take it as Tommy hoping Buck find this older man sexy. I think we might have collectively read too many smutty fanfics, that's why we all immediately jumped to the very extreme of the kinkiness spectrum when it comes to this scene.

Conclusion, the dialog in this scene may not sound natural, but that's not the point. This scene is in fact, an infodump. Kudos to the actors for making it cute.

#still suck at making gifs #just my own two cents #bucktommy #evan buckley #tommy kinard #911 abc #tevan #kinley

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sleepyangelkami · 2 months

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CLOSE CALL b.blake

☆ WORD COUNT - 4.1K

BELLAMY BLAKE X FEM!READER

☆ SUMMARY - based on the episode, 'the calm', season one, episode eleven. during the hunt for food with clarke and finn, you find yourself faced with death, lincoln saves you before it's too late but it's bellamy who finds you running for your life in the woods.

☆ WARNINGS - shy!reader, brief mention of insomnia, blood, gore, fire, grounders, saviour!lincoln, death threat, weapons, violence, assault, panic attack, anxiety, sexism, (3) uses of y/n, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

bellamy loved sharing a tent with you. he loved being able to brush the hair from your face as you slept soundly while he stared at the tent ceiling, wishing sleep would come over him. he loved waking up to you giggling, pushing him to get up as he slept half the day away.

but it was mornings like this, when he was met with the sight of you leaving that he groaned to himself, hands on his eyes. "where are you going, sweetheart?" pasting his softest tone.

you shimmied the wide-legged jeans up your legs, grinning as you swiped his jacket, not your own. "'m gonna go see octavia." she was currently in the smokehouse, cooking. it was some punishment for something devious she'd done with her grounder boyfriend, 'lincoln'.

"princess." his tone was a warning. "she's in the meat tent for a reason, it's not punishment if her best friend goes and visits her."

you weren't too sure why she was being punished, you weren't sure about a lot of things around here. all you knew was that the group weren't too fond of lincoln seeing as he was a grounder but he saved octavia's life once and had done nothing but be kind to her since. that was enough to get him in your good books.

"okay, then i'll be really mean to her." slipping on your shoes and sticking them out to him.

he rolled his eyes, sighing before sitting upwards. he bent down to tie the laces of your shoes, knowing that he should be up by now already. "no you won't."

you ignored him anyway, smiling as you seated yourself on his lap. he wore his black jeans, that you swore up and down about when he wore to sleep and was currently topless.

"i'll be back to you before lunch." pressing a chaste kiss to your lovers cheek, smiling softly.

you left the tent with a pep in your step, hearing bellamy yell the words, "and tell my sister to stop stealing my girlfriend!" but you only grinned, walking quicker.

everyone was out now, bellamy seemed to be the last awake. you smiled at clarke on your way, deeming her a good friend by now and opening the curtain to the meat tent.

"hi, o." octavia whipped around, grinning at you.

"finally." she scoffed. "next time you see my brother, tell him to stop hogging my best friend."

a smile forced its way on your lips at the mere thought. octavia and bellamy were so alike yet they'd never know, both too stubborn to ever admit it. your eyes trailed to the other person in the meat tent. it was john murphy, infamous around the camp right about now. "oh, hi murphy." a friendly smile gracing your lips. he helped you and many others out when you got sick, it was only fair to return the kindness.

"hey, y/n." though he didn't miss the way octavia nudged your side causing you to frown at her. it was safe to say that they weren't the biggest fans of each other right about now.

your eyes trailed across your best friend, seeing her face glisten. "do you want me to take your jacket? you're sweating."

"good idea, thanks." before the girl could shimmy the jacket off and pile it in your hands, the sound of someone else's voice filled the tent, not murphy's either.

"let's get this party smokin'!" del was a member of bellamy's posse, the one you weren't so fond of, tossing firewood into the fire causing you to frown.

octavia must have shared the same expression. "you don't want the fire too big so maybe just try to knock it down with some wet leaves." you were too embarrassed to open your mouth, inching your way closer to octavia. you never found yourself one to speak freely in front of others.

"you get that from your boyfriend?" the boy retaliated. "grounder-pounder."

but as shy as you may have been, your face suddenly contorted to a deeper frown. you looked at octavia who merely kept quiet, turning and fixing the hanging meat. luckily, murphy spoke instead. "she's right. a hot fire isn't gonna preserve the meat as well."

"can't take the heat? get out of the smokehouse." he looked between the two, knowing better than to throw around looks to you. "you should be kissing our asses for being back allowed in this camp."

"leave them alone." your shaky voice still managed to speak, you followed the boy despite octavia grasping your arm. "i'll tell bellamy."

the boy suddenly froze in his tracks. he turned to look at you, biting his lip with a scoff before turning back around, leaving.

you sighed awkwardly, wishing the entire encounter hadn't happened but as soon as you turned around, you felt smoke engulf you. del should have listened when octavia told him to lay it off with the leaves. you found arms engulfing you, octavia's familiar scent filling your nose. she all but dragged you out of the smokehouse.

the tent went up in flames faster than you could blink.

octavia passed you off to bellamy while a cough ripped at your throat. bellamy questioned his sister's wellbeing, she stated that she was fine, dragging a hand across her forehead. "you okay? are you hurt?"

you shook your head, coughing while bellamy wrapped a hand on the back of your head.

"this is all your fault." murphy stood, his hands outstretching as he pushed del backwards. "we told you it was too much wood!"

bellamy only let go of you once del and murphy began throwing swings at one another, as if it would change a thing. he split the two up, yelling at everyone to stop.

silence engulfed the group. you were next to octavia, a gentle hand rubbing on her back, her face covered in smoke. "bell, now what the hell are we gonna do?" she yelled causing everyone to turn. "that was all our food!"

the food was burned to a crisp. even when people managed to stop the fire, the food was already destroyed. clarke and bellamy looked over possibilities but they only had enough nuts and water to last them a week, two if they were lucky. clarke suggested they hunt.

it wasn't everyday that you were left outside the gates. "can i come?" you excitedly tittered, despite the appauled look on bellamy's face.

"i can take care of her." clarke spoke before he even got the chance to refuse. multiple times, you'd left the gates with clarke, talking on about things that she hadn't a notion about, chiming in with a hum every few seconds.

but she always took care of you, bellamy couldn't dispute with that. "with the entire grounder army out there?"

you slumped but clarke only raised her eyebrows. "and how do you expect her to defend herself if she's starving?"

he knew she was right, as much as he would have prefered to believe she wasn't.

he lined people up, splitting them into groups and handing out guns but keeping it so that one person per group had a gun, the last thing they needed was to run out of bullets right before the grounders hit them. truth was, bellamy didn't know if you were safer out there than you were in here.

you were paired with clarke, finn and a boy called myles.

"don't stay after dark, you hear me?" bellamy was zipping the zipper of his jacket around you but it was clarke who he handed the gun to. "you see grounders, you run back, i don't care who you leave behind."

"i'll be fine." you stretched out the last syllable, placing your hands on the man's shoulders as he was currently crouched in front of you. "y'worry too much."

"i have to worry." he assured. "you don't worry enough." he pressed a kiss to your head as you grinned, then leaning in and pressing one against your smile. "i love you."

"i love you too." you couldn't help but giggle, turning on your heel. "see you soon!"

bellamy watched with a twisting gut, feeling helpless but anxious all at once. he would have gone with you, watching your every move but being the leader of the camp made that incredibly hard for him. he sometimes wished he wasn't in charge, maybe then you could be his only priority. but if he didn't, who would?

"you know, i don't think you're actually allowed to say that." myles was a sweet kid, you supposed but he had some pretty out there views. the forest was quiet, too quiet while finn and clarke trailed above you.

you supposed hanging back with myles couldn't be worse than whatever conversation they were having. "why not? is it so bad to want a traditional marriage?"

"not at all." you answered swiftly. "but it's supposed to be a choice." by now, finn had already caught two squirrels. "the woman should be able to decide if that's what she wants and if you want that, then be with a woman who does too. you can't just force someone into being someone they're not."

"well, we wouldn't have this problem if women just stuck to what they were good at." the comment made you frown.

"myles, can you just be quiet for a second?" the words came from clark who shared the same look of distaste on her own face. you watched as she and finn studied the tracks on the ground, apparently belonging to a boar. "what is it?"

you followed where they sat, kneeling down beside finn to see what was wrong while myles hovered over you all. "these tracks..."

once you got a closer look, you could see how close together they were, how stuck in the mud they truly seemed. "they're perfect."

"too perfect." finn added, his eyes casting upwards. "we're the ones being hunted." someone had planted the boar tracks.

instantly, a shiver ran up your spine while myles stood up, pointing his gun as he glanced around the woods. "i don't see anything." as if on command, there was a swooping sound and suddenly, the arrow landed in his leg, the next in his shoulder.

you could have screamed, instead you gasped out the boy's name, looking to clarke for help. your hands instantly sat on the wound, covering it so blood didn't leak out, clarke sat at the other side, doing the same to his shoulder. "guys, come on, we gotta leave him." finn was adamant, rushing the girls forward.

"we can't just―" you didn't get to finish your sentence for something hard hit you over the head and suddenly you were laying flat on the ground, dizziness swirling your vision. you could vaguely make out a grounder coming from behind finn and doing the same, you didn't see what they did to clarke.

then everything became nothing at all.

it turned black.

𝜗𝜚

when you woke, you were being forced onto the ground. your hands were bound in front of you and your knees smashed against the cold gravel, you could feel the flesh break apart, little cuts littering against your skin. finn and clarke were in the same position, sharing glances of worry.

your brows were knit together as your eyes scanned where you were, some kind of cave though it also appeared to be a room. your first thought was bellamy, how worried the boy seemed when you left, you could only imagine the worry when you didn't return. you'd imagine by the lighting that it was well after sunset.

"we walked for about three miles." finn began to whisper. it appeared as though he and clarke hadn't been hit as hard as you had. "after crossing that creek, another two or so before we got to the road."

"i don't think it matters, finn." clarke's voice had a sense of desperation in it. "they didn't blindfold us which means they don't care what we saw. they're gonna kill us."

a cold feeling settled in the base of your stomach, bile rising to your throat. bellamy was right, it wasn't safe out here and you just had to go and get yourself killed.

two grounders pulled you up by your shirt, you let out a whimper as they shoved you forward, others doing the same to clarke and finn. they led you down the cave's hallway and into another room where other grounders were waiting then shoving you right back on the ground.

a woman stood in front of you, wearing a long black coat. she unleashed her sword, suddenly stalking towards clarke. you made a move. "wait." you tried, shoving yourself in front of her but you were quickly hauled back by one of the grounders.

but the woman didn't kill her, on the contrary, she cut the ropes on her wrist, untying her. they shoved clarke to her feet, uncovering a girl who laid across a table, gasping out in pain. "help her. if she dies, they die." you gulped, turning to finn who shared the look of fear. "her name is tris."

"i can't do this." clarke looked at the body, turning her so she could see her face. "i don't have any equipment."

"we'll provide you with what we can."

"why do you think i can save her?"

"lincoln told her." finn chimed in.

"yes." the woman answered. "our healer is gone, there's nothing we can do for her. for their sake, i hope you can."

"clarke." finn's eyes were glued to the blonde's, adoration filling them. "you can do this."

the woman and the rest of the grounders began to clear the room until clarke's voice stopped them. "wait. what happened to her?"

a dark look was in the woman's eyes. "she was on the bridge when your bomb exploded. you did this to her."

𝜗𝜚

alcohol stained your hands, blood too.

"it's as sharp as it's gonna get." grounders now filled the room, watching as clarke did everything she could to save the girl. she was hit in the chest and was loosing blood, she needed more and desperately so.

"okay, thanks." clarke snapped the syringe from finn's hand who'd been sharpening it against the ground.

you were busy holding a cloth to the girl's chest, hoping to stop the loss of blood but it wasn't doing a great job. clarke stained the needle with bleach, hoping to rid it of any bacteria while your eyes scanned the girl's face. she couldn't have been older than fifteen, how could anyone send her to battle in the first place?

she was a child.

"okay." she stood in front of the 'leader' who went by the name of anya. "i'm gonna need your blood."

a grounder placed his hand in front of anya, pulling her away. "no." was his answer.

"you're from the same tribe, it's the best match we're gonna get." clarke was adamant but so was anya, neither of them willing to take the risk.

"clarke, she's gonna die." your hands were shaking desperately, tears floating your eyes. "use mine! just use mine!" clarke took you up on the offer, pulling your hands from the girl's body and sticking the syringe into your arm. you winced as she sucked the blood into the syringe, you instantly felt sort of dazed but shook it from your head.

clarke handed the syringe to finn and she searched the girls arm. "i can't find a vein." frantically searching her. "she's clamping down, she's lost too much blood."

your faint voice could be heard. "clarke..."

"oh, come on." desperately trying to save her.

but you shook your head, icy fear withering you away. "clarke, she's not breathing."

a simple sentence that silenced them all.

clarke backed away, meeting in the middle between you and finn while anya stepped forward with her knife, cutting a braid from the girl's hair and nodding to one of the grounders. he picked the girl up, gently as possible, leading her out of the room.

you couldn't bear to look, chest feeling hot.

anya suddenly turned to the grounders in the room. "take them away." eyeing you who held your tied hands close to your chest. "kill them."

your breath caught in your chest. "wait." tears filled your eyes as one of the grounders grabbed you, hauling you upwards. "wait, wait, wait, no, no, no, please." he harshly pushed you forward, carrying you away.

"no, no, no, no, please!" one grounder held clarke back as she pushed at him, trying to get to you. "no, i did everything i could, please!"

but the sound of her voice suddenly faded out as they carried you away. you pushed at them, thrashing in their arms but it was no use, the grounder hauled you away from the room. he suddenly set you down, holding your tied wrists down as his face came close to yours. "don't move." his gruff voice could be heard as you looked away, tears filling your eyes.

another grounder walked behind you while he walked in front of you, leading you to the front room of the cave. your mind suddenly turned to bellamy, how worried he must be. you could see the darkness from the entrance.

you couldn't help it, you ran.

but you didn't get far. instantly, you were picked up by the grounder from behind. you whimpered, thrashing against him but it was no use, he shoved you inside the room, practically throwing you. your head hit off the stone floor and you brought your hand to the back of your hair, metallic liquid staining it.

you pulled it away, shaky eyes spotting the blood dripping down your fingertips.

"w-wait." tears pooled your eyes, fear lacing your tone. "please, please, i didn't do anything wrong, please don't do this―"

you gasped out as a grounder took a fist of your hair into his hand. "your punishment shall be death by a thousand cuts." and before you could take in what he said, you felt a knife scratch across your face, cutting your cheek.

you cried out, hand coming to grab your bloodied cheek as you dragged your body backwards, crawling into yourself. a fat tear rolled down your cheek as your body caved in, huddling your knees up to yourself.

it was no use to cry out and beg them to stop, the grounders were simple beings, once given an order, all they could do was follow it. but still, your mouth uttered the whisper, "please." at the same time as you felt a slash against your left leg.

suddenly, a sword crashed through the grounders head. this time, you screamed. the sight was horrific, blood spewed outwards and you held a hand over your mouth. the body dropped to reveal lincoln, the man who adored your best friend more than anything.

"natrona." the grounder suddenly whispered, the word meant 'traitor'. he yelled out and charged at lincoln who pushed him backwards, guarding him against the wall.

lincoln stabbed a sword through the grounder's abdomen, who yelled out again. "go!" lincoln yelled to you, staring at your terrified form. "go, now!"

and you had no choice.

a whimper left your lips as you ran forwards, lungs collapsing. you worried for lincoln, not wanting to leave him alone but if you stayed, it'd meant lincoln did it all for nothing.

your feet ran towards the exit, tears swamping you as your legs moved at a super speed, running the fastest you'd ever run in your life. never, had your calves burned like this and never had your lungs ached so horribly. all you could see was the moment you were thrown into the room, the horrifying look on the grounder's face. you'd do anything to escape it.

running as though your life depended on it, and perhaps it did.

you managed to look backwards, worried something or someone was following you but as you looked back, you felt yourself run into something solid.

someone.

your mouth opened to scream at the same time as a hand wrapped around your mouth clamping down on it as he turned you to hide behind a tree.

your eyes opened to reveal bellamy, staring at you with eyes full of concern. "what happened?" he frantically searched you as his hand left your mouth. "why are you bleeding? where are the others?"

"b-bells." your cry shook your voice, eyes turning behind you, you swore you could see people between the trees, though they vanished as soon as they appeared. "we have to go, we have to leave. they're-they're gonna find us."

bellamy had never seen you so shaken, shallow breaths making way to your throat but not seeming to find their way out. "hey, hey, look at me." his hands grabbed at either side of your face. even in the darkness, you could make out his pretty dark curls and his enlarged brown eyes. "you're okay, 's just me, you're okay, sweetheart."

and you couldn't hold yourself back any longer. you threw your arms around him, holding him close as nervous sobs wracked your body, chest heaving out as if it were on fire.

"'s okay, you're fine." his hands smoothed your back, doing his best to reassure you but by no means did your shallow breaths slow. "you're safe, princess."

"can we go?" you pulled away, nervous eyes scanning the forests. "please, bells, i wanna go home."

he couldn't deny your scratchy voice or blotchy cheeks. "okay, okay let's go, angel." he helped you walk though you stumbled better than you walked. his eyes glanced down at the blood seeping through your jeans. "your leg." he didn't bother to inspect it, merely hooking his hands around your legs and lifting you up.

your head lolled against his shoulder, arms around his neck.

you began to feel dizzy but bellamy carrying you seemed much better than trying to run again. still, your eyes danced everywhere they could, searching high and low for a grounder, a surprise attack.

you must have run far for it didn't take long for the clear vision of the camp to fall into line's view. as soon as the gates opened and bellamy carried you inside, you found air falling back into your lungs.

"y/n?" the sound of octavia's voice was the first to fill your ears. you must have looked a wreck, covered in blood, carried limp in bellamy's arm. "oh my god, y/n. what happened?" though her voice was directed at her brother, not you.

"it was lincoln." your scratchy voice suddenly spoke, causing her brows to crease. "lincoln saved me."

her eyes fluttered and questions began rolling in. raven suddenly stepped forward, demanding to know where finn was, others began to question about clarke. suddenly, you couldn't breathe again. "okay, listen up!" bellamy's voice rang through the camp, silence followed. "everyone get back to your tents! we'll continue the search in the morning!"

he didn't wait for them to follow his orders, knowing they would anyway. instead, he carried you towards a tent.

everything was suddenly spinning, nothing seemed to make sense. black dots began to cloud your vision and you couldn't see which tent he had carried you to. you could see a woman, very vaguely and he was speaking to her, at least he looked like he was. his lips were moving but you couldn't register the words coming out of his mouth.

the girl must have been something to do with a medic because you could feel her lifting your head up and inspecting between the strands of your hair. you saw bellamy's face contort, but it was turning to mush, practically a mere squiggle now.

he stepped backwards and your hand suddenly reached him.

he looked back to your face, eyes softening. it was apparent that you weren't really there and how could he blame you? the blood loss was already obvious.

"don't..." it seemed like a chore to get syllables to pass your lips but nonetheless, you willed yourself to move, grasping his large fingers in your hand. "don't leave me."

"'m not going anywhere, princess." and to prove it, he sat against the chair next to you, letting the woman inspect your wounds. "okay? you can rest now, i'm right here."

through the haze, his voice was the only thing your mind could grasp to.

you slowly nodded as your eyes fluttered shut.

"you're safe, sweetheart." being the last thing you heard before everything went black.

main masterlist/bellamy's masterlist

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messiahzzz · 10 months

Text

i have seen several posts around that addressed how discouraging gale from taking the crown of karsus is “keeping him from realizing his true potential.” that tara is merely upset at his choice, instead of being utterly devastated at the loss of her little love. that it’s not a bad ending per se because to get there he didn’t need to sacrifice 7000 innocent souls in the process. gale isn’t continuing the cycle of abuse either, he still appears to love tav and does come back for them to offer them ascension. he wants them to be equal, so it can’t possibly be an unhealthy dynamic, right?

but what of gale himself, his own convictions, values, and everything he holds dear? everything flawed and human that shaped him into the person he is?

player: are you saying you want to ascend? claim godhood?

gale: no, not like that. i don't want to join them. i want to better them. a god's powers, paired with a mortal conscience, a mortal heart.

gale’s motivation for acquiring godhood is that he will able to aid mortals in a way no other god has ever done before. he won’t hide behind pretense nor require blind devotion of his followers. he will understand and be able to empathize. he wholeheartedly believes that he will be different - he will act.

gale: [..] the gods could aid us if they wished, but instead they cower behind ao. so let us act ourselves.

gale believes that by becoming a god he will kill two birds with one stone: aid mortals and acquire enough power to quash any of his insecurities and enemies in the process. that by ridding himself of every perceived flaw he'll finally feel like he will have enough to offer - maybe, just maybe he'll even be content. his flaws are merely holding him back from becoming the best version of himself, and by ridding himself of everything fallible, he will be whole. maybe this is what all of his suffering has led up to. maybe the orb chose him. maybe the reason he had to endure all the pain, isolation, and excruciating loneliness was so that he could realize that he was meant for something even greater. after all, power feeds ambition. and what is more powerful than a god? his convictions were certainly naive, he possesses enough knowledge to know better. don't get me wrong, part of him definitely wants to spite mystra a lil. but his intentions at that time were mostly pure. a reflection of his self-hatred and feelings of inadequacy.

player: this is wrong, gale. that power will corrupt you, even if you can seize it.

gale: it won't, i swear to you. it's merely a tool - a means to an end.

once we meet gale at the party in his new godlike form, it is apparent that even with all the power at his fingertips, he has reached no greater knowledge about himself. his insecurities are still as present as before, he merely is less subtle in his compensation - repeatedly highlighting his grandeur and how dull life on faerun is compared to the wonders of elysium. it is also genuinely crushing to see how little he thinks of himself even now.

gale: i was nothing. a drifting dust mote of a wizard, abandoned by my goddess, my powers lost, my reputation destroyed. and look at me now. i'm their proof.

any perceived dismissal of his Greatness™ is met with immediate disdain.

gale: a bold decision to treat a divine being with such cold indifference.

nodecontext: aloof, annoyed you weren't impressed with him

gale: you mortals do love to live dangerously, don't you?

nodecontext: the slightest hint of a threat - you've probably made an enemy here today. or at least, you've lost a friend.

he is still desperate to impress. emphasizing what an honor it is that a new-born god chose to bless their little soiree with his presence. gaze upon all his divine glory! gale has now become the embodiment of everything he criticized about the gods. his original intentions and plans are discarded and long forgotten. he assuages his erstwhile companions by telling them to simply pray to him, in case they should ever require aid. if they're lucky and their ambition pleases him, he might even deliver.

player: what does the 'god of ambition' offer to his followers?

gale: i 'offer' them nothing. i inspire them to seize their destinies for themselves.

player: interesting, so you help mortals help themselves?

gale: precisely. though that isn't to say i'm averse to the odd bit of direct encouragement.

gale: [..] my aims are set a little higher than offering cursory blessings to just any half-decent spellcaster.

gale: regardless, ethical quandaries are more the remit of my mortal devotees. they do love to talk, and faerun is starting to listen.

aiding "any half-decent spellcaster" is unbefitting of his status. he isn't concerned with questions of ethics and morality either. deeming such matters beneath his divine capabilities.

once gale has ascended and established his domain, what remains of the gale we knew? what of his mortal heart?

minthara: your ambition is not cruel, but you fear that if you indulge it, you will lose yourself in the mysteries of the weave and unravel the world.

minthara: you are afraid of so many things, and it is that fear that keeps you true to yourself.

gale did lose himself and ultimately became one of his biggest fears. considering that his existence as a being of pure ambition leads him to constantly seek out greater heights, it isn't farfetched to believe that raphael's prediction will indeed come true.

player[astarion]: ambition? finally, a god i can get behind...

gale: i assure you, this is merely the prelude to a far grander vision. elysium's in for something of a shake-up.

all that remains of gale is a thin veneer of the person he used to be. what he presents is a hollow echo of the old gale. he does retain some of his mannerisms and quirks, but he is definitely a lot colder and more condescending. if his personality already changed that drastically after a duration of only 6 months, what will he inevitability turn into when he has eternity at his disposal?

essentially, you are aiding gale in the eradication of himself. eradicating everything about him that made him into the loveable, charismatic, awkward, kind, buoyant person he was. everything about him that he perceived as defective, flawed, and lesser-than. before, his hubris was merely an expression of his own discontentment and low self-worth, but now he is hubris incarnate. all of his worst qualities have been amplified.

gale: i am ambition incarnate. as indistinguishable from that most potent sensation as mystra herself is from the weave. and word is spreading.

nodecontext: palpable, almost unsettling excitement from him - hint of megalomania

he put his trust in tav, trusting their judgment and relying on them to nudge him in the right direction. after all, they had plenty of opportunities to show him that they are an ally worth following and confiding in. but in the end, the prospect of what he could be, the things he could give them, the enemies he could yet conquer, won over the desire to simply accept him and help him rebuild a life on solid ground. tav denied him the unconditional love he craves most out of their own selfish desires.

tara: you were looking out for him. i expected better of you.

as i've already mentioned, gale desires nothing more than to be seen, accepted, loved, and valued. having a partner who wholeheartedly supports and believes in him is enough to make him feel content. most importantly - he just wants to live. to enjoy life with everything it has to offer. his ambition can’t be quenched because he hungers still. believing that only by acquiring more power will he finally be enough and reach said acceptance.

we see in his good ending that his own contentment was even able to influence and (temporarily) sate the orb's ever-present hunger:

gale: [..] or perhaps the orb's hunger was fuelled by my own, and my contentment influences it in much the same way.

gale: that's how i feel with you - content. it's a rather unfamiliar feeling, i must say. not something gale of waterdeep ever craved.

it is devastating that he doesn't reach the same feeling of fulfillment if he chooses to pursue godhood, and is instead compelled to continuously surpass his own accomplishments. not being granted rest or reprieve.

gale: i achieved everything we hoped i would, and still i'm not good enough for you?

gale pursuing godhood isn't evidence that he "has been evil all along" or that he "just waited to be unleashed" either. we can't diminish tav's influence in this outcome, they are after all an extension of the player. able to steer every companion toward a path of redemption or to enable them in their worst traits. fandom has already established that by letting astarion ascend you are actively supporting him in becoming the very thing he despises most, putting your own ambitions and idea of what you want him to be above his healing, this is no different.

tara: the gale i knew wasn't like this. he recognised his mistakes. he was contrite. all he wanted to do was live.

tara: unfortunately, he fell into company that turned his gaze towards foolishness. yes, i mean you.

player: gale is his own man, tara.

tara: false. he was mine. though now he belongs only to his own pride.

yes, the epilogue cutscene is beautiful and there is something bittersweet and romantic about his love for tav being one of the few emotions that remained a constant throughout the past 6 months. he didn't need to come back for them, but he did cause he loves them still. no matter how warped his definition of love may be now. while it is abundantly clear that tav ranks lower on his priority list than they did before, his commitment remains.

gale fears isolation, hoping to never return to the time when he was hopeless and alone, stuck inside his tower. by heading in this direction he is once again creating a self-fulfilling prophecy.

tara: [..] if i pretended you hadn't turned tail on every lesson you set out to learn, i'd have no right to call myself your friend.

morena may as well have already resigned herself to her son’s death. elminster partly blames himself. for his lapse in judgment, as well as being the one who plucked him from obscurity in the first place. mourning the kind, bright-eyed boy who cried at the scorched roses in his neighbor's garden. tara won't be here anymore to care and look out for him either. he has lost his oldest and dearest friend, the one who witnessed his downfall from grace and never left his side. who believed him to be the finest mind AND the finest wizard she's ever had the pleasure to know. who was certain that he’d find a way out of any crisis no matter the circumstances. ...and if tav declines his offer to ascend with him? what does he have left?

gale: yes, i am rather radiant, aren't i?

tara: don't flatter yourself, gale. you've debased yourself in ways i could never have fathomed.

tara: goodbye gale, i hope the heavens are worth it.

gale’s godhood ending deals with the loss of humanity, the loss of oneself, and everything one holds dear. it is a devastating and bone-chilling narrative. it is a tragedy.

gale: i hope you don't think less of me. great ambition should not come at the expense of what you already hold dear. i see that now.

if gale could see himself, he would be horrified at the losses he deemed necessary to get here. he would be horrified at what he’s become.

#buckle in this is gonna be a long one!#even for my standards #to be clear this is by no means meant as a slight against specific users #just here to clarify that it is definitely one of the worst outcomes for gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 epilogue #bg3 epilogue spoilers #bg3 patch 5 #bg3 meta #god!gale #had this sitting in my drafts for days now but i am so sleep-deprived that i can't even tell if this is cohesive anymore (i apologize)

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inkykeiji · 10 months

Text

you can always take more than nothing

character: bonten!mikey x fem!reader

genre: smut

notes: here’s my halloween piece, only half a month late! still, i hope you can enjoy it! as always, please heed the warnings and stay safe! | title cred: alice in wonderland

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, public sex/exhibitionism, dom/sub dynamics, daddy kink, size difference, biting/marking, blood, minimal prep, rough sex, teasing, begging, dacryphilia, humiliation, a lil bit of degradation, drugs, toxic relationship

words: 8.6k

synopsis:

Those few remaining scraps of decency you’d both been clinging to have been devoured by Mikey’s growing selfishness, no longer caring about what others might see or think or say—it’s not like anyone’s dumb enough to do anything about it anyway; it’s not like anyone has enough of a death-wish to try. He’s the motherfucking Boss. And the Boss gets what he wants, where he wants, when he wants, always.

The music is loud, so loud the walls seem to be breathing with it, bleeding with it, flashes of neon pouring over the frosted mosaics of glass and marble.

A party, thinly veiled as a corporate event.

There are people everywhere, scattered across every surface, crystal glasses filled with expensive liqour and cocktail concoctions glittering in their palms. You barely know any of them.

They’re all supposed business partners, allies and associates, ‘friends’ of your Daddy. Not that it matters all that much to you; they aren’t allowed to say a word to you anyway.

Your eyes scan the expanse of the club, on the hunt for a familiar face. Takeomi is in the corner, obnoxiously blowing smoke into some of the higher end girls’ faces. He’s really taking his role of The Caterpillar earnestly.

Good. You told him it suited him.

At your request (AKA at Mikey’s demand), the top members of Bonten have dressed up as Alice in Wonderland characters, donning an impressive group costume. You’ve been taking the whole thing pretty seriously—beginning your extensive planning in August, drafting up designs and taking everyone’s precise measurements to have each outfit custom made to their exact frames—which means the rest of Bonten has been taking the whole thing pretty seriously, too.

Not that any of them mind.

What Mikey’s little angel wants, Mikey’s little angel gets. It’s standard protocol, really; you’re merely an extension of the Boss and thus must be treated as an extension of the Boss, and Mikey’s best men have no issues complying.

Sighing, you rest your chin in your palms, sombreness souring your features. An ache, dull and dense, settles in the pit of your chest. It’s a desolate sort of longing, a gentle but constant gnawing that cannot be sated by anyone or anything other than it’s creator, something that weights your lungs and heavies your heart and stalls your breath, a vital part missing.

You miss Mikey.

You miss Mikey, but you know this ‘event’ really does have some sort of business significance; that, while it’s mostly an excuse to get drunk and high on Halloween night, it also serves as the grounds for some sort of meeting or negotiation or proposition—you can never be sure which, with Bonten.

You aren’t allowed to know. You’re lucky to be here at all.

But you miss Mikey.

You shouldn’t be selfish. You know you shouldn’t be selfish; he’s already stretched so thin between so many obligations and obituaries, and you shouldn’t add to that strain. You won’t add to that strain. You’ll sit here, pretty and perfect like his precious little princess should be, and you’ll wait, patiently, until Daddy has a moment to spare you.

He always finds a moment to spare, no matter how many duties and commitments he has. He always finds a space for you in his day, even if he has to carve it out with his bare hands.

So you mustn’t be greedy. You will be good. For him, you’ll do anything, no matter how difficult.

“No frowning, miss Alice,” Sanzu chastises through a stretched grin, wide and carved into his cheeks—a smile so sharp, so sinister it puts the true Cheshire Cat to disgrace.

He swims into your vision, teeth glinting with teals and fuchsias, an intricately wrapped box in his palms. Tugging on the ribbon a little, he unboxes it to reveal a wealth of small confections, individually wrapped in colourful foils.

“Look, your favourite kitty brought you some chocolate.”

That brightens your mood a little—a sugar fiend, just like your Daddy is—and your mouth drops open expectantly, cute tongue unfurling in invitation.

Sanzu rolls his eyes but places a truffle on your tongue anyway, pressing it down on the slick muscle and forcing your lips to close around his first knuckle to suck the treat free from him, laughing at the way your face twists.

Pervert.

His nails taste like blood—not that you’ve come to expect any less—but the rusty copper is quickly eradicated by sugar, a content little hum vibrating around the melting chocolate.

“Good, huh?” Sanzu asks around his own chocolate, shuffling a gold box of expensive Italian truffles in his palm as he picks through them, confections jumping perilously with the motion, shimmering wrappers catching in the flashing neon strobes. “They’re imported.”

“Where’d you get those?” you ask through strings of caramel and cocoa, welding to your molars.

“A little Halloween treat courtesy of Mikey,” he says dutifully, jostling the box in emphasis. “And an apology, for taking longer than expected.”

Warmth blooms in your chest, swelling with your heart and stretching your ribs. The last few remnants of displeasure fade from your face, giving way to a small smile.

How very Mikey of him, to send his second in command armed with artisan chocolates and a short, sweet explanation; something he knew would make you smile, something he knew would alleviate some of your impatience, a reassurance that he misses you too, that he’ll be back soon, that he’s thinking of you.

“There’s our pretty girl,” Sanzu teases, but his own grin has softened a little, the glint in his eyes dulled to a twinkle. “No more pouting, ‘kay? Your trusty Cheshire Cat will be by your side until your Hatter returns.”

Ah. A polite way of saying that you’re stuck with him until Mikey’s finished his work, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

That takes longer than either of you expect, though, Sanzu’s plan of entertaining you by leading you, hand-in-hand, around the club to assess each Bonten member’s costume not nearly as lengthy as he had anticipated.

Because it only takes a mere twenty minutes or so to examine all of them, with you near instantaneously deciding that the Haitanis have won the make-believe costume contest you and Sanzu had been holding between yourselves.

Sanzu had agreed—everyone looks impeccable in their custom-made costumes, tailored specifically to them at your behest, but no one had any hope of eclipsing the Haitanis in their form-fitted pinstriped suits, each stitch and thread molded flawlessly to their frames, perfectly pressed collars embroidered with Dee and Dum in shimmery purple thread, powder blue bowties immaculately symmetrical around their tattooed necks.

Now you’re back at the bar, Sanzu’s shaky fingers sifting through the box of truffles as he searches for something, anything, to distract him from the way the blood in his veins is beginning to dry up, the way his capillaries are withering, brittle and thirsty, the way his skin is beginning to itch.

Because he can’t do a goddamn thing about it. Not yet, anyway.

No narcotics when he’s chaperoning you; that’s a hard rule. That’s a rule that’s been sewn into the tissues of his brain so tightly it’s interwoven with his synapses. That’s an execution rule; a one time only rule—breaking that rule will get him fucking killed.

But you’re both starting to become a little bit restless.

“Come on,” you’re begging, word dragged across your tongue in a petulant whine. “Just one more chocolate?”

“I said no,” Sanzu snaps, eyes hard. “Mikey said three. Mikey’s the Boss. Whatever Mikey says goes; Mikey’s girl, Mikey’s rules!”

“You’re no fun,” you huff, forehead scrunching with a pout.

“Yeah, and that’s why he sticks me with you,” Sanzu says, though he sounds almost proud, as if it’s an honour to babysit you, a title of high esteem. “Because I can resist your tricks.”

“My charms,” you correct.

“Whatever,” he waves a hand. “It’s all semantics. Point is, I know how to say no to you, unlike a few certain someones.”

Unimpressed ice blue eyes sweep across the venue, hovering pointedly on the faces of his colleagues—Kakucho, the Dormouse; Kokonoi, the White Rabbit; Rindou, Tweedle-Dum.

Your eyes follow his, and you smirk to yourself. Kakucho is the easiest out of those three; Kokonoi sometimes deceives you, allowing you to do as you please only to tattle to Mikey later, and Rindou always demands some sort of payment, claiming it’s only fair that you give him something he wants in return.

Turning back, you’re about to respond, something bratty and bitter simmering on your tongue, when a pair of hands and a smooth voice cuts you off.

You’d know that touch, that tone, anywhere.

“Pray, tell me, Miss Alice,” Mikey murmurs in your ear as he slinks up behind you, palms curling around your hips and pulling you back toward his chest. “Why is a raven like a writing desk?”

“Because it can produce a few notes,” you answer dutifully, head tipping back against his shoulder to glance at him through the corner of your eye. “Though they are very flat.”

“Correct,” he responds. “My, what a smart little girl you are.”

It’s soaked in condescension, compliment drawled out through a supercilious smirk, breath wafting across your face sweltering and saccharine.

“Do I get a reward, Mister Hatter?” you ask, sweeter than sugarcane, batting eyelashes framing hopeful, dewy eyes.

A hum vibrates on his tongue, onyx gaze apathetic and appraising as it glides across your features slowly, thoroughly, pulling each of your thoughts apart and putting them back together again.

Your head rolls to the side, over his protruding collarbone, to stare at him more resolutely. And God, it’s the way you’re looking up at him, eyes glazed with dedication, with devoutness, like you want to fucking devour him.

Like you want him to devour you.

Hips pushing back, you rub your ass into his cock in inconspicuous little motions, lashes fluttering a little, back arched in a perfect curve and tits on full display.

From this angle, there’s no way he can’t see right down your dress; there’s no way he can’t see the red lace of your bra straining against supple skin as your chest rises and falls with gentle breaths, no way he doesn’t notice the very tips of your nipples, cheekily peeking out from beneath the delicate material with each swell of your breasts.

Bony fingers flex on your waist, and he huffs out a smirk.

His ebony pupils are enormous, blown wide and gaping, gnawing away at the whites of his eyes.

He’s high.

It’s evident in the milky film of artificial ecstasy lacquering his gaze, doped up and hazy, but it does nothing to dilute the potent love he has for you, melting his stare to something soft and sticky, pouring past his lashes.

He’s feeling good tonight.

“I think I know what my little girl wants,” one hand flattens against your stomach, holding you flush to his body as the other slides up your ribs to cup your breast, filling his palm with it and kneading, slow and deliberate, simply enjoying the feeling of you. “And it is very naughty of her.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mm,” he hums, head drooping to nose along the curve of your neck. “Really.”

His lips brush along your skin as he speaks, his voice barely more than a gentle vibration along the column of your throat, and you whimper a little, fingers curling around his wrist and pressing him closer.

“A-And what’s that?”

“Aw, can’t you guess?” he tuts his tongue. “And I thought you were smart. Must’ve been mistaken. Where’s my smart little girl gone now?”

Grip firm on your waist, his hips rut forward, hard cock prodding at you through the layers of tulle. A discontented little sound vibrates in your throat as you squirm a little—and oh, he knows what you’re whining about, greedy girl, knows that you can barely feel his cock through the thick petticoat, knows you want more—and he presses his hips further forward, grinding harder into your ass.

“Daddy—Da-Daddy, it’s—”

“What?” he shoves again, stronger this time, teeth nipping at the skin below your ear. “Hm?”

“Your cock is hard,” you nearly whine, pushing back against him in a pitiful little wiggle, desperate for more friction.

“And who’s fault is that, huh?”

The hand massaging your breast gives a final squeeze before his fingers find your nipple, pinching it through the material of your dress and bra, then rubbing the heel of his thumb over it in hard, rhythmic motions.

“Is your pussy wet?” he huffs the question into your ear, his hot breath procuring shivers. “I bet it is, naughty girl. Daddy wants to feel it.”

“Please, please,” your hips buck a little, punctuating your pleads, chest pressing into his touch.

“Please? Please what?”

“Touch me, Daddy, touch me, touch me.”

Slender hands slip beneath the puffy layers of lace, calloused fingertips rough as they skim up your smooth thighs, outlining the silk ruffles of the bloomers he bought you specifically for this costume.

Your hips twitch slightly, legs spreading instinctively as his fingers trail along the scrunched hem to the apex of your thighs, pressing two into the rapidly dampening material. Pensively, they caress your slit through the material, prodding your hole just a little before rubbing two slow, hard circles into your clit.

“Christ,” he breathes out, curse splintering at the end. “You’re so fucking wet baby, and I’ve barely done anything yet.”

His palm flattens against you, all four fingers dipping into your core nearly to the first knuckle and then curling, the heel of his hand grinding against your clit, and your pelvis cants reflexively, almost as if you’re attempting to draw his fingertips further in.

“How are you this wet already, huh?” he keens, voice straining beneath his own desire. “Been thinking naughty thoughts?”

“Jus’want your cock,” you slur out honestly, hips gyrating in pathetic little circles, an embarrassing attempt to follow his touch.

“Oh, yeah? That’s all it takes, eh?” he rolls your clit between his thumb and his forefinger, nonchalantly toying with it as he mulls. “Just my cock?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod blearily. “Uh-huh, uh-huh.”

“Cute,” Mikey spits, the compliment sheathed in venom, “how utterly stupid just the thought of my cock makes you.”

His fingers clamp down on the swollen nub and tug, your whole body jolting with the pain, a yelp hitching in your chest.

The arm wrapped around your waist tightens in response, holding you close, holding you still as he humps away at you, sloppy and uneven.

“Oh, baby,” he murmurs, fingers tweaking your clit in rhythmic motions, sparks of pleasure chased by shocks of pain. “You’re so fucking easy for your Daddy, aren’t you? So quick to get soaked for him, so quick to get ready for him, such a good little slut for him, yeah?”

His voice is gravelly, letters wispy around the edges despite fact that he’s nearly shouting over music. Another rush of heat surges between your thighs, and he laughs, dark and dangerous.

Your clit throbs in his touch, the silk of your panties drenched all the way through, aiding his fingers in their slippery motions—several small, fast S gestures, followed by a few firm strokes of your slit, fingertips gliding over your folds with ease. You’re so soaked, whole cunt now outlined by the shimmery material, molding to your folds and enabling him to feel every dip, every bump, every crevice, another chuckle dripping from his lips as your little hole clenches around nothing.

“Daddy,” you whimper, thighs squeezing together tightly as you attempt to fuck his fingers. “Daddy, I—I can’t—I need—”

“Shh,” he hushes you, lips caressing the curve of your ear. “I know, baby. Daddy knows what you need.”

A palm wraps around your wrist as Mikey mutters something about going somewhere a little more private, pulling you along behind him and leading you toward those purple velvet VIP couches, empty and roped off in a darkened corner.

“What are we—” you begin as Mikey collapses heavily on the couch, knees spread wide open, hips shifting up slightly as he forces his feet even further apart, getting comfortable.

C’mere, his lips mime, voice drowning in heavy bass, his chin jutting in the general direction of his straining cock, yearning against pin-striped pants.

Strong hands curl around your hips and yank you backward, the abrupt motion punching a sound of surprise from your chest as you tumble into his lap, spine pressed tight to his sternum.

The hinges of his jaw hook over your shoulder, a crude way of keeping you from squirming as he manhandles you into straddling his thighs, hard cock pressing into your core.

“Holy fuck,” he pants out, the curse damp against your skin. “You’re so wet I can feel you leaking through my pants.”

“Daddy,” you say, and although it’s meant to be a warning, it comes out as a whine, stringy and petulant.

Because it already feels so good, and he’s already so hard, and you just can’t help but rock your hips back, slow and firm, whimpering a bit as the head of his cock glides over your clit, teasing as the slick, swollen little nub jumps beneath the dull pressure.

He laughs a little, nothing more than a deep, dark rumbling within his ribs, reverberating against your back.

“You’re so fucking nasty, baby,” he chides lowly, though you can hear the self-satisfied smirk sewn into his voice, tinged with sadism, as he rolls his hips up twice, grinding his cock into your drenched core. “You’re so fucking needy, baby, trying to get yourself off in the middle of this crowded club.”

You are, you are, another little sound escaping your lips as you rut back against him, already beginning to speed up, rubbing the head of his cock over your clit in quick little strokes.

“It’s really precious, y’know, how pathetically eager you are for me,” he murmurs, notes of fondness negating the sting the insult should bring, words gone melty and sweet. “But you gotta stop humping Daddy for a moment, so he can get his cock out and give you what you really want.”

A disgruntled little whine sounds in your throat, motions stuttering a little as you attempt to stop moving. But it all feels so incredible, greedily unable to quell your hips completely as they rotate in messy little circles, tummy starting to ripple with each graze of his blunt head against your clit.

“Hey,” he warns, sharp and stern, a palm colliding with your bare thigh and leaving a burning handprint seared in its wake, the impact of the slap loud enough to draw a few pairs of eyes. “Don’t get bratty with me, or you won’t get anything at all, you understand?”

Your head’s nodding before the words are even finished leaving his lips—yes, Daddy, of course, Daddy, brats don’t deserve to be filled by Daddy’s cock—desperate to be good for him, to be the best for him.

Because you know he isn’t fucking around; Mikey’s threats are never empty threats, each and every word plucked from his brain with superlative care, heavy and infused with meaning.

It’s terrifying and tantilizing, how easily and instantly he can switch from one mode to the other: from playful to imposing, from Daddy to Leader, a pleasant shiver skittering up your spine, your hole clenching and pulsing as your stomach plummets, gut weighted with a tingling pressure.

It’s a bit of a task, freeing his cock and manoeuvring yourself as you try to inconspicuously sink down on it, but you both manage, your fluffy petticoat of crinoline and tulle providing a decent amount of privacy.

A hiss slips through the gaps of your gritted teeth as it begins to tear you in two, cute little hole stinging as it strains around his cock, struggling to accommodate his girth, delicate skin splitting itself open for him.

“That’s it, that’s it,” he breathes lowly, voice vibrating against your ear. “There you go, good girl.”

An airy little moan spills from your lips as he bottoms out, cockhead pressed snug to your cervix, and you melt back into him, skull knocking against his shoulder, eyes slipped shut.

“Feel better, princess?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you mumble out dreamily. “S’good, S’right.”

“It feels right, huh?” he chuckles a little, thumbs rubbing fond circles into your hips, his hands all the way up your skirt, slipped beneath the frills and fluff, forearms buried in your dress. “You like it when Daddy fills you up?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod. “Stretches me out real good, makes me feel all stuffed ‘n full.”

Whole, complete, one. Like everything feels as it’s supposed to again.

And it hurts, because it always hurts, because he’s too thick and you’re never prepped enough, never patient enough, core split open on his cock and little hole aching as it attempts to adjust to him, but it’s so fucking perfect, too. Your cunt spasms around him, hips twitching a little in desperation—like you’re trying to suck him in further, like you’re trying to bury him deeper—and he groans, fingers flexing as he holds you still, nails gorging on your flesh.

“Eager, are we?”

“S’not my fault,” you mewl, back arching a little as you attempt to push your hips back, squirming a bit in his strong grip. “Need you, Daddy.”

“Is that so?”

Grasp tightening, his hips thrust up, grinding the head of his cock into your cervix in slow, hard motions—back and forth, back and forth, inspiring a dull pang throbbing in your gut.

Gasping sharply, your hips jerk back in response, automatic and instinctual, pulling a hoarse groan from his chest.

His clutch turns to near bone crushing, a fractured little cry sticking in your throat, and he forces you to hold still for a moment, muscles in his thighs gone rigid and stiff as his hips press up further and tug you down, frozen, revelling in the way your cunt pulses around him, as if it’s whining for him.

“M-Mikey,” you echo its sentiments, his name a sulky plead on your tongue, brows knit together and lips jutted in a pout.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

“You know,” you huff out, wriggling a little in his palms, feebly trying to fuck yourself on him.

“Tell me anyway,” he demands.

Scalding embarrassment pricks your cheeks and you whimper, fidgeting in his grasp again, head shaking in defiance.

“Come on,” he chides, but there are notes of amusement infusing his tone. “Daddy can’t give you what you want if you don’t ask for it.”

Sharp teeth sink into your shoulder suddenly, your half-formed response strangled by a gasp, Mikey’s jaw tensing as he burrows his teeth further into your flesh, piercing through tissues and snapping capillaries until copper explodes in his mouth.

He holds it for a moment, all thirty-two of his teeth latched in your skin, ensuring he leaves a full, detailed outline of his mouth etched into you—a signature of sorts—before his tongue flattens against the wound, dragging over it in a single wide lick and sealing it with blood-tinged saliva. A gentle exhale wafts over the bite, cool against the searing pain, and you shudder, chills erupting across your flesh.

“You’re a big girl,” he coaxes over your whimpering, the encouragement steeped in condescension. “I know you can do it. Use your big girl words and tell Daddy what you want.”

Your eyes squeeze shut against the burn of humiliation, lids crinkling at the corners, the softest hiccup catching in your throat, and you feel his cock twitch inside of you.

“I—I wanna ride your cock, Daddy,” you push the stubborn words from your tongue, trembling and breathy.

“Yeah?” he asks, bloodied tongue tracing along the shell of your ear. “How bad?”

“So bad,” you bleat out, striving to bounce on his cock under the firm restraint of his hands, dewdrops of annoyance clinging to your lashes, glittering in the beams of magenta and teal as you blink rapidly.

“Hm,” he muses to himself, nonchalant as he readjusts his grip, hands constringing, completely halting your pathetic little movements. “It doesn’t seem like you want it all that badly.”

“Daddy,” the word leaves your lips in a whine, scrunched and petulant through your pout, body thrashing beneath his strong grip. “Come on—”

“Are you sure you wanna be such a naughty little whore in front of all of these people?”

Your body stops its writhing, his words like a slap to the face.

It’s a bit of a shock, to hear it spoken aloud so bluntly, cut and dry and honest, and it sends a torrent of sparks fizzing through your chest to collect dense and tight in your tummy.

Shame and revulsion sets your skin aflame, the cinders in your gut flaring in response, an intoxicating combination.

“Yes—”

“Huh? What was that?” he shouts theatrically in your ear. “I couldn’t really hear you over the music.”

“Y-Yes,” you repeat, trying to steady your hiccuping voice, to be stern and resolute, even as tears begin to stream down your cheeks.

“Really?” he breathes, and he sounds astonished, he sounds appalled. “You’re so fucking sleazy, baby. I wonder what all these people would think, if they knew how truly filthy my little girl is...”

“Manjirou,” you weep out his birth name, whole face saturated in frustration.

“Oh-ho-ho,” he chuckles out the word, and it’s vicious. “Graduated to using my full name, now, have you?” he licks at the steadily oozing bite, mopping up more blood with his tongue. “Christ, you do really want it.”

“I do!” you cry out, struggling against his grasp again, hips bucking in wild, erratic motions. “I do, I do, please, let me ride your cock, please.”

“What if I made you sit, still and straight like the good little girl I know you want to be, on my hard cock for the rest of the night? Do you think you’d be able to handle it?”

You know he won’t, know he’d never be able to, because he’s just as addicted to you as you are to him, just as desperate, just as eager, just as needy; because even as he holds you motionless, he can’t quite halt the delicate jerk of his hips, rolling up into your core; because you know he wants this just as badly as you do, gets off on the depravity just as much as you do.

Even so, the mere thought of being teased like this, of being forced to hold such a degrading position, is still enough to inspire a rush of agitated tears to flood your eyes, vision gone bleary with despairing desire and rendering the club a bleary haze of glowing neons.

“No, Daddy, no, I—I just want to ride you, please, Daddy, I c-can’t—”

You’re nearly wailing now, head thrown back dramatically as your neck twists into an uncomfortable knot, anguished as you try to bury your face in his throat, looking for solace. Your chest stutters as you stammer out half-finished pleads, gone garbled with spit, and Mikey smiles.

You’re starting to cause a scene.

It’s exactly what he wanted.

“Okay, baby, okay, okay,” he’s pacifying as he feels hot tears soak into his neck, a choked sob catching painfully in your chest. “Daddy’s here, Daddy’s gonna make it all better.”

And finally, finally his grasp loosens, stiff fingers gone lax, massaging lopsided circles into the rapidly developing bruises left in the shape of their prints.

“Go ahead, angel,” he urges, nuzzling into the junction of your shoulder, pressing a chaste kiss to the congealing bite. “Ride Daddy’s cock.”

Then he’s slumping back, settling into the couch cushions and spreading his thighs a little wider, pressing the soles of his boots into the waxed floor for stability and leverage.

His hands stay on your waist, a gentle guidance, but he allows you to set the pace—a rare occurrence—patient as your hips work up a steady rhythm of quick, shallow gyrations, each swivel dragging his cock against your favourite spot.

And God, you’re so cute when you use his cock to make yourself feel good. It’s a shame that he can’t see your face in this position, can’t see the way your lashes flutter and frame the rolling whites of your eyes or the way your features scrunch so delicately; a shame he can’t hear your gorgeous noises, all your sweet little gasps and pitiful little whines consumed by the blaring music.

But he can see how your back is bowing, spine forced into a near perfect arc by your building pleasure, bending just a hint more with each brush of his cock; he can feel your palms clutching his knees, nails digging little crescents into his shins and using them for support as your movements accelerate, as you fuck yourself harder, faster, better.

And he lets you have your fun for a little, lays back all languid and lazy and watches through lidded eyes as you play with yourself and use his cock like it’s your favourite toy—because, well, it is—but eventually it just isn’t enough and you need Daddy’s help.

Just like he knew it wouldn’t be. Just like you always do.

Not that he minds one bit.

Yes, it isn’t enough, because it never is, because you can never manage anything more than teasing yourself when left entirely to your own devices, spritzing kerosene on the dull smouldering in the pit of your stomach as the head of his cock brushes up against that engorged spot inside of you, not nearly hard enough or fast enough to have you anywhere close to creaming on him, merely enough to have your clit throbbing, swollen and neglected.

He knows you’re beginning to get restless when your hips turn sloppy, tempo starting to falter as your motions stutter, and then you’re looking over your shoulder at him with a beseeching pout, glazed eyes begging him to do something!

So he does.

He’s straightening up in a split second, hands around your waist tightening as he yanks you back toward his chest, chin hooking over your clavicle again and grinding the sharp bone into your skin.

“Poor thing,” he murmurs against your jaw, mocking and mean. “Can’t even get herself off without her Daddy’s help.”

“I can’t, I can’t,” you wail over the roar of EDM, head shaking in accentuation. “Need you, need you to do it for me.”

“Of course you do, angel,” he says, as if it’s obvious, as if it’s common knowledge. “But that’s okay—Daddy will make it feel good.”

That’s the only warning you’re given before his hips are ramming up, rapid and rough and downright ruthless, the abrupt motion slamming a high-pitched yelp from your throat, so pure and genuine and full of lust that it rises above the music, breaks through the heavy bass beat, gathering a handful of glances from a few nearby party-goers.

So much for being inconspicuous.

You should’ve known that that just isn’t Mikey’s style.

They lose interest just as quickly as they gained it, though, going back to their drinks and their drugs, unconcerned. What the Boss does at his own club is none of their business, even if it is on display for the whole venue to see.

Still, it’s enough for Mikey.

“Everyone can see you, you know,” voracious black eyes scan the balcony space. “Everyone can see you being such a good little whore for your Daddy.”

The thought of being watched, of being caught, inspires a whole flock of butterflies to flit around in your tummy, another surge of heat gushing between your thighs, and Mikey laughs. Oh, he felt that.

Because he’s right; if anyone dared to look a little closer, a little longer, cared to paid a smidge of more attention to the two of you, hidden on one of the velvet couches wedged in the corner of the VIP section with your hips rocking and Mikey’s hands buried in the lace and tulle of your skirt, they’d know exactly what the two of you are doing.

But it doesn’t matter; you don’t care. Neither does he. Why should either of you?

“Do you—Do you think they like it?” you question, and Christ, it’s so precious, that pathetic hope ringing high and clear in your voice. “Do you think they like watching me bounce on their Boss’s cock?”

“Fuck,” the curse fragments in his throat, sharp and pitchy, and he coughs on the shards. “I know they do, sweetheart.”

“Do you think they’re g-gonna go home and touch themselves to the thought of me—of us?”

“Aw,” Mikey coos out in a chuckle, breathless and condescending. “It’s cute that you think they aren’t already jerking off to you on a regular basis.”

Of course they are, you silly little stupid thing; how could they not be? With all the sweet, short little dresses he buys you to prance and twirl around in—the ones with the sweetheart necklines that dip just a hint too low, teasing the swell of your breasts with each of your gentle inhales; the ones with the rippling hems that end just a touch too high, swishing and swaying and flashing with each of your movements, riding up and fanning out to gift them with teasing little glimpses of the lace and satin underneath.

“You think I don’t know what my—ah, Christ—what my men think of you? How my men think of you?” He tongues a little at the bite, using his front teeth to scrape off a few half-formed scabs, blood rushing to pool in their place. “You think I don’t see the way they look at you?”

A whine stammers in your throat, your back arching a little more as your cunt quivers around his cock, that drove of butterflies sending your stomach swooping, the organ tensing, tying itself into thick knots pulled tight and taut with each plunge of his cock.

Mikey laughs again, the sound nothing more than a deep, dense vibration rumbling within his ribs, seeping into your back and sending tingles up your spine.

“Would you like to see the way they look at you?”

“H-Huh?”

Oh, how adorably fucked out you already are, mind gone dumb and numb to everything but him, but his voice and his touch and his steadily driving cock; oh, how adorably easy it is to make you this fucking idiotic.

“Look over there,” he presses his cheek into yours, forcing your head to turn and follow his gaze.

Across the club, Rindou sits with an elbow resting on the edge of the bar, a glass dangling from his fingertips. His eyes are cavernous, carnivorous, a smirk smearing across his face as your stare meets his, heavy lids framing a leering look.

Using a shoulder, he nudges his brother’s stomach, jutting his chin toward you and his Boss in indication when Ran looks down in question, redirecting his attention.

Now they’re both watching you, with doped up violet eyes and identical sleazy smiles, toothless and worming.

It makes you want to scrub and scratch at your skin, their gazes painting you in a thick coat of grime, body soiled by their lust and left feeling dirty, feeling gross, a strong shiver crawling across your flesh.

Your head jerks reflexively, desperate to hide from their lechery, skull knocking against Mikey’s hard enough to send thorns of pain searing through your temple.

A yelp cracks in your throat, and Mikey snorts, seemingly unfazed.

“Aw,” Mikey tuts in false admonishment. “Don’t get shy now. Look at them. Look at them while you ride my cock.”

“M-Mikey—” your eyes shut tightly, a pitiful attempt to escape their invasive eyes, head shaking in little judders.

“C’mon,” he goads, forcing you to face their stare. “You want them all to see, right? How good my little girl is? How pretty my little girl is?”

Peeking through your lashes, you squint at the Haitanis, features teetering on the verge of a wince, as if you’re expecting them to physically strike you.

They’re still looking at you, wide and unblinking, speaking out of the side of their mouths in laughs and murmurs to one another.

Dressed in matching pin-striped suits and thick suspenders, Rindou has discarded his jacket, shirtsleeves rolled haphazardly up his forearms to his elbows, first few buttons of his shirt popped undone, revealing a defined collarbone.

Predictably, Ran is still the perfect picture of poise and elegance, not a single hair out of place, suit jacket square on his shoulders and flawlessly tailored to his body, each stitch outlining his edges.

Tweedledum and Tweedledee respectively, and just as treacherous.

Whatever it is they’re saying to each other, they’re clearly enjoying themselves, amusement playing in glassy irises as Ran rests a hand around Rindou’s neck, slim fingers pressing into plush muscle. His younger brother instantly relaxes into his touch, mollifying back against his stomach and hooking an arm around his thigh, hugging it to his ribs.

And it’s the way they’re looking at you, as if they’re peeling the clothes from your body and the skin from your bones and peering into the depths of your soul to dance with your demons and devour your secrets; as if they’re singeing your expression into their minds, the sight of your features saturated in perturbation and pleasure branded into the tissues of their brains, carved into the walls of their skulls, ensuring they’ll never forget.

Everything feels overexposed as they pry you apart bit by bit, heady mix of hedonism and humiliation hazing over your brain.

Mikey’s hips slow to a drag, thighs tensing and soles of his boots skidding across marble as he expertly angles his hips and presses up, rubbing the head of his cock over your g-spot in slow, controlled motions—back and forth, back and forth, over and over and over again.

And the moan that claws at your throat is almost obnoxious, is definitely embarrassing, which means Mikey needs to fuck at least three more from your chest, grunting a little with the effort as his cockhead jabs against that plush spot, hard and precise.

A whine that sounds suspiciously like his title, tangled in spit and weighted with shame, spills from your lips, and you nestle your face against his own even as your hips jolt, desperate for comfort, desperate for cover.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” he nuzzles your damp cheek. “I know you do. I can feel it.”

It’s true, he can—you’re sure he can, with the way your straining little hole keeps pulsing around his length, another stream of heat cascading down his shaft, viscous and wet and so, so much, to pool in the folds of his balls, to stain the waistband of his pants and the velvet of the couch.

But you know he likes it just as much as you do.

Because you’re both so fucking naughty, so fucking nasty, but the depravity just works to heighten it all, makes it that much better, amplifying every touch and brush and tease and fondle and making it all feel so fucking good, even as Mikey’s pace eases into something unhurried, his thrusts turned languid but powerful.

So you join in, you rise to his challenge, a sick little game the two of you play, a sick little game you force others to participate in—because you’re fucking untouchable.

“Do you think their cocks are hard, Daddy?” you ask, the question dripping with syrup as you roll your hips backwards, slow and purposeful, returning the Haitanis’ smouldering stare through fanned lashes, unblinking and tenacious.

“Ah, f-fuck,” Mikey’s cock jolts, rhythm stammering for a moment before he regains his composure. “Yeah, baby, I bet they’re wishing they were me right now.”

You bet they are, too, mouths stopped moving and gazes gleaming with want, lips parted with uneven exhales pushed from their heaving chests, entirely enchanted by your movements.

It’s the most affected and authentic you’ve ever seen them before, and it sends a thrill of power shooting through your body, blood left fizzing in its wake.

One of them reaches into their pocket, groping around blindly for their phone, not daring to spare a second of their attention away from you, and Mikey snarls, nose scrunched in disgust and lip curled in a sneer, baring gritted teeth.

Because that’s too much, that’s crossing a line, and Mikey swiftly redirects your face, effectively hiding your expression from the Haitanis’ hungry eyes.

Mikey’s always liked to show off. Mikey’s never liked to share.

He swaps shoulders quickly, the defined hinges of his jaw clasped firmly over your collarbone, and smushes his face flush to yours again, skin clammy with sweat.

“And look over there,” he steers your gaze toward the other side of the club, where Kokonoi sits with a smattering of men surrounding a tall cocktail table, littered with crystal glasses and white lines.

The men around the table are laughing about something, sloshing liquor and cutting powder into thick, fat stripes, but Kokonoi isn’t paying attention to any of it.

No. Kokonoi is looking at you.

His eyes snap away when they meet your own, head whipping forward with such speed and such force it’s a marvel he doesn’t instantly give himself whiplash. A deep laugh rumbles in Mikey’s throat in response, something dark, something decadent.

“He’s gonna go home and touch himself to you, too,” he says. “He might not even make it before he goes home; might end up jerking his cock in a bathroom stall or the front seat of his car.”

“How can you tell?”

“Well, look at him,” Mikey snorts. “He’s so hard he’s about to burst outta his pants.”

Following the line of Kokonoi’s body, your gaze travels downward, to the straining lump in his white pants. His hips shift a little uncomfortably as his thighs tense, hands curled into fists on his knees as he steadily trains his stare forward at the wall opposite of him, throat bobbing with a thick swallow.

Mikey’s right—Koko’s about to burst.

The thought of Koko rushing to his car to collapse in the driver’s seat, head tipped back against the headrest and hand shoved down his pants as his palm rubs frantically at his hard cock, or hastening to the washroom to lock himself in a stall, forehead pressed tightly to the rickety door and panting out stuttered, half-stifled whimpers hotly against his upper lip as he hurriedly relieves the problem you’ve created, is almost too much to bear, stomach clenching in time with the throbbing of your cunt, a torrid pressure building and burning in your gut.

The sudden acceleration of Mikey’s thrusts snaps you out of that tangle of thoughts, effectively drawing every ounce of your attention back to him.

A mewl pries past your lips, sharp and high and cracking at the end, whole spine arching as Mikey resumes his assault on your favourite spot, cockhead driving hard and fast against plush flesh.

“They can look all they want, but you’re mine.” His fingers tighten, his grasp rigid and unbreakable, the words nothing more than a snarl spit in your ear, wet and harsh. “I won’t fuckin’ share.”

“Never, never, never,” you babble in time with the bouncing on his lap, head nodding in sloppy motions with each repetition of the word.

“Never,” he growls, teeth sinking into the flesh of your shoulder sloppily, excess spit dribbling from the corners of his mouth as he breaks the skin for the second time tonight and sucks hard, drawing blood from the string of tiny wounds.

It has another cry escaping your throat, whole face crinkling in a sordid mixture of pleasure and pain, head instinctually thrown back against your Daddy, automatically giving him more room to work. Drops of watered down blood drool down your back and Mikey takes a moment to admire them, mesmerised by the way they shimmer in the strobing lights of the club, before he licks at them with the tip of his tongue, leaving crude strokes of fresh spit in their wake.

He’s the motherfucking Boss.

And the Boss gets what he wants, where he wants, when he wants, always.

He’s really fucking you now, vicious and vigorous, your entire body juddering in his lap as his hips piston up, cockhead pounding against that sensitive mound of tissue buried deep within you.

Each thrust shoves another shattered sound from your tongue, splintered moans of his name and his title pouring past your lips in a jagged stream.

The knot your stomach has twisted itself into strains under the building pressure, growing heavier and heavier with each jackhammer into you, stretched taut and stiff and ready to snap.

It’s all so much, the ogling eyes and the ramming of his cock and the tightening in your belly, every muscle in your body coiled and aching for the ecstasy that comes with release. Your breath mangles with the mewls shoved from your lips with every slam up, sticking to your throat and you cough, wheezing past the splinters. It’s all too much, and—!

“M’gonna, m’gonna cum, Daddy!” you gasp, tears dotting the corners of your eyes, sparkling in spidery lashes.

“Yeah, baby?” he breathes, voice dropping to a ragged rasp. “You gonna cream all over Daddy’s cock? Huh? Make a mess on my cock surrounded by all of Daddy’s closest and most esteemed colleagues?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you nearly sob out, palms curling over his wrists, nails clawing at the delicate skin, desperate for an anchor.

“My dirty fucking girl,” he hisses out, sharp breath stinging your cheek. “Such a good—Ah—good little slut for me, aren’t you?”

You can no longer respond, rendered stupid from the ardor, potent pleasure corroding your brain and gnawing through your synapses. It’s downright intoxicating, it’s fucking insatiable, it’s simultaneously immense and insufficient, way too much yet not nearly enough, because you need more, you need more, unintelligible pleads shattering on your tongue.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, baby, gush all over Daddy, make a pretty mess on his lap for him. Show everyone in this Goddamn club how gorgeous you look cumming for me.”

And so you do, ever your Daddy’s best girl, body eager to obey its owner as your cunt convulses around him, copious amounts of slick cascading down his shaft to drench his thighs, sticky and sharp and so fucking sick as he continues to bounce you in his lap.

The spasming of your cute little hole draws the sweetest whine from the back of his throat, panted out against the curve of your ear, and another bout of warmth rushes to the apex of your thighs, earning you a shuddered little curse, the exhale sweltering against your sweaty skin.

You sound so pretty right before you cum, Daddy.

Three more pumps of his hips and he’s following, thrusts stuttering as he fucks up messily into you, cock throbbing almost violently and stuffing you to the brim with thick, hot cum. Strong hands hold you firmly in place, cockhead pressed flush to your cervix as he spills himself into you, as he forces you to take every fucking ounce of what he’s giving you.

And you love it, you love it, you love it, you’re telling him, sentiments pouring from your mouth in a jumbled stream, singular and continuous until your lungs run out of air, voice cutting off with a squeak.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Mikey’s murmuring into your skin in response, lips leaving smears of sugary saliva just below your earlobe.

He allows you to sit on him for a moment, chest heaving against your back with ragged breaths, sweaty forehead pressed tightly to your shoulder. Tilting your head, your rest your cheek on the back of his skull, eyes slipping shut as your own heart begins to calm, cunt still pulsating irregularly around his shaft, almost as if it’s attempting to squeeze a few more drops out of him, his cock acting as a crude plug, keeping most of his cum buried inside of you.

Finally, his head lifts, pressing a tender kiss to the blood-encrusted bite glittering on your shoulder.

“Go get cleaned up in the washroom,” he mutters gently, pressing another string of kisses along your jaw. “Don’t wipe away any of Daddy’s cum; let it soak into your panties real nice and good, let them get really wet, and then snap a few pictures and send them to me. Can you do that for me, angel?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you slur out, nodding in loose, liquid movements.

“Good,” he pats your thigh twice. “Now, go.”

A small noise of affirmation sounds in your throat, head still nodding as Mikey helps you stand between his spread thighs, hands on your waist keeping you upright while you wobble on unsteady legs.

And the noise that you make as his cum and your slick surges out of you—something caught somewhere between a mewl and a whine, turned on and disappointed simultaneously—is the cutest thing he’s ever heard, a muted coo slipping from his own lips as your hands wrap around his, using them to further stable yourself.

He holds you for a moment or two longer, making sure you’re sturdy and your knees won’t suddenly give out, before giving you one final squeeze and releasing you, smirking a little as he watches you teeter away on rickety feet.

Initially, his plan was to have you capture a few naughty photos for him—pretty little things to stash away in his phone for later use, during the nights he’s forced to spend away from you, sitting in expensive cars or laying in lush hotel beds—and force you to wear the gluey, cum-drenched undies for the remainder of the party.

But then his phone is buzzing, and he’s unlocking it to find your cunt perfectly outlined by thin silk as it sticks to your folds, little clit and hole contoured and accentuated by the slick, shining fabric, soiled by a large, irregular patch of wetness, and oh, there’s no way he’ll be able to wait until you arrive home to fuck you again.

No, he needs to fuck you now, a sudden burst of adrenaline buzzing through his veins, little sparks and minuscule explosions that have him up and moving in under a second, cock already beginning to fill with life again.

Sheer, potent power permeates the atmosphere around him, trembling off his body in sharp bolts; dense, heavy, cracking with electricity.

The way the crowd instantly parts for him is awe-inspiring, their gleaming eyes full of terror and worship, hastily tripping over their own toes and ankles to move from his path as he strides toward the washroom, desperate to not be stung by his brilliance, desperate to get as close to the currents as possible without being scathed.

You’re just exiting the restroom by the time he reaches you, breath punched from your lungs as he backs you into a tiled corner, trapped between the cold wall and his scorching form, his hands splayed wide on either side of your shoulders.

“We gotta go,” he’s nearly panting out as he shoves his forehead against yours, eyes closed and noses nudging, straining cock grinding unceremoniously into your hip. “We gotta go, now.”

And, well, Daddy always gets what Daddy wants.

#mikey sano x reader #mikey sano smut #mikey x reader #mikey smut #bonten mikey smut #bonten mikey x reader #bonten x reader #bonten mikey x you #sano manjiro x reader #sano manjiro smut #mikey x you #bonten smut #tokyo revengers smut #SORRY ITS SO LATE HAHA PLS ENJOYYY #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you

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justporo · 11 months

Text

Brewing Storms

A storm is brewing - oh yes, a literal one too. Tav's scared to be alone during a thunderstorm. Astarion is reluctant but stays to provide some comfort - and realises it might have been one of the better things to happen to him.

Author's Note: I started this a while ago and then stuff got in the way - like Gale for example (lol) - and now I'm happy to be back to write something soft for Astarion and Tav!

Pairing: Astarion/GN!Tav (You) Warnings: Talk of trauma, very light smut Wordcount: 2,4k

~~~

Astarion and you had fallen into a sort of weird routine with your little late night escapades. Since the party after you saved the Grove and the first night you’ve spent together you had come together time and time again.

First only every couple of days. Always meeting somewhere away from camp and then sneaking back sometime before the others woke up. Although you were surely fair they all knew already anyway. But now you were almost spending every night together. Fortunately for the two of you, being elven meant you were still getting enough rest despite the nightly adventures.

Astarion kept feeding you his cheesy lines – you ate them right up. No one had ever given you this kind of attention. And as much as you knew that it was an act: how could you resist? You had never experienced such flattery nor could anyone you’d shared intimacy with ever compare to Astarion. But that wasn’t even the main thing.

You’d had crushes before, you’d fallen in love before but you were pretty sure it had never been quite like this. Your whole chest sometimes ached when you looked at Astarion. Sometimes when you caught him in a rare moment when he let his perfected mask drop for a second you saw the bottomless sadness and worry in his eyes. And all you wished for was to erase whatever it was that caused that sadness – to keep him safe and always give him something to smile about.

You had quite positively fallen for the vampiric elf. What had been a crush at first had very quickly become an unyielding need in your heart: desperate to be near him, to hear his voice, talk to him, to laugh at his sassy comments, to lay in his arms and to hold him in turn. Out of everything you surely hadn’t wanted or planned to fall in love with everything else going on – but there you were.

You were a hopeless case – even though you were sure it would come back to bite you (and maybe even literally): be it that he lost interest in you way quicker than you would like or that he had ulterior motives and that you were merely a means to an end.

In fact, you were entirely sure that there was more to Astarion. You weren’t all fooled and blinded by your brewing emotions for the vampire. Maybe not really the first time, but as you got more used to sharing a bed with Astarion you were well aware that it seemed like he wasn’t fully there with you.

You could take only guesses at why that was exactly – and you didn’t like any of those.

At several occasions you had tried to bring it up. But he had swatted your concerns away every time, just making a sultry joke or drowning you with kisses until you had forgotten what you had wanted to say. In any case he always pushed you to get back into his arms.

Gladly, you would have offered him an open ear – your heart was already wide open.

But you were sure this wouldn’t last. You were in way over your head and you so desperately wanted to avoid breaking the spell.

And as much as you would have wished for him to open up more, to let you in a bit more and as much as you would have liked to confess the way you felt: you didn’t think you could do it without ruining whatever it was between the two of you.

At least, he seemed to be a bit more present when he was with you of late. The changes seemed subtle enough, but you were convinced that it slowly became different. Maybe it was just that the two of you had gotten used to this dance now, but you could swear his hands lingered longer now on your skin, that his kisses became deeper and more tender, that the way he looked at you became softer sometimes. And that those moments, when he seemed miles away, became fewer.

Tonight, when you had set up camp it had seemed like a storm was brewing.

You had already felt tense when you had noticed: growing up on the streets of Baldur’s Gate as a child with nowhere safe to go had traumatised you for life. Especially when it came to storms: too many nights you’d had to spend outside somewhere while the rain kept pouring down.

But worst had always been the thunder. Every single one like an explosion while a little child sat somewhere cowered trying to stay safe and crying from fear and loneliness. Even when you had gotten older and had always managed to secure a safe spot for sleeping and shelter the fear of thunderstorms had remained.

And thus far you’d gotten lucky that there had been no storms since this whole chaos had started. But the stroke of luck was over now it seemed.

When Astarion had thrown you certain looks after the party had gone to unwind each on their own after eating, you had very rambly and awkwardly suggested to maybe spend the night in your tent this night, because the others surely knew anyway and what if it started pouring and wasn’t it more comfortable anyway?

You just were desperate to not be somewhere outside when the thunderstorm was going to hit – and maybe even not alone.

And Astarion had looked at you suspiciously with a raised eyebrow, surely noticing that something was up. But in the end, he had simply shrugged and followed you to your tent.

So now you lay pressed against each other. Astarion on top of you, his body delightfully weighing you down, both of your shirts already off and his hands kept roaming your body as you gratefully gave in to his open-mouthed kisses. His hand had just dipped below the waistline of your trousers when you could hear the first far away rumbling.

Immediately you tensed a little but forced yourself to try and not be bothered by it. Astarion’s kisses wandered down your throat now.

A second already much louder rumble. You gasped.

And apparently Astarion had noticed that it wasn’t because of his touch – you could almost feel how he had furrowed his brows. But he kept silent and continued to kiss and caress you, leaning on one of his forearms.

When a third roar of thunder made you actually wince and recoil, he pushed up on his arm and looked at you. The other hand though stayed right where it was inside your pants.

“Afraid of a little thunder, love?”, he said and cocked an eyebrow. His tone wasn’t even overly sassy but you still couldn’t help but to feel hurt.

More thunder. This time so loud it felt like it was exactly above you. You recoiled again and felt how panic rose in you. You pushed the vampire - who actually looked hurt by that - off of you. His hand slipping from where it had caressed you.

“Maybe I am afraid of thunder. So?”, you spat back while you sat up and hugged your knees to your naked chest. As much as you wanted the comfort of his arms: panic and whatever feeling it had been that had overcome you when Astarion had looked hurt when you’d pushed him back got the better of you.

Shame mixed with the fear and you could feel your throat close up.

Astarion had knelt back on the balls of his feet watching you with a look in his eyes you couldn’t quite place. He definitely didn’t seem as cocky as a few moments ago though.

You looked away as another thing spiced up the mix of emotions running high: worry, that you had just broke something that couldn’t be repaired.

“I-“, Astarion started and then stopped helplessly.

The vampire was actually worried about you in this moment. Astarion was surprised by the sudden outburst of emotion and he was certainly hurt that you pushed him away. But more than anything: he didn’t know what to do now. Quite obviously you were not in the mood anymore for getting down and dirty.

It occurred to him that he did not want you to be afraid and upset. But then again, he had no idea how to make it so. And on top of that: he was pretty sure you weren’t interested in anything of the sort. Sure, you were absolutely the one person he talked the most to in the party. And yes, you were always making sure he’d gotten enough blood – but that was probably because you had need of him being his fittest for fighting. Also, you did actually seem to care about what had happened to him, wanting to learn more about him – but…

The vampire was confused and helpless. So he opted for the one option he deemed reasonable: leave.

He grabbed his shirt and started pulling it over his head while saying: “Alright, since it seems there won’t be any naughty indulgence tonight, I guess I better get back to my tent and you can try and-“

He was interrupted by you grabbing his wrist firmly.

“Please”, you pleaded, “don’t leave me alone.”

You were desperate: you didn’t want him to leave, you didn’t want to have ruined the delicate thing that had been forming between you.

Astarion let his shirt drop again and looked at you. Your eyes were filled with tears and full of fear. His confusion became even more: “Darling, I’m not… Maybe you should ask the druid to… help you. Maybe he has something herbal to-“ You basically yanked on the vampire’s arm.

“No please, Astarion, I just… want you to stay here with me. Just… hold me? Please?”, you pleaded with him as tears started to stream down your face.

You really didn’t want to be alone for one but also you were desperate to feel his arms around you again – to be sure he would still want to hold you, as much as wanting his comfort.

Astarion’s brows furrowed again but he dropped his shirt again and crawled over to you as you shyly opened up your arms to him to be cradled by the vampire. He slid his arms around you and softly moved you until you were laying there: him on his back with you carefully snuggled up against his chest – skin on skin.

The relief you felt was almost instant. Not only because he had agreed to stay but also feeling his body against yours immediately made some of the tension inside you ease.

Astarion reluctantly started to stroke your back as you buried your face against his chest. It all felt more than just a little awkward and you felt a blush creep onto your cheeks, but you just wrapped your arms around the vampire and tried to calm yourself.

Still tears kept coming and thunder was rolling in quicker now. Then the rain started as well and became a constant drumroll on your tent. The loud rumbles kept going and made you wince from time to time, but it was now considerably better than before.

Astarion grew more confident with just stroking your back. He even carefully placed a kiss on the top of your head at one point, in your all messed up hair. You both eased into this rather unfamiliar form of closeness.

After being stressed about the coming storm all evening, you felt that your body couldn’t retain the tension anymore. You weren’t entirely sure what all this meant for Astarion and you, but you forced yourself to just stay in this moment. Because this already was something you wouldn’t have thought to ever be possible. It was tender and sweet. Something you would have never imagined when this vampire had, upon first meeting him, thrown you on the ground and threatened you with a knife.

You were so desperate to hold onto this. So, you wrapped your arms around him a little tighter and cautiously tangled your legs with his. He let it happen.

And Astarion – Astarion’s mind was racing, utterly confused by the turn the night had taken. It definitely wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy this outcome – to his own surprise. Quite the opposite actually.

When the thunder subsided and the rain tap-tap-tapping on the tent ceiling was what remained of the storm and he felt you quite noticeably relax into his arms even more – his chest started to ache.

He was overthrown by his own sentiment and the trust you put into him; surprised, scared even.

In his thoughts Astarion kept turning around the fact how you had specifically asked him to stay with you although you had so visibly been upset. More upset even than he had ever seen you in any battle. And that you had wanted nothing but to be held in his arms. And he – to his own surprise – had been happy to be there for you, proud even, realising that he really wanted you to be alright.

You hadn’t even talked since he had taken you in his arms. Just felt the connection, your skin warm on his. His hands hesitatingly caressing and trying to comfort you while your tears subsided and your breathing became more even.

And even though it had been you who had pleaded for comfort – Astarion could feel it too. Felt, how the warmth of your body soaked into his undead body and your breath brushed over his naked upper body – now in a steady and calm rhythm again. You were so close, he could even feel the beat of your steadying heartbeat through your conjoined chests.

And when Astarion was sure that you must’ve drifted off into your dreams – because he had held you – he kept staring up at the ceiling of the tent.

The rain had become almost non-existent after what must’ve been hours now.

The vampire’s chest still ached with something he wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge yet. But he could feel that it had become something way too big to ignore. Something that would soon be unleashed – for better or for worse. And he was frightened about that.

But not in this moment. This moment he would hold onto. So he wrapped his arms around you a little tighter still, closed his eyes and full on buried his face in your hair while he was so fully aware of the feeling of your body against his.

Then he whispered so silently, even the last of the raindrops would have drowned out the words. So silently, because he was still so unsure, so scared and the words were only meant for him – and maybe sometime for you: “My love, what ever have you done to me?”

#astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #astarion x reader #astarion x mc #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x oc #astarion x you #fanfic #fanfiction #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers #tav #one shot #drabble #bg3

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stabortega · 11 months

Text

NO SURPRISES — CHAPTER ONE

Summary: Jenna never thought that she would be paying the bills of the videographer from her next movie.

Pairings: Jenna Ortega x Fem!G!P!Reader.

Warnings: NSFW, smut. Implied fem reader, she/her pronouns used. G!P reader. Mentions of: Sex, dirty talking, sexting. Top!Reader x Bottom!Jenna. MDNI.

Author's note: Meh. Don't know how I feel about this one yet, sorry for any typos. 💔

MASTERLIST.

Jenna considered herself a very busy woman. Having to shoot movies every couple of months, press circles, parties to attend, and taking care of her own mental health could be challenging sometimes. She didn't have a single second for herself for a very long time. God, she couldn't even remember when was the last time she even went out for a drink, watched a movie outside of her own home, or even kissed a stranger at some stupid nightclub. She was too busy to live, and that made her rethink about all of the stuff she's been building for herself. It made her sad, even.

Until Jasmin came along with some ideas, obviously.

"It's just a stupid website, Jen. You don't even need to leave your house or your bedroom. Masturbating in the comfort of your own home." Jasmin rambled while searching for the website name in her phone, Jenna looking at her with an apprehensive (and embarrassed) look on her face. I mean, the best place to have this conversation is definitely not in the middle of one of the Scream VII sets, which they just started filming. "Don't be such a prude, girl. Live a little."

"I'm not, it's just-" She took a deep breath. "I've been out of the market for a while now, I don't even know what to say, or do." She sighed, making Jasmine roll her eyes jokingly.

"Girl, that's bullshit. And plus, you don't even need to say anything. You choose a model, girl or guy, watch their livestream, and pay them to do anything you ask. It's wild." It was obvious that Jasmine was a loyal customer on that website.

"Anything?" Jenna regreted asking that the minute it came out of her mouth.

"Sis, last sunday, I was talking with this chick..." And then Jasmine went on rambling about how she made the poor girl squirt on her own laptop camera for mere $500 bucks.

Jenna looked aghast.

And yet she was interested enough to browse on that website at 11PM while everyone in that hotel floor was asleep. Obviously, she clicked almost immediately in her area of interest. It was minimalist, yet full of information at the same time. You could choose between all sorts of categories; MILFs, findoms, intersex, you name it. She browsed a little on each category, not finding anyone that really sparked her interest, untill she came across one certain page under the intersex category. @(Y/N)xz. A boring username, to say the very least. But when she clicked on your profile, you were just in the middle of your livestream. Without hesitation, she clicked right on top of it, and she could swear she almost felt the tip of your cock poke her face.

You were standing on top of your bed, on your knees while you stroked your cock very slowly. The camera position made it impossible for someone to see your head, which made Jenna curious on how you looked like. Then, a raspy moan drove Jenna out of her thoughts, looking at the screen one more time. You were massaging your breasts with one of your hands, while the other stroked your cock in the most erotic way Jenna has seen. She felt something the moment you started thrusting your dick on you hand, making the latina girl wish that you were pounding her instead.

She watched you for a couple of minutes, trying her best not to touch herself, let alone interact with you. She would not succumb into feeding that industry that sexualizes men and women, objectifying their bodies as if they were nothing but a piece of meat.

jenna2709: you look so hot fucking your hand like that.

jenna2709: wish you were fucking me instead.

You weren't the type of person to really respond the chat if they weren't paying or if they weren't loyal customers, but somehow, you felt like answering that one. You held down the base of your cock and slapped it on the palm of your hand a couple of times. "Wish I was fucking you too, Jen."

Oh, that drove Jenna to the edge. She immediately got up and closed the door, locking it behind her. She sat down on her bed, not taking her eyes off of you for a second. She knew her panties were already wet, but only when she touched her clit while laying on her bed, she realized that she would need to change her underwear as soon as possible. It amazed the actress that you made her pussy dripping wet and she didn't even knew your name. Her hand started to make slow and circular movements on her throbbing clit, and the fact that she felt so dirty and wrong for doing that made everything better.

She looked at the chat, seeing that some girl (with the most obnoxious username ever) sended you $100 asking you to moan her name. Which you proudly did, the sound of you saying that chick's name almost made Jenna close the laptop and go to sleep. Instead, she clicked on some keys on her keyboard and waited for the magic happen.

Wow! "jenna2709" donated $500 with the message: now, you moan my name.

You looked surprised, but thankfully the camera positioning made impossible to look at your face. That was probably the highest tip you've ever recieved live. "$500 bucks to only moan your name? Come on, baby... You can do better than that, huh?"

She was right, Jenna thought. I can do better that only asking for her to moan my name as if I were a hormone-filled teenager.

jenna2709: fine.

jenna2709: tell me what would you do if i were in front of you.

"Oh, you know what I'd do, baby." You laughed a little, holding down to the base of your cock and letting it hit your belly a couple of times. "Have you on all fours, holding your hair in a ponytail and railing you raw, until you couldn't function anymore. Until you forget your name. Just like this."

You started to thrust on your hand again, making it sure that your viewers (and her) could see your cock going in and out of your hand. Jenna felt overwhelmed, but in the best way possible. Right now she had completely lost all of her ideals. Fuck the rules, fuck the noises, fuck that stupid industry. She just wanted to feel you inside of her, filling her up with your cock and your cum. The actress never felt this dirty before, and she was loving every second of it. "You wished I was doing that to you, huh?"

jenna2709: you know i do.

Jenna couldn't stop looking at you and thinking about your face. The camera position made it impossible for someone to see your head, but there were a few things Jenna learned about your identity just by analyzing you & your room. It didn't seemed it were your own room, it felt more like a hotel room or something. Smart, she thought. Not a single hair strand falling from your head, which could mean you had short hair. A few random tattoos here and there, nothing specific. You had only the left nipple pierced, for some unknown reason. And a scar right on the palm of your right hand. She knew she would never find you with that little information, but it comforted her that you were out there, somewhere.

"Fuck, I'm almost there..." Again, your voice distracted Jenna from her thoughts, and this time, she was able to think more quickly.

Wow! "jenna2709" donated $1000 with the message: cum for me, will you?

"Shit, Jenna, you know it's all for you..." You started to thrust even more violently, every now and then slapping your own cock. Jenna felt close too, at that point her panties were pretty much ruined and her hand felt sore, but she wouldn't stop until she came with you.

And then you finally did. Thick ropes of cum fell right onto your white duvet, while you thrusted your member a little bit more to ride your climax out. Jenna's mouth watered, she couldn't stop imagining that thick cum inside of her, filling her up. And the thought of that made her cum as well, trying to be as silent as possible so no one could hear her moaning your name secretly. Little did she know that you were thinking about her too.

Jenna felt embarrassed after she was done, so she pretty much slammed her laptop shut, and got up to take a shower. She prefered to erase that moment out of her head, and erase you (and your delicious body) too. She was trying to figure out what excuses she would give to her accountant once he saw her bank statement for this month, when she fell asleep.

When she woke up, the next morning, she went on her day normally. Went through her routine and left her room, going to the set trying her best not to think about you and the way you moaned.

"Jenna!" The actress heard her name getting called the minute she stepped foot on that set. It was one of the videographers, Dave, who Jenna had been working since Scream V. "Let me introduce you my newest assistant. She's gonna work with you guys very closely this movie, so I thought I should introduce you two." Dave said, his accent making it clear that he was from NYC. "Ay, (Y/N)! Come here for a sec!"

(Y/N)? What a coincidence, Jenna thought, as she looked over Dave's shoulder and saw a girl walking towards them. Needless to say, she was gorgeous.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Jenna." The girl smiled, and Jenna swore she had the most beautiful smile she has ever seen. Then, she stretched out her right hand so Jenna could shake it. The actress almost had a heart attack when she looked at that familiar scar which she had seen the day before through her computer screen.

#scream #jenna ortega smut #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #wednesday #the fallout #you

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xdacted · 4 months

Text

twenty seconds or twenty years?

Pairing: Reader x Max Verstappen

Warnings: fluff, Regency! Au, period-typical sexism

Word Count: 4,359

Status: Completed

Max was never one for balls or parties.

The entirety of the social season felt bothersome, a chore. His mother, however, found his resistance to society a mere ‘bout’, a passing stinge, thinking he simply had yet to stumble across the right debutante. As such, she insisted upon his attendance at any and all gatherings, responding to invitations on his behalf.

He was expected at nearly every event until June.

Max was previously able to busy himself with the workings of business affairs, often called to distant corners of the nation just as the season neared, but his mother had enough of his excuses. When she stomped into his office, an invitation in hand, slamming it upon his desk, he was unable to escape.

“You will attend,” She seethed, “If you are to take the title from your father, you must find a wife.”

Attend he did, rocking along in a carriage to the first ball of the season. A rather large event, or so Victoria had said, hosted by the Russel family.

The estate grew closer, emerging from the darkness with twinkling lights. The strong structure sat surrounded by lush grass and proud trees, gently swaying in the evening wind. Max fought the growing knot of dread that formed in the pit of his stomach, twisting uncomfortably in his seat. He wished for nothing more than to pass the evening as a mere shadow, lost to the crowd, unnoticed.

The carriage slowed to a stop and Max was slow to descend, gingerly stepping down and straightening his tailcoat. He dismissed his driver with a nod, suppressing the urge to clammer back within the confines of the carriage. He was met with the grandeur of the Russel estate, staggering pillars wrapped in foliage, imposing walls that dripped into magnificent window frames, and adorned with intricate moldings.

It was a sight to beyond, but Max could hardly stand it.

The sounds of others pulling onto the gravel behind him prompted him to slip through a lingering horde of guests and the entrance. The large doors opened to a spacious foyer, marble floors drenched in the warm chandelier light.

Max expected nothing less from the Russels, an honorable family attached to an impeachable name and title. He attended school with the youngest son, George, and hoped to find him before he was lost to the throng of other partygoers. Finding his fellow bachelors was the only source of solace Max found at such events. Many were his past schoolmates or current business partners, but more so, they were his friends.

If he were to suffer, he saw no reason why he needed to do so alone.

As if hearing his plea, a tall figure entered his field of vision.

“Verstappen!” A voice behind him exclaimed, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

He turned, the tension easing in his shoulders, “Russel.”

George stared at him, an indiscernible look on his face, “I must admit, I was quite surprised to hear that you would be attending tonight. I thought you, of us all, a perpetual bachelor.”

The comment was made in jest, but Max could not deny the truth of his words. Though he did not hold as infamous a reputation as some, Max was regarded as Unmatchable, unrelenting in his desire to never marry or sire children.

As far as he was concerned, his father’s wicked bloodline would die with him.

Max could only shrug, scooping a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, “ I assure you, old friend, it was far from my idea.”

It was my mother's, the thought went unsaid, but Max was sure George knew well enough. His mother worried for him. She only wished to see him happy, Max wished she would drop the marriage matter entirely.

“I see,” George muttered, running a hand across his chin, a moment of silence passed between them.

Then, as chipper as ever, he exclaimed, “Well, here is to the rotten luck of some.”

With a snort, Max raised his glass before bringing it to his lips. Their banter was a long-established one, forged within the walls of preparatory academy and later enforced at university.

Max opened his mouth to inquire about their fellow bachelors, but was interrupted by two ladies making their way to him, fans held up to their faces. He was locked into a conversation before he could plan his escape. Though Max was grateful for George’s company, the sight of two of the ton’s most eligible bachelors detached from a group of their own welcomed the yapping hordes of women and mothers. They were soon drowning in a sea of fabrics and sparkling jewels, unable to do more than listen as accomplishments were rattled off and dance cards were shoved in their faces.

Max wished they would attach themselves to truly interested bachelors, of which there were plenty, but he suspected it was not so much them as it was their lineage. The other had always been incredibly popular, but Max, well, he knew of the rumors.

Max Verstappen, heir to the Duke of Hasselt, is a great beast - a monster, like his father. Though his stormy demeanor deterred many, the alluring promise of a dukedom attracted far more than his attitude could ward off.

Just as the voices began to melt into one, George nudged Max with his shoulder, “Thank you, ladies, but we must take our leave. We are required elsewhere.”

Their protests were almost immediate, pushing themselves closer to the bachelors, fluttering eyes and pouted lips directed towards them.

Truly, Max would have more sympathy if he would be given more space.

“Thank you,” He said, voice coming out far firmer than he meant, “But we should be going now.”

They were quick to silence, shuffling apart to clear a small opening, and Max was quicker to take it. He could hardly breathe amongst the clouds of perfume, nose burning with the assaulting scents, and was grateful for their escape.

“You looked as if you might die,” George muttered, guiding them to a small clearing by the dancefloor, “Were they truly so appalling?”

Max opened his mouth to answer, but no words found themselves tumbling out. It was not as if he were repulsed by the idea of a woman, or even of marriage, but the unhappiness he witnessed with his parents’ marriage was something he was unable to shake. His mother had been miserable, chained to a Verstappen man with no option but to provide him with the children he demanded.

Max could never, in good consciousness, reward that with the succession of the Verstappen line.

They arrived at the clearing before he could gather his thoughts. There, nursing glasses and wearing knowing smiles, stood Viscount Riccardo, son of Viscount Norris, and the Earl of Monte-Carlo.

A few of his oldest friends.

“Gentlemen!”

The men tipped their heads in respect but maintained their smirks.

“Never thought I would live to see the day,” Daniel began, “Max Verstappen at a party.”

“I rather think it was not his idea, was it?” Charles laughed, looking over at Lando who watched on with an ill-concealed smile.

“No,” Max sighed with a roll of his eyes, “It was not.”

Laughter erupted from the bachelors, George clapping another hand down upon Max’s shoulder. Their voices were hidden from passersby by the constant flow of music.

“Regardless,” Lando said, wiping a tear from his eye, “Perhaps a wife could be best.”

“How so?”

“Well,” He gestured to the room, clusters of women craning their necks to gaze at them, “If you were married, there would be no reason to attend these parties. You would have your solitude.”

“It is not solitude I desire,” Max muttered, running a hand through his hair.

He could hardly imagine a worse fate, but it was one he was willing to fall into.

“Then what do you desire, dear friend?” Daniel quipped, casting him a sideways glance.

Max could give no response, the words a thick ball in his throat, he could only push his nose into his glass. The topic was quickly dropped and conversation floated between them easily, even as they were picked off to catch a dance or two. Still, they were left to relative peace. Approaching a pair or lone bachelor was simple, it was encouraged. But, to find yourself in front of a group, was seen as distasteful, and desperate.

Regardless, the room only continued to fill, guests spilling into other parts of the estate, but with it, so did the knot in Max’s stomach. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, fingers nervously tapping upon a nearby table.

Parties presented the unknown, and Max had tried desperately to stay far from it - the thought frightened him more than he would ever admit aloud. Within the unknown, was love.

Love felt completely foreign, a thing of fiction or myth, a sentiment that filled the pages of novels and fairy tales. Max was told that his mother and father did love each other, once. To present, however, that affection had long been lost.

Max had more than one idea as to why.

His father was a petulant man, looking to command others through fear, not respect. He was well regarded in the eyes of His Majesty, but ill in the eyes of the Ton. He was cold and selfish and, despite his prayers, Max’s father. Though Max had made every attempt to differ himself, it seemed that he was his father’s son.

And he always would be.

“-stappen…Verstappen…Max!”

The sound of his name yanked him from his thoughts.

“...yes?”

Charles looked over at him, eyebrows furrowed with worry, “Is something the matter? I called your name, but…”

Max shook his head, waving a dismissive hand, “I am quite alright, I apologize. I was merely lost in the lights.”

Still, the look remained.

“Honestly, Charles,” He placed a hand on the other’s shoulder, “I am fine.”

Max turned away from him before he could utter anything else, bringing his hand back to his side. His eyes swept over the dance floor, hoping to calm his nerves in the senselessness of the evening. Both Lando and Daniel had taken to the floor, pulling themselves towards their partners. They stepped to the music, the quartet hidden away in the balcony. A few paces over, was George. Accompanying his mother on a round of the room, and receiving praise for a successful opening to the season no doubt.

The room was lively, couples turning in time and chatting coyly. Though it was not his preferred evening, he could see the appeal of such parties.

He felt rather foolish.

His eyes moved over the entrance, the trickle of people slowing, most finding themselves huddled around the dancefloor. Then, just as he was about to pull his gaze from the doors, something - or rather someone - caught his eye.

A woman, drenched in the candlelight, moving through the crowd of people. Her entrance was met with no fanfare or buzz, but he was entranced. If no one had taken notice of her yet, how foolish they must be.

She was the most gorgeous creature to exist.

A gentle smile on perfect lips, a tendril of hair curling over her forehead, the softest hint of rouge dusted across her cheeks - Max was caught. He was caught within the lace of her dress, within the glimmer of her jewelry, within the silk of her gloves. He was caught and never wished to be released from her grasp.

She was beautiful, extraordinarily so - blindingly so.

She was unlike any other woman he had ever seen, working her way through greetings, and rounding the room with her chaperone.

“Do you -” He forced himself to swallow, throat suddenly tight, “Do you know who that is?”

Charles nodded, relaying to Max her name and family, “I believe this is her first season. She was, according to my mother, a great success at the presentation to the queen.”

Max could see exactly why, a hand curled around the arm of her chaperone, dance card dangling from her wrist - each step was taken with purpose, with conviction. She was no simpering debutante, she was a lady commanding the attention of the room. Her strength was in her grace.

He watched as George and his mother approached her, she dropped into a low curtsy, rising again with her gentle smile. They were too far to make out the words they spoke, but Max yearned to know. He yearned to hear her voice, to be near her, to breathe her air.

“Has she caught your eye, old friend?”

For the first time, Max broke his start, turning to glare at Charles.

“Do not bother denying it,” He laughed, patting Max’s arm, “Ask her to dance.”

Perhaps, he dared, just for tonight.

He glanced back over to her, her eyes moving across the room before finding him. He was sure he forgot to breathe, her gaze piercing through him.

The thought crossed his mind. He could take her to dance, it would hardly mean a thing, but he was unsure if he would survive it. If he could withstand the heat of her gaze, the feeling of her hands within his own.

Max never thought himself a weak man.

He pulled himself away, “No,” he cleared his throat, adjusting his collar, “I - I - it would be best if I refrain.”

Perhaps, he was.

He hadn’t the slightest clue what was wrong with him, but he could not possibly give himself the chance to find out, most definitely not with her. Granted, he hadn’t attended as many parties as Charles or Daniel, but he was no neophyte. Such a reaction was ridiculous, he had only learned her name, and he could not dismantle his entire life’s purpose for a woman he had only just met.

Could he?

A look of curiosity crawled across Charles’ face once more, and this time Max feared he would be forced to hear the question that awaited him, but, as if by magic, George reappeared before them.

“Whatever is the matter with him?” He teased, sipping from his champagne glass.

“I think our dear friend is -”

“I am not.”

“Oh,” George smiled, an evil thing, “I think you are.”

Max felt his face flush, a dreadful heat racing down his spine. He reached over, snatching a lute of champagne from a passing tray, his mouth felt incredibly dry.

“I suggest you make haste, friend,” George muttered, turning to take in the dancefloor. It was filled with bodies, but Max was only concerned with one.

She stood alongside other ladies, chatting idly before a gentleman approached. Max recognized him as a second son with little to offer, the gentleman bowed deeply offering his hand to her. She seemed to draw the same conclusion, the smallest lapse of hesitation passing over her before placing her hand in his. He turned them onto the dancefloor.

Max was unable to answer, attention locked onto her as she danced, the music beginning behind him. Her movement was graceful and perfect, lines straight and steady.

“You may have found your bride yet,” Charles sighed, resting his hands upon his hips, “But you will lose her if you do not take action.”

“She is not mine to have,” Max said, placing his glass down harsher than necessary, “Perhaps it is time I take my leave.”

“I did not mean -”

“No,” George stepped forward, “You never come out to these parties, stay.”

“I really should -”

“Stay.”

He looked towards his friend, unsure of what to say. He hadn’t ever revealed his reasoning behind his continued bachelorhood, but he knew his friends recognized it as something far deeper. It was simply not in their nature to divulge such feelings.

Wordlessly, he plucked another glass from a tray and downed its contents. Quite boorish, but the slight burn helped soothe the pounding of his heart. It was far from his favorite alcohol, but it was all accepted for such parties. The stronger brandy was hidden away in the smoking lounges, and Max hardly entered those.

“Excellent!” George cheered.

Eventually, Lando and Daniel returned, with George departing to greet more guests.

Despite not being the heir, George made himself ever-useful. He was often a source of great knowledge or companionship - a dutiful host too.

“I cannot believe it…” Lando mumbled, fixing a crease in his coat, with a scowl.

“What?”

“Lord Ambrose,” He nearly sneered, “He insists on filling up dance cards before other gentlemen can, believing it to be a ‘claim’ upon the ladies.”

Charles shuddered, “He is a brute.”

“He is a cheat,” Lando pressed, “There are open bookings at the club with no sight of a check.”

“He is an Earl,” Daniel reminded, placing his glass between Charles and Max, “To be his wife is to have security.”

“But what of love?” Charles questioned indignantly, “What of proper courtship? Of a love match?”

“What of it?” Max’s words left him before he was able to keep them back.

“Well,” Charles turned to the dance floor, gesturing with his glass to her, “Would you court her? Or would you wish that she marry a man like Ambrose for security?” He nearly spat the word.

“It is much more complex than that,” Max said, finding her once more in the crowd.

She returned his gaze in an instant as if she could sense him, offering him a small smile. His heart began to pound once more.

“Women are forced to rely on the security of a name,” He tried to busy himself with his words, “A name that can only come from marriage, a name only a man can provide. They are not left with much choice.”

Charles seemed to think. He would never truly understand, as he had no sisters, but Max did. He remembers Victoria’s first season with burning clarity, how terribly nervous she had been. Her entire life and personality were boiled down to a singular match. And once she did marry, she was removed from their family, excised, and replanted.

Max hated it.

“Yes,” Charles whispered, his voice nearly lost to the swell of the music, “I - I suppose you are right…”

A bubble of pleasant silence grew over them, shrouded by the music as it drew to a close. Max watched as the gentleman returned her to the other ladies, offering another deep bow before stepping away. The ladies curled around her in an instant, their eyes alight with wonder. There was a soft flush to her cheeks, but she still looked breathtaking, fanning herself gently with a hand.

Something grew within his stomach, only it was not dread, it was something light.

“Oh, bother,” Lando hissed, eyes squirting just beyond the group of ladies.

“What is it?”

“There he is,” He jerked his head, something quite unlike him, “And dare I say he is -”

He was approaching her, coming upon the smallest break within the ladies’ bodies and greeting them with a hungry smile. Max’s legs were moving before he could will himself to stay put. Lord Ambrose was looking around the ladies, leaning far closer to them than necessary.

Max was cutting through the crowd, sidestepping other partygoers and ignoring the calls of his name. Anger flared within him, perhaps it was more disgust, at Amrbose’s blatant disregard for their honor.

Of all the bachelors, he had the most notorious of reputations. Countless mistresses and bastards littered his name, but the depth of his pockets made it a mere speck upon his title. She was well within her rights to select any man she pleased, and Max could never tell her any different, but he would not allow her honor to tarnish - any other gentlemen, just not him.

“I hope I am not interrupting,” Max interjected, inserting himself between her and Lord Ambrose, “But I was wished to ask if,” He turned to face her, heart pounding, “I may have your next dance?”

“You are interrupting, Verstappen, as I was about -”

Her eyes went aglow with something akin to relief and she placed her hand in his, tightening around him, “Of course, I would be honored.”

The murmurs from the surrounding ladies were immediate, covering their mouths with dazzling fans, but there was nothing to hide their amazement. The beast out to dance, how unlikely. He held his arm out for her, rounding the expanse of the dance floor as they awaited the music.

“I must apologize if - if I overstepped,” He sighed as they settled away from earshot, “I did not mean to make it seem as if you needed my saving.”

“Your apology is accepted,” She smiled up at him, placing a gloved hand upon his shoulder, and the other resting gently within his grasp, “But, regardless of how unnecessary it may have been, I am quite grateful.”

“Though I must admit, Mr. Verstappen,” The music queued up behind them, a gentle melody of strings, “I was under the impression you had no interest in dancing.”

Her words were a double-edged sword and Max could not deny.

“I, typically, do not,” He swallowed thickly, unable to withhold the truth with her before him, “But for you, I suspect there are many exceptions to be had yet.”

Her blush burned through her cheeks and to the tips of her ears, Max suppressed a chuckle. She was quick to recover, moving away from him with the first steps of the dance. It was a simple one, filled with a series of spins and skips. Despite his reluctance, he was still a member of high society. His education had included such social niceties, though he never thought he would put them to use.

“You are a far better dancer than the rumors allow you credit for.”

“Are you one to listen to rumors?”

“Only when they make such a man to be a beast,” She looked at him through her eyelashes, though it was not coy. There was nothing demure about her gaze, it was striking.

It was as if she wished to see into the very depths of his soul, to know all of his secrets and deepest desires.

And Max, the great fool he is, would gladly allow her.

He spun her in time with the music, guiding her by the waist, before pulling her near him once more. This close, he was able to see her more clearly. The shape of her eyes, the slope of her nose, the roundness of her face - her beauty knew no bounds. The very dress she wore, a mere cloth of elaborate stitching, seemed to be one with her body, made for her.

He supposes it was, but so many debutants attempted to hide their nervousness behind frilly clothing and blinding jewels. She, however, seemed to command the very fabric on her skin.

“Is there something the matter, My lord?”

Her voice shook him from his thoughts, but there was a knowing look in her eye.

“No, no, I apologize,” He stepped behind her, reaching for her hand, “And I am not Lord, not - not yet.”

“Many men would jump at the chance to claim a title that is not theirs,” She huffed, unable to hide the roll of her eyes.

“Well,” Max found both her hands, lifting them above their heads before tracing a hand down her spine to the small of her back, “I am not most men.”

She sucked in a sharp breath at his touch, and when he went to remove his hand, she leaned into it, “No, I suppose you are not.”

The air between them was electric, thick with unspoken desire. There was much to say, much to do, but Max only planned to keep her from Ambrose, not the entirety of the marriage mart.

He straightened once more, clearing his throat, “My - my mother was incredibly involved in our upbringing. I learned a myriad of things my fellow bachelors did not.”

She seemed to think for a moment, cocking her head to the side, “Like…sewing?”

“...Yes,” He sighed, spinning them around, “But she said it was more with my unruly desire to be the best at…well, everything.”

His words pulled a laugh from her lips. It was not gentle nor polite, her laughter was bright and loud, pulling the attention of a few other dancers, but Max could not bring himself to care. He adored it.

He adored her.

“I am quite the same,” She mused, “I cannot stand to lose.”

Max smiled before he could stop himself, “Neither can I.”

He walked himself around her, holding his right hand to her waist and the other to her opposite hand. They locked eyes, Max’s blood rushing to his ears. The shy smile she offered him from across the room melted into a genuine smile, larger than the former.

Far more beautiful.

The music ended with a soft chord, the floor breaking apart to clap. Max slowly moved from her, unable to fight the need any longer, his eyes still trained on hers. They clapped, but the moment the applause died down, he took her hand in his. The walk back to the group was nearly a crawl.

He did not wish to leave her side.

They arrived sooner than he wished, but the words came just as quickly.

“May -” He nearly forgot himself, “May I call upon you? Perhaps…tomorrow?”

“Yes,” She breathed, still holding onto his hand, “I would like that very much.”

He looked down at their hands and waited for her to pull back from him. She did with a blush moving across her cheeks, and Max was unable to do anything but return it.

He felt like a boy, with his heart thundering within his chest, but - they locked eyes once more, the infinite land of understanding between them, surrounding them - nothing could ever feel more right.

_____________________

A/N:This work has been cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. All are under the name XDACTED. Thank you for reading and feel free to request fics about any of the drivers <3

also, yes, there are geographical inaccuracies, but let's all just have fun and ignore them kay??? and if you guys like this and want me to continue this with the rest of the drivers, let me know

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