#i'm commandeering this bus

[sensitive-shark]

heyyy it's cody

[sachermorte]

one of the things that irritates me the most is when a bus or a tram randomly just. decides not to carry out its full route. without any announcement or warning except for the display changing at some point when I'm not looking. oh cool so the 13A is stopping at Theater in der Josefstadt, huh. just randomly? because you feel like it? that's fine. it's not like I needed to go to skodagasse. it's not like I have places to be.

[pinktinselmonstrosity]

pov ur the cereal bar i packed to eat after the function

[novemberheart]

{overview} It’s time for you to meet your new pack. John and Kyle have an unexpected reaction to your arrival. Your place in the pack may not be as permanent as you think……

{warnings} John is a bit of an a-hole, cursing, female reader, that's about it

Chapter 2 <- Chapter 3 -> Chapter 4

“How do you think Simon’ll feel about this?” Johnny piqued up.

John looked up from his paperwork over to where Johnny was sprawled out on the couch in his office. The Scot had just finished a new charcoal masterpiece that would be hung in their living area.

“To be quite honest I'm not sure how I feel about it.” John sighed, standing up and stretching. His shoulders cracked quietly from being hunched over the oak desk.

“It's a big decision- one that he wasn't a part of.” Johnny reasoned. John nodded his head in agreement. “That’ll make him sour.”

“It might.” John agreed again. “Worst case scenario we could always send her back.”

Johnny was taken aback for a moment. Surprised that John would even suggest such a thing. Then he realized it wasn't John he was talking to, it was his Captain. The man who would do anything for the sake of his team- even at the expense of others. Not that he hadn’t been guilty of that either.

“Guess that's true,” Johnny said quietly.

“Let's go make sure the mother hen has eaten.” John sighed, a soft smile on his face. Johnny followed suit, the image of Kyles's face scrunching at the nickname crossing his mind.

You had never been this nervous in your life. Your knees twitching with an overload of adrenaline.

“Your scent will throw them off.” Kate nearly gagged from next to you.

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” You shot back. Your hands knotted in your white sweater. “I think I’m going to be sick.” You whined, causing the driver to turn around slightly.

“There’s bags under your seat.” He practically shouted.

“Good to know, thanks.” You began to reach down before Kate stopped you.

“Will you please pull yourself together? You have had a waiting list of Alphas and packs who have wanted you since I’ve known you.” Kate reminded, her hands gripping yours tightly.

“That’s sweet Kate bu”-

“Shush. If this doesn't work out, which it will work out- you give me one phone call and I'll have you out of there before those hardheads figure out what they've lost. Deal.” It was the assurance you needed. You weren't going to be stranded here. You should know better by now that Kate has always had your best interest at heart.

“Thank you.” You breathed. She nodded her head, her senses finally getting a break from eye-watering sour. “There really a waiting list?” You questioned curiously. She glared at you out of the side of her vision but begrudgingly nodded her head.

“Bout five minutes till we get there.” The driver warned. You stopped yourself from stumbling back into a panic episode. Kate was right, if they caught one whiff of you right now, they'd send you back. “Would you be offended if I rolled down a window?” the driver nearly begged.

“No.” You mumbled.

About three of the five minutes away it started to pour.

“That's fitting.” Kate sighed. “Grab your raincoat,” she commanded. You rolled your eyes, already pulling the yellow coat out of your bag.

“Yes, Ma’am.” You snarked, almost waiting for her to jab you with her elbow.

The car finally stopped. Kate's phone ‘tinged’ at that very moment.

“They’re waiting for us inside. Ready?” She asked, her eyes a bit scared like she was worried you were going to back out.

You took a deep breath.

“Ready.”

You and Kate quickly made your way inside a large gray building, your oversized hood proving its worth.

“John, Kyle.” Kate greeted, as both of you wiped your feet on the mat. You took one last look outside, peeling off your hood just in time for the door to shut. The action caused a gust of your scent to hit John and Kyle in the face.

A pleased growl echoed in the Alpha's chest. He raised his hand to his mouth, pressing his thumb and pointer finger against his nose, shocked at his reaction. The Beta on the other hand chose to press his shoulder against the wall to keep himself steady. Your scent reached a part of his brain he didn't even know was there.

“I apologize.” The alpha was the first to speak after he had lowered his hand. The purr in his chest began again, but he quickly cleared his throat, halting it. He flushed slightly, embarrassed by his lack of control. His mind was buzzing, the nearly uncontrollable desire to grab you and roll around in your scent was taking all of his restraint. He clenched his jaw, his canines beginning to ache.

“It's alright,” you assured quietly. Truth be told you hadn't heard a sound like that before. All the alphas you knew had been female. It made your insides weak, especially coming from a possible mate. Both men grew quiet, their eyes scanning you up and down as if you were a foreign creature. You suppose to them- you were.

“John.” You looked at the broad alpha. “And Kyle right?” You asked, turning toward the almost equally broad beta.

“God, where are my manners?” John sighed quietly to himself. “It's nice to meet you. I'm John and that's Kyle. Johnny is still in the medical ward, with Simon.”

“Kate told me about that. Was sorry to hear.” You offered up your sympathy. He gave you a polite smile.

“Figured me and Kyle could show you around and then we’ll head over there so you can meet everyone else,” John explained.

“Sounds good.” You smiled back.

“Bags?” John questioned.

“Oh, there in the car.” you winced looking out at the raging storm.

“I'll get it!” Kyle volunteered quickly, accidentally bumping into Kate on his way out.

“This way,” John spoke softly. His hand rested on your upper back guiding you out of the gray warehouse-type building. Kate followed behind, her eyes trained on his hand. She couldn't wait for the ‘I told you so’s.’

Once you left the building you were outside again- luckily this time the sidewalks were covered. You did enjoy how green everything was. Despite the cold, modern buildings- it was easy to breathe here. “It’s easier to take a cart,” John explained, guiding you into the passenger seat. Kate got in the back, not bothering to suppress the smirk across her face. John’s eyes were too trained on you to notice.

“What about Kyle?” you asked as John began to pull away.

“He’ll find his way back home. He always does.” He smiled, causing you to chuckle. Truth be told he knew his beta needed a moment to clear his senses.

You weaved through the building till you got to the housing areas- which unfortunately weren't covered.

“Shite day out,” John grumbled.

“I like the rain.” You hummed absentmindedly. Something about it felt so healing. John's eyes flickered over to you, watching for a moment as you surveyed your surroundings.

“Here we are.” John huffed, pulling his burly frame out of the cart. It instantly rose without his weight in it, causing you and Kate to giggle. You entered another large gray building, this one tall and commanding. There were lots of windows, the dark cloudy day making it easy to see inside. John held the door open for you and you pulled off the side with a small ‘thank you.’

“Stairs or elevator?” John asked, turning over his shoulder.

“Elevator,” Kate answered for you. John's lips quirk upwards.

“Elevator it is.” He led you both to the elevator, holding his arm out to make sure the door didn't try to close on either of you. He pressed the number eight.

“Is that the top floor?” You questioned. The elevator was fast, you swore you could feel your hair being pushed down.

“Yeah. It's almost like a flat.” John explained. The elevator doors rolled open, to reveal a long hallway. One side is littered with doors, the other with large windows.

“Wow.” You whispered, stopping to take in the view. You could see nearly everything from here. The base was surrounded by trees. You could only imagine how magnificent it was without all the clouds and fog. You followed John and passed the doors until you reached the very last one.

“This is us.” He held up a key card, a light flicking green from the door. “We’re still waiting for yours, you can just use Simon’s till we get it.”

As soon as you walked in there was a galley kitchen. Composed of light oak and white stone countertops. “Here's laundry and storage,” John explained walking through the kitchen to the two french doors at the end of the galley. “Dining area,” he explained, resting his hand on the counter. There were six stools pulled up to the counter. The kitchen overlooked the living area, which took up the majority of the home. There was a plush L-shaped, couch facing a large TV on the wall. Facing into the living room was a series of doors. The one on the right closest to the kitchen was Johnny’s, then a bathroom. “You’ll be sharing this with Johnny and Kyle. Not to worry they’re clean boys.” John assured. Next to the bathroom was Kyle’s room. On the other side of the living room, across from Kyle’s room was Simon's room. Next to Simon’s room was your room, and then next to yours was John's room.

You did feel a bit safer sandwiched between the two alphas of the pack.

But you didn't like the fact you would have to traipse through the living room every time you needed to use the bathroom.

Next to Simon’s door was the door leading out to the patio. It was nice a spacious, but the only thing out there was an ashtray balancing on one of the bars. Beside the TV were two big windows that you knew you would spend a lot of time staring out of.

Maybe Kate could by you a lawn chair as a housewarming gift.

“It's nice.” You said at the end of the tour.

“It gets the job done.”

It was finally time for Kyle to make his way in with your bags. You had one suitcase and a duffle. He carried it like it was empty. You opened your new bedroom door for him, and he set it down without letting his feet cross the threshold.

“I'm sorry I didn't get to properly introduce myself earlier. I'm Kyle, Kyle Garrick.” His voice was smooth and confident compared to the way he bolted from you earlier.

“It's okay, Kyle.” You smiled, finding yourself a bit lost in his warm eyes. John cleared his throat behind you two causing the trances to break.

“How about we all go get some lunch? Wait for the rain to die down then head over to medical?”

Sounded good to you.

Hello everyone! Hope you enjoyed this chapter and I hope the room setup isn’t too confusing! I’ll post a little render of their home and link it here! See you in two days for chapter 4! 🧡

[lam-ila]

Daddy’s Boy || Lewis Hamilton

Summary: After getting into an argument with one of his classmates, your seven year old son, Mason, talks it out with his dad.

Word Count: 1,170

Warnings: none (please let me know if you find any that i should add)

F1 Masterlist

a/n: dad!lewis dad!lewis dad!lewis

lewis’s p3 in spain inspired me to start this and his p1 in silverstone inspired me to finish this

this is gender neutral. hope you enjoy this! feedback is appreciated

LIKES ARE GREAT, REBLOGS ARE BETTER ♡

You were at home while your husband, Lewis, was at work for a few meetings, starting to prepare a snack for your seven year old son, Mason, as you waited for him to come home from school. On a normal day, your son's school bus would arrive at its stop near your family of three’s house around 4:10 pm, however, you shortly realized that it was not a normal day as you received a phone call from his school.

"Hello?" You asked after gingerly picking up your phone.

"Hi is this Mason's parent?" The voice on the other end of the call asked. "I'm his principal."

"Yes, that's me."

"I'm going to need you to come into the school to pick up Mason from my office at the end of the school day." They continued.

"Is he okay?" You questioned, your heartrate picking up as you thought of everything that could've happened to your son.

“He got into a verbal altercation with one of his classmates.” The principal explained. “I’ll be having a conversation with you and him as well as a separate conversation with his classmate and one of their parents.”

“Understood. I’ll be there at pick up time.”

“Thank you for your understanding. Looking forward to talking to you and Mason then.” The phone call ended without another word being said.

Your phone screen returned to its lock screen, showing the picture of you, Lewis, Mason, and Roscoe as your background and the time above it. Squinting your eyes at the time, you realized that you needed to leave at that moment in order to arrive at Mason’s school on time. You looked around for your wallet and car keys, making a b-line for your car and pausing to put on your shoes, open and close the door, and to lock the door.

—————

“Do you want to tell daddy about what happened at school, Mason?” You inquired while setting his glass of water down next his plate on the dining table. Although you asked your son if he wanted to inform his father of what occurred earlier in the day, your question was less of a question and more of a command.

“Do I have to?” He asked, looking up at you from his seat while you took yours at the table, seating yourself next to Lewis. You gave Mason a pointed look, silently saying ‘yes, yes you do.’

“Is everything okay? Are you okay? Is someone-” You cut Lewis off by briefly placing your hand on top of his which was resting on his leg under the table, allowing your son to explain what happened in his own words.

“I got into a fight.” He quietly admitted, his dinner completely untouched in front of him.

“A physical fight?” Lewis’ brow furrowed with concern.

“No, Daddy,” he laughed at his father’s assumption. “A fight with words. It’s not nice to fight someone physically.” He explained as if that was the most obvious thing ever.

Lewis breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted was for his little boy to get into a physical fight.

“We were talking about what our parents do for jobs during recess and I said how my daddy races in Formula One.” Mason started his explanation that you already heard in the drive home from his school. “And then Sean asked me what your name is because he watches Formula One with his family, so I told him that your name is Lewis Hamilton. And then he laughed at me! He said that it’s not possible for my daddy to be Lewis Hamilton because he’s never seen me on tv with you.”

You glanced over at Lewis, watching him as his eyes were wide and his attention fully focused on Mason, taking in everything that he was rapidly spewing out.

“But I told him that I don’t go on tv with you because you’re on tv to race and to talk about racing. And he said that that’s not true and that I don’t go on tv because you don’t love me and you want to pretend like I’m not your son.”

Mason paused to take a deep breath before continuing.

“Then I raised my voice, Daddy.” He confessed, sinking down into his seat in shame. “I raised my voice even though you taught me to never raise my voice, even if I get angry while I’m karting. I yelled at him and told him that you do love me and it doesn’t matter if I don’t go on tv with you because I know that you love me and that’s all that matters.”

“Oh, Mason…” Lewis trailed off, unsure of what to say.

“And then my teacher stopped us from talking more and told us that we both had to go see the principal.” Mason’s face crumpled as he neared the end of his re-telling of his argument with his classmate, all of his emotions presenting themselves as the heavy tears falling from his eyes. “Sean was being so mean!”

Lewis looked over at you and you gave him a short nod, allowing him to respond to Mason. Your husband took a deep breath as he looked back at your son.

“It’s okay to feel upset and angry. These emotions are completely normal emotions to feel.” Lewis started. “You’re right, Sean was being mean, but that doesn’t allow you to yell back at him.”

“Because that was mean?” Mason asked, straightening up in his seat a little as he began to understand what his father was telling him.

“Yes, that was mean.”

“Does that make me a mean person?” Mason’s brow furrowed as tears began to form in his eyes again.

“No, no, not at all Mason.” Lewis stretched his arms across the dining table towards your son, careful to avoid touching anyone’s dinner. Mason scooted his chair forward and reached out to have his father hold his small hands in his larger ones. You smiled at the Lewis’ and Mason’s actions, your heart warming at the sight of their close father-son relationship. “Doing something mean doesn’t make you a mean person, but that doesn’t make it okay to do something mean again. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, that makes sense, Daddy.” He took his hands out of Lewis’, wiping the remaining tears from his face and alternating his gaze from Lewis to you. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, baby.” You hummed.

“I should say sorry to Sean tomorrow at school.”

“That’s a great idea.” You smiled, proud of Mason for realizing that he needed to apologize to his classmate. He also smiled, resulting in Lewis following his actions and smiling too.

“I’m proud of you, Mason.” Lewis boasted, beaming with pride.

“Thank you, Daddy.” Mason replied. He fixed his view down to the table the three of you were seated at, looking hungrily at the food on your plates. “Can we eat dinner now?”

You and Lewis broke out into soft laughter, Lewis nodding and saying “Yes, yes we can.”

——————————

F1 taglist: @2manytabsopen @matthewkniesys @fallinallincurls @c-losur3

join my taglist here

[thisthatpinkvenom]

IT'S SWEATPANTS SEASON, OH MY!

JOCK!SAN / BAND GEEK!FEM READER

⤏ Synopsis: Autumn has arrived; the season of pumpkin spice lattes, corn and—unfortunately for you—grey sweatpants. those pesky little things have attached themselves to your boyfriend's legs like glue, and you're having a hard time keeping your mind out of the gutter.

⤏ Genre(s): drabble*, fluff, humor(??), smut, smut, smut

⤏ Content: jock!San, band geek!fem reader (I know, I'm so original), you're referred to as "sweet potato" once—don't ask, just go with it, established relationship!au, college!au, non-idol!au

⤏ NSFW Warning(s): dry humping, unprotected piv (it's fiction, guysss. use your rubbers and stay safe!), creampie, just lots of build up because I'm down bad for a man in grey sweatpants 🙈

⤏ Note*: this content is completely fictional.

The mosaic of orange and yellow was striking below the dull blue clouds as the trees continued to shed their leaves. Your eyes swayed with the leaf you'd been watching descend its way patiently to the ground while you sat on the bench, shoulders jittering in the midst of the decreasing temperature. Your hands peeked out from the ends of your sleeves before rubbing together, the crisp morning air making your fingers tingle in the cold. You should've worn a thicker jacket, is what you mulled over in your head that you hadn't even noticed San until he enveloped his own padded jacket over you. The gust of warmth awoke you from your reverie and you hummed, meeting eyes with him when he lowered himself into a squat.

"You didn't have to come here," he said, a dimple indenting his cheek as he curled one corner of his mouth upward. After pulling the hood over your head, he tenderly brushed his thumb across your cheek. "I know you're not a morning person."

You struggled to fight a yawn until you decidedly gave in, white fog manifesting in your breath.

"I want to support you," you murmured. You were too busy blinking away your fatigue to notice how he looked on in nothing but fondness. Your conscience warped your thoughts when you scanned over the jacket engulfing your frame, your lips forming into a small pout. "Mm���aren't you going to be cold?"

San took a glance at his attire; he's only got a windbreaker left to keep him warm. Nonetheless, he shook his head and insisted he was used to practicing like this on the field. Despite wearing less than you and the flushed red on his nose and cheeks, you couldn't really tell if he felt the effect of the weather as much as you did. You couldn't fathom how he had the motivation to get up at the ass crack of dawn to run around with a ball, doing drills with his teammates while Coach Kim rapid-fired pointer after pointer without a stop to catch his breath. It truly was admirable how smiley he was at 7:00 a.m. without consuming any caffeine.

Coach Kim sauntered along the grass before he blew his whistle and commanded the team to group together. Your boyfriend looked over his shoulder before turning back to you, eyes squinting as the sun's orange glow began to blanket over the field.

"Well, gotta start soon," he observed. "Stay warm and if you're sleepy, just go back. I'm happy you're here but don't force yourself to stay. All right, Sweet Potato?"

You made a small noise of confirmation, unfazed by the odd affectionate nickname you had gotten used to over time. The heat of his palms skimmed over your ears as he pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead before standing tall. But what you didn't anticipate—whoa—had really slapped you awake right then and there. For the mere five seconds you'd managed to capture a mental image, time felt as if it'd been stretched to hell when your boyfriend's crotch had leveled with your eyes. You hadn't realized the grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips and now that you've gotten a face full of…that, you're acutely aware.

You're shook to the core.

Your gaze trailed after his jogging figure, following the path up his long and toned legs to his cute little bu—okay, whoa! It's only 7:15 in the morning. You had no business indulging in these thoughts right now. Get it together.

Oh, he's facing your general direction now.

Are you staring at it too much? It's starting to feel a little warm, all of a sudden; it's the jacket, isn't it? Just how long is this going to take?

You're trapped on this bench. It hadn't even been 10 minutes since practice started and Coach Kim was rambling on about the importance of warming up while you're glued to your seat, pathetically staring at your boyfriend's dickprint while he seemingly had no idea. God, you felt like a perv. Even though he assured you that it was okay, you didn't want to just up and leave. This was a relationship built on give and take, and there were one too many times when he watched your concerts while knowing little to nothing about orchestral music.

You'll just suffer, then.

"Just fuck him."

"Lisa!" you chided, pushing three fingers against your friend's arm as she rolled her eyes.

"What?" She swirled her tongue around the glob of chocolate ice cream sitting on top of her waffle cone. "He's a hot, charming guy. Your own boyfriend makes you horny and that's supposed to be a problem now?"

"Oh, my gosh, I just…" you trailed off, eyes searching elsewhere for your thoughts. "I'm not used to being all"—you waved your hands disorientedly in front of you—"dirty…minded. He's the one who usually initiates it."

"Sex?"

"Everything physical, really," you clarified. "I just feel like if I start it, it's just going to be off—and awkward."

You sighed. "How am I going to get through this season?"

"Oh, yeah, the sweatpants; that's what's been making you a sex freak," Lisa recalled with an airy laugh. "Those things are like lingerie for guys. Especially the grey ones…oomf. 'Dicktoria's Secret' is real," she snorted.

You gave her a blank stare.

"Look, just be honest," she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world—which it was. "You really think any guy is gonna find it offensive that his girl's drooling over his bulge?"

"I wasn't drooling—"

"You will be."

"Oh, my gosh."

You weren't aware that having a footballer-boyfriend automatically signed you up for three months' worth of almost nothing but sweatpants. You also didn't know how many he had stashed in his wardrobe until now—it's good to know he didn't wear the same pair everyday. But this meant he had enough pairs to flaunt his dick outline in your face whenever you were together.

Not good for your cavewoman brain.

Fingers danced along your neck and you squirmed at the intrusion, meeting eyes with San's own with your face sporting a frown. The same fingers belonged to the arm lazing comfortably around your shoulders, both of you having snuggled together into mush on his couch while you binge-watched one of your favorite shows. You whined his name in annoyance when you're kicked out of your thoughts.

He chortled. "Sorry, I just—it's Buffy and you don't even seem that into it. Is everything okay?"

Let's see: it's a Friday night. His roommate, Mingi went to visit his parents for the weekend and you're all alone with your hot, charming boyfriend™ who's clearly gone commando under his sweats. And you're supposed to be watching Buffy slay vampires…how?

"Y-Yeah, why wouldn't it be?" you stammered.

He hummed in feigned ponder, and the knowing smirk surging its way onto his lips would've sent a churn in your belly if you'd actually caught sight of it.

"You know that my eyes are up here, right?"

Your eyes snapped up in panic, and silence was the only response you had sitting on your tongue. You wanted to hide in a cave, where you could wallow in embarrassment without disturbance. Your own boyfriend had just caught you ogling his crotch like a perv.

San tucked his bottom lip between his teeth, suppressing a smile at how you resembled a deer in headlights. "You thought I wouldn't notice?"

Your mouth was stuck in a battle between opening and closing as you desperately searched for the right words. With a defeated sigh, your face fell into the safety of your palms.

"This is so embarrassing," you groaned, words muffled against your hands.

"Hey," he laughed softly, grabbing your wrists in an attempt to retract your hands away from your face. "It's not a big deal"—you sighed when the light from the standing lamp washed into your eyes—"it's cute."

You gave him a funny look. "Cute," you stated, doubt laced in your tone.

"Yeah. Usually, I'm the one doing all the staring."

He scanned you up and down with a pondering pout on his lips, continuing on to ask, "It's the sweatpants, isn't it?"

"Do you have to state the obvious?" you whined.

"What? I just wanna make things clear, so I know what to wear for you," he teased. He shifted closer and smoothed a hand up your thigh. "I'll wear more for you."

If he felt the goosebumps on your skin, he didn't comment on them.

"You say it like it's lingerie," you quipped, recalling what Lisa said a few days ago. You're saying anything to distract yourself right now, but you crumbled easily whenever he touched you. And he knew it well, especially when his hand moved dangerously close to your pyjama shorts. You're not even sure if you were breathing.

"If it's gotten you like this, then I'd say it pretty much is."

He moved on to say, "I like it when you look at me like that."

Your expression was frozen. "Like what?"

San's eyes changed ever so slightly, his hand finally slipping between your squeezed thighs.

"Like you really want me."

Your thighs parted for him. "I…I do," you murmured.

"Oh, really? Where do you want me?"

"Where else?"

"I asked you first."

You made a quiet huff from your nose, looking down at his hand that's aching to pull your shorts down. "Inside"—you hesitated—"inside me. I-I would like it if we had sex…please?"

His lustful gaze turned softer, eyebrows raised high at your interesting way of words. While you, on the other hand, visibly grimaced. San found your eyes shutting tight and your nose scrunching up all too adorable, and without a doubt, he would've bitten your cheeks if he could.

With a chuffed smile, he hooked his fingers at the waistbands of your shorts and underwear, waiting for you to lift your hips. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's have the sex now."

You sulked at his incessant teasing, knowing well enough that he was purposefully expressing his words awkwardly. He laughed and assured you he would stop there, before grabbing your now half-naked body by the hips and having you straddle him. His fleece sweatpants were rough from the continuous use, giving you some nice sense of friction on your sensitive nub.

But above all that, you could feel the presence of his cock hiding beneath his pants, your pussy lips spreading the slightest on his erection. Your breath hitched as his hands made their way under your sweater, then your shirt; reposed comfortably at your hips as if they made home there. The pads of his fingers kneaded your skin as he looked up at you with expectant eyes.

"C'mon, get yourself off for me."

You waited with bated breath for nothing in particular—you'd just been momentarily distracted by his intense stare. Nodding too many times in the span of a second, you began to move your hips under the guide of his hands.

"Oh…"

There was a minor ache in your hips when he dug his fingers deeper in your skin, but you were too focused on the soft chafing of the fabric against your clit. It was getting you in the right place; so rough.

"Are you doing okay, Baby?"

You released an unstable sigh. "Y-Yeah."

He eyed the way your skin slightly folded with every move you made on his clothed cock, teeth pulling at his bottom lip. Your motions grew faster and more impatient as you yearned for his mouth against yours, falling forward before your lips touched his.

He pushed you down each time he pulled you forward, earning growingly unsteady breaths from you into his mouth. You nearly choked when he bucked his hips upward, soft moans having no chance to escape when each were engulfed by his lips. You continued to do nothing but mindlessly grind your clit on him, humping his clothed cock like you were in desperate heat.

You didn't have the mind to warn him at this moment, unable to hear anything but your own moans until you were reaching your impending climax. And soon with trembling thighs, you came. Your skin grew rampant with shivers while your mind went elsewhere for the bite of a second.

San finally spared some mercy, separating from you with a thin string of spit connecting your lips before he's splitting it with a lick from his tongue. Stealing a glance at the dark spot you left on his pants, he served you a lustful, lopsided smile.

"This is what you'll get if you're just a little more honest with me," he chuckled.

Your ears grew hot at the sight of your arousal leaving its mark, adjusting yourself with your hands on the backrest behind him. You waited a few beats to gather your words before you muttered, "Well…can I be honest with you right now?"

"Of course."

San waited with patient eyes, his stare nearly melting you into goo while he thumbed your skin again.

"I'd like to have the sex—with your penis inside me…please."

He didn't try at all to suppress amusement at how you'd poked fun at yourself, hearty laughter producing from the pit of his belly. The dimples in his cheeks emerged from hiding as he grinned and nodded while pushing his waistband down, just enough for his cock to free itself. When his laughter had settled, he pressed a peck on the tip of your nose.

"Whenever you're ready."

You grabbed the base of his cock and pressed the tip against your entrance, pausing for a moment until you began to slowly but surely, sink entirely down his length. The stretch always started as an odd pressure between your walls, but once they'd completely swallowed his dick whole, it always left you wanting more. It's a feeling you don't think you could ever give justice to, if you were ever asked to describe it. He was just so right for you.

Your body gave into him as he pulled you flush against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist like a tightened belt. His hushed groans were made only for you, and hearing them continuously by your ear sent shivers down your spine.

"So warm," he muttered under his breath. He slid his bum further down the couch with you in his grasp and spread his legs wider. And when he was sure of the angle, he rolled his hips to meet yours, finding a steady pace with the most agonizingly unyielding thrusts. With every slam of his hips, your moans rendered into off-key whimpers as you melted under his guidance.

It felt like you were experiencing the hottest temperatures of the summer; your cheeks were burning and at moments, you felt like pushing away just from the sheer heat of your bodies entangled together.

A cuss left your boyfriend's lips when you gnawed on his shoulder, the salty tang of sweat grazing your tongue. And as if he wasn't holding onto you tightly already, he pulled you even closer as his cock rammed relentlessly, his rhythm growing sloppy when he began reaching his peak.

Your back felt like it'd been bent beyond repair as his cum coated your walls, the familiar twitching of his cock presented inside you. But he didn't stop there, he wouldn't until you came as well. And with his jaw clenched, he fucked into you like you were his toy, white rings of his own orgasm spilling with every move and making way to stain his pants.

"C'mon, Baby," he grunted. "Cum, f-fuck—cum, fucking c-cum…"

And in a few more thrusts, all you saw were specks of white among darkness. Your pussy spared no consideration on his sensitive cock and clenched as you trembled, the string of swears leaving his lips going deaf on your ears. Your limbs fell limp to pure exhaustion, despite how much you wanted to just wrap them around him like you were a koala and he was the tree. You wanted to mark your kisses all over his face but not even your lips were functioning right now as you barely managed to muster out a "thank you".

It was clear that it took a moment for San to register what you'd said, before he let out a breathy laugh. Not because he found something funny, it was just one of those laughs you got when you felt so euphoric—like getting your balls drained until you were a moaning mess; that kind of euphoric.

He kissed the top of your head, looking ahead at the TV where Buffy was still slaying vampires as usual. His dick stayed inside you, soft and relaxed in your warmth, neither of you in any rush to clean up.

"Mm…remind me to buy more of these sweats."

[zyafics]

DEAD MAN WALKING | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Series?) | Mafia Boss x Doctor!Female Reader .ᐟ

Summary — When Rafe gets injured in a shootout, he can't make it home in time to save his life. However, it's just his luck to find a medical student walking out of her shift from the hospital. When he threatens you to save him, you do, but when he returns to uncover that the wound is more deadly than it seems—time is ticking for you to find a cure or die.

Content — 18+, explicit (to be determined).

It's late.

A consequence of staying overtime. Most medical students from your program left after their shift ended, but not you. You wanted more—to shadow surgeries behind spectator glass, to listen to pagers' on-calls, to follow the path of grunt work—because you believe in learning from the bottom up. It wasn't until one of the residents forcefully removed you from a debrief and mandated you to go home and rest that you finally left.

Exiting the hospital, a cool wind breezes over your exposed arms, causing goosebumps to rise. The night is dusky and grim; thick clouds envelop the dark sky, amplifying the fainted glow of lights streaming through the open windows of apartment buildings. Very few cars are passing through the main road, despite your place of work being in the center of the metropolitan area. It's empty. Quiet. Odd.

The parking lot is mostly vacated, except for a few residents' vehicles that have to stay for their hours. You don't own a car, utilizing the city's local public transportation system instead, and thankfully, there's a bus stop across from the hospital.

Your footsteps click against the concrete, each step bringing you closer to your destination, but something in your stomach churns with nausea. Something feels off. The stillness of the night isn't a common occurrence in a lively city bursting with mayhem. But before you can calm your mind—a distinct click is heard, followed by the cold press of a metal handle against the back of your skull.

Your breath hitches.

A gruff, masculine voice orders. "Don't scream."

You want to. Desperately. But you've lived in the city long enough to know it'll do nothing. It might cause your death instead. Defying the very instinct to call for help, the bubble waiting to pop from your throat, you nod once, letting your handler know you abide by his command.

"Turn around."

Your heart pounds against your ribcage, threatening to spill. With measured breaths and cautious steps, you turn.

The sight surprises you. The man holding you in captivity is tall—and devilishly handsome. But that's not your main source of concern. It's the way he's slightly hunched over, his left hand clutching a wound that punctures his abdomen. He's bleeding. Everywhere. Staining the front of his sodden shirt, it drips onto the concrete between the cracks of his fingers.

"You a doctor?" His voice is gravel and strained as if he's holding onto his last string of life. His face is a ghastly shade of pale, uneven breaths escaping in chokes, and sweat collects on the hairline of his forehead.

"I'm–I'm a student." You answer, tripping over your own voice as he tightens his grip around his gun, his fingers trembling. For a brief moment, you consider if you should disarm him. Half of you want to help—to save a man on the brink of death, as you're training to do—but the other half remembers you're being held at gunpoint. If you try, you wonder if he's in enough pain that you can remove the weapon.

But something in his hardened gaze tells you to stay put. That his trigger finger is swifter than you'll ever be and he won't hesitate to waste a bullet.

Scoffing, as if the criteria of your resume isn't enough, he raises his arm where the barrel of the gun stares you down. Your heart skips several beats, palms growing sweaty at the implication that your lack of experience can be your end.

"I can help."

He doesn't answer, eyeing you with contempt. You're still wearing your blue scrubs, the clip of the badge hanging on your waist. You look official; a formal member of the medical faculty team. But, at the end of the day, you're still a student.

You refuse to let that be your downfall.

"I can save you," you argue, the timbre of your voice is sharp, passionate, and decisive. "Let me help."

The man says nothing. Silence stretches for the next few seconds, but it feels like decades before he makes a decision. He grabs your arm roughly, pulling you in front of him with the strength he shouldn't possess. With the gun pressed against your backside, right on your spine, he warns, "One word, one fucking scream, and I'll shoot you in the middle of the floor. Do you understand?"

You nod, swallowing the bile in your throat as you reenter the hospital, maneuvering through the floor with virtually little-to-no interactions. A blessing and a curse, the man finds an empty room and shoves you inside.

It's not a surgical suite, just a backroom with a bed and a couple of tools on a cart. You try to convince him to go to one of the rooms in the operation wing, but he refuses. When you continue to advocate, his hand grips the gun with a click—reminding you who has the power in the situation.

"Just fucking do it here," he snaps.

That's how you ended up operating on your first patient. He lays flat against the stiff hospital bed while you tear through his blood-soaked shirt, cleaning his marred skin, finding the source of the wound—a gunshot. It sits right on his ribcage, but the point of entry doesn't look like it slices through any important organs or arteries.

Despite his form, he continues to point the gun at you. His hands are steadier, but his eyes waver with each probe and poke of your tools. Your breathing is scarce, and uneven as you try to focus on the task at hand—but you can't, given the constant reminder that one wrong touch, one wrong move, can yield a tinge of pain that leaves him clamping down on the trigger.

"You can drop your gun now." You say offhandedly, trying to keep your composure and wits as you operate. "I'm not going to do anything."

He huffs, suspicion creasing his brows. "Not a chance."

"I'm saying it'll be better for you." You instruct, voicing your reason from a place of logic rather than a plight of fear. "You need to relax."

"I'll relax once you get this bullet out of me," he rasps, gripping the weapon tighter, as a child with a stuffed animal would after a hellish nightmare. Your eyes glance down at the gun, how it's aimed directly at your heart, before dropping back to his chest.

"You're not going to kill me."

He doesn't answer immediately. A pinch of fear surges through your veins before he says, "How can you be so sure?"

"Because I'm trying to save your life." You keep your voice steady, despite the low tremor rattling your chest. False confidence is the only thing keeping you going. "And I won't cause you harm. If I wanted to, I would've already."

Silence persists, and you take it as a chance to solidify your argument, from a humane perspective. "And I can't focus if you keep pointing that gun at me. I'll be more sloppy, and I don't want to take any chances when I barely have the right equipment as it is."

It sounds solid. At least, to your ears it does. But the man's grip on his gun doesn't waver under your advisement. You're almost certain he'll reject the idea, but when his hand slowly descends to the metal cart sitting beside him—the clank of metal-on-metal allows you to finally take a deep breath.

But before you can proceed, his now-free hand grabs your wrist. A yelp almost leaves you, but his bloodied nails dig into your skin. A warning gleams behind his gaze. "Just because I'm unarmed doesn't mean I can't kill you through other means."

You don't doubt it.

Nodding, you begin your operation. Heart thumping against your chest, you dig the forceps into the open wound, the squishing of flesh and blood fills the stillness of the room, and you navigate blindly through the gap till you graze a hard metal.

You inhale sharply, reminding yourself of your countless virtual practices, your shadowing of operations, your lucky days of standing beside certified surgeons as you hand them tools and witness the precise cut of their blade. All that training comes down to this very moment—to save yours and his life.

With a steady grip, you slowly exit, centimeter-by-centimeter, inch-by-inch, until the familiar glint of a metal gleans under the harsh operating light.

You drop the bullet, smeared with blood and a greenish hue, onto the plate next to the gun. Exhaling, you mechanically move to the next stage.

While you thread the needle through his delicate skin, closing the wound, your eyes glance down to his hands resting by his side. His knuckles are swollen and red, dried with dark blood. You can't stop yourself from asking, "What happened?"

His jaw tightens. "Why do you want to know?"

The words are sharp and harsh, a valiant attempt at shutting down any form of communication. But you persist. "I thought, since you're out of danger, you can at least explain—"

"I don't owe you shit," he barks, but this time, a hiss punctuates the end of his sentence, sending his head flying back against the bed as he grimaces through the pain and lack of anesthesia. His adrenaline must be wearing off.

Your jaw tenses, but not from his response but rather because of his reaction to his pain. Your sense of empathy has always been your weakness, especially since you're providing it to someone who held you at gunpoint and against your own will.

Deciding to redirect your focus, you're finishing the last thread of his stitching before he confesses, "Fight."

"Fight?" You echo wearily, refusing to lift your head and meet his gaze. You can already feel the heat of his stare. "Who won?"

He scoffs, but it comes out as a wheeze. "Don't be cute."

"I'm not trying to be—"

Your words are cut short by a sudden alarm blaring from the hallway. You jerk back, creating distance as you turn toward the small slanted window on the door, where flashes of men in uniforms run past.

Fear crashes into you as waves, and you turn back to the man as he turns to you—his dark blue eyes are hostile and cynical, and he regards you with the utmost suspicion.

"Who the fuck did you call?" He accuses.

Your eyes widen, "I didn't call anyone!"

"Liar."

With your erratic heartbeat in your ears, both of you glance down at the gun sitting idle on the cart. Before he even gets the chance to react, you snatch the weapon from the table, his nails grazing your hand a millisecond too late.

You push back against the opposite side of the room but because of the limited space, it does nothing to soothe the overwhelming adrenaline pulsing through your veins. Holding the gun with two hands, you direct it straight at his face.

Suspicion and doubt from both sides are at an all-time high.

He scoffs, unphased by your brave act. The gun between your hands is shaky, and your palms sweat against the heavy, smooth grip. The acknowledgment of holding something lethal between your fingertips. In his earnest attempt at getting you to give up the weapon, he mocks, "Can you even use that thing?"

You disengage the safety. "Try again."

His eyes widen, just a fraction, almost undetectable had you not been eyeing him carefully. His lips pressed together in a firm line, but almost as if you're imagining it—there's a look of intrigue.

The man pulls himself upright, shifting cautiously under the threat of your deadly aim, while his hand clutches the stitched wound. You didn't even get the chance to bandage him. It's a shame that your hard work could go to waste.

"Fucking liar."

"I didn't lie," you insist.

"The gun staring at me is making you look guilty."

"It isn't nice being on the receiving end, is it?"

His hardened features sharpen into a look of disdain, any imagination of curiosity disappears within seconds. Yet, you read into it. His eyes narrow, scrutinizing you as if you're prey to his predator, trying to gauge a formal assessment of your character. It isn't until he forces himself to look away, onto the door, that he contemplates his next plan of action.

It doesn't take a genius to decipher that the man is someone dangerous. Not just to you, but to the law. You regard his rigid posture, suggesting his uneasiness about the guards posted outside, barking orders to secure the grounds. He assumed you called the authorities, but that's far from the truth.

You didn't even have time to consider it.

Now, you're weighing all your options. If he disarms you, you'll be forced to submit to his will. That's not favorable. If he leaves without your help—which is unlikely—he'll be trotting through the halls, trying to build a cover and dodge the heightened security. That won't work either. And, if he escapes—there's no doubt he'll come back for vengeance. You can't have that either.

"The hospital is going into lockdown," you explain, keeping your gaze on his. "No one can come in and out that's not part of the staff."

He locks his jaw. One of your hands descends from the handle, moving to the pocket of your scrubs. "They're going to require a scan at each exit point, so you'll need a badge."

You remove the badge from your body, unraveling the clipper from the fabric. His darkened gaze follows while you slowly extend the tag—a peace offering of some sort.

His hand clenches by his side before his other hand reaches forward and snatches the badge from your grip. He takes his time examining the small plastic and the card inside, then lifts his head to meet your gaze with an unreadable expression. "Why?"

"I told you, I didn't call anyone," you say. "But I can tell you need to leave. I can get you out because I don't want any problems."

His breathing is ragged, chest rising and falling in unsteady beats. He doesn't say anything for the longest time, chipping away at the escape, before he drops from the bed and stands to his fullest height.

"I can't go out looking like this."

He's right. You practically shredded his shirt as you were trying to save his life. If he walks out, half-naked, barely stitched together with a bandage, regardless of the classified badge, they're going to question him.

Glancing around the room, you find a lab coat on a hook and throw it at him. He slips his arms through the long, white sleeves and covers himself up—looking presentable. Almost. If not for the light bruising on the side of his face, the swelling on his bottom lip, the swollenness of his knuckles, and the dried blood staining his fingertips.

But they won't look closely.

You think.

You back up as he steps forward, closer to the door. Peeking outside the hallway, when the coast is clear, he departs, clutching the badge in one hand and his wounded chest in the other.

It takes a few moments for it to pass, for you to truly grasp the gravity of your situation. When you finally do, you lower your aching arms, drop the gun back onto the metal cart, and exhale the largest sigh of relief.

—

It's been a week since the hospital incident.

You received a new badge, under the false pretense that you misplaced the last one, and you've been returning to a routine. You refuse to do overtime without a familiar acquaintance tagging along, and you've been catching rides from your peers from the hospital.

Afterward, the news disclosed a shootout that happened on the streets a couple blocks down from your workplace. Three people died, and the police are investigating the matter. It didn't take long for you to connect the dots of who shot who, and who walked out alive.

You've been busying yourself with life. From attending classes to producing research, to working late-night shifts at the hospital. It's been a ruthless cycle, that you've barely had time to breathe.

Walking home from one of the nearby cafes, where you're studying for your upcoming exams, you take a short stroll to your apartment. It's getting late; most of the street parking is taken, few people linger on the sidewalk, and the street lamps cast a soft glow against the brownstone of the apartment complexes.

This is a safer neighborhood, much more than your place of work. The crime rate is relatively lower, but that doesn't stop you from being on edge. Especially with your recent incident. You're cautious of your surroundings, checking every little shadow, and listening out for heavy footfalls. Your paranoia reaches its all-time high.

But nothing happens. Not today, not yesterday, and certainly not tomorrow. You turn the corner to your building, the familiar shade of your apartment allows you to catch a breath of fresh air.

Until you hear the familiar click, followed by the hard kiss of metal pressing against the base of your skull.

All the hair stands up. Your nerves are humming with fear. And you pray it's different, it's new, but your wishes are shattered the moment the gruff, harsh voice greets you, his mouth against your ear.

"Miss me?"

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[lupinmoonlight]

Hi! Could you write an alpha prof!remus x omega reader in heat. He gets her to his office after lessons to offer help and she agrees to spend the night( breeding kink)

Masterlist AO3

Alpha, please.

Summary - You are an omega about to experience her first heat. Professor Lupin offers to help and you end up getting railed in the Shrieking Shack (3,416 words).

Warnings - teacher/student relationship, omega verse, alpha!remus, omega!reader, breeding kink, unprotected sex, dubious consent because reader not very in control, age gap, my grammar (english is not my first language), not proof read.

Notes - Throwing this here and RUNNING AWAY. I am SO sorry for the delay, I was hit by a bus (jk lol i'm just burnt out). On a serious note, this was my first time ever writing something in the Omegaverse. Sorry if it sucks :( Thank you to everyone for your patience. I will eventually get to your request!

He noticed your scent before noticing you- a wave of pure, unadulterated omega scent that struck him like a physical blow, a visceral assault on his senses. The classroom, usually a blend of various scents, was now entirely dominated by this scent. Your scent, one of an omega on the cusp of her first heat yet blissfully unaware of it but one that Remus, an alpha, sensed with every fibre of his being. It was rich, sweet, intoxicating, awakening a primal need he had learned to control years ago. An almost uncontrollable need to own, to mark, to protect, to make his. 

As an alpha, the presence of an unclaimed omega, especially one as evidently oblivious to their own nature as you, was concerning. Why were you there without suppressants? How could you not know what was about to happen to you? It was dangerous. Both for you and for any other alpha around, yet there you were, looking as calm and serene as if it were just another day. 

You took a seat at the front of the class, your eyes glued to him. He was tall, commanding, exuding the authority and confidence of an alpha and you hated to admit how much it drew you in. Deep down, you were not interested in following the traditional roles of your status. You didn't want to submit to anyone. The thought alone filled you with dread...except right now. 

The class began and Remus found himself incapable of focusing on his carefully prepared lecture, distracted by the powerful need for something he didn't even allow himself to entertain. It was like all his senses were heightened. He could hear everything, feel everything. Too much. 

The lecture drew to a close, and you began to slowly pack up your belongings, your mind unconsciously reluctant to part from your professor. He made you feel so- 

"Y/N, may I have a word with you before you leave?" Remus asked. His voice was calm but it held an underlying urgency that he hoped you wouldn't notice. 

You looked up to him, your eyes wide and innocent, and in that moment, it felt like you would've done anything this man asked you. What was wrong with you? 

"Yes, Professor Lupin?"

He cleared his throat, attempting to appear casual. 

"Y/N, I... uh, I need to discuss something somewhat personal with you, and I apologize for the discomfort," he began. 

Your brows knitted in confusion, your posture tense. "Something personal, Professor?" 

He paused, gathering his thoughts, carefully selecting his next words. "I've noticed...that is, I've sensed...that you might be approaching a significant time that's inherent to your nature as an omega." 

Your expression shifted from confusion to embarrassment, unsure where he was going with this. "I- I'm not sure to understand, Professor... what do you mean?" 

Remus hesitated, his instincts as an alpha to protect and take charge clashing with his respect for you and your autonomy. "It seems that uh... you're about to experience your first heat, Y/N. It's a critical time for an omega, and it can be very dangerous if you're not prepared or aware." 

Your eyes widened, your embarrassment escalating into fear. "My first heat? But... I- I didn't know... I thought I had more time before... before that happened," you admitted shyly. 

Remus nodded, trying to appear comforting despite the turmoil raging within him. "It's unpredictable at times, especially the first one," he assured you. "It's imperative that you have a safe place and proper care during this period, especially considering that... well I assume, considering you haven't been on any suppressants." 

You looked away, uncomfortable. "No... no I haven't."

"That's okay. That's why I'm offering to help. I can provide a safe place for you, ensure that you have what you need to get through this safely. It's not ideal... but I cannot, in good conscience, let you face this alone." 

You suddenly wanted this very much, despite your habit of fighting your inner nature at every turn- no. You were not going to be a weak, vulnerable omega who needed an alpha to protect her. You could manage. You would manage. This was no big deal. 

"I can handle it myself, Professor," you said, trying to sound confident but failing pretty miserably. 

"I understand, but I assure you, my intentions are solely to offer protection and support. I wouldn't suggest this if there weren't a genuine need." 

At that moment, you weren't sure if he was just very good at being persuasive, or if your pathetic omega nature begged you to bend to his "protection". 

"Are you sure?" the question coming out more as a challenge. 

"Yes, I am. It's my responsibility as your professor and as an alpha to ensure you're safe," he affirmed. 

"O-okay, fine." 

"Just come to my quarters at the end of the day. I'll have everything prepared for you. We'll make sure you're as comfortable and safe as possible," he instructed and this time, his tone was firm, leaving no room for you to argue back. 

You simply nodded and made your way out of the classroom. The conversation had left you disoriented. Your lifelong determination to maintain independence and resist alpha authority was now clashing with an inexplicable trust in your professor. 

You had never expected your first heat to come so suddenly. You thought there would be signs to prepare you, like most other omegas. But no. It was just there. And what was more embarrassing was that it wasn't you who found out first. It was an alpha. And your professor, at that. 

You seriously considered not going to his quarters that night. Not because you were scared or didn't trust him, but just for the shame you felt. That shame, however, was quickly overshadowed by fear. You knew what could happen to unclaimed omegas who were in heat and who didn't take suppressants. Not all alphas were as kind as Remus. Some of them were vile predators ready to pounce on the first vulnerable omega they smelled. Somehow, you knew- rather inherently felt, that Remus wasn't like that. 

Swallowing your pride, you made your way to Professor Lupin's quarters, your stomach an absolute mess from the strange blend of anxiety and odd sense of security. 

Remus was already out by the door, a small bag in hand, a gentle smile, albeit somewhat anxious, expression gracing his face. 

"Thank you for coming, Y/N. I know this must be overwhelming," he said, trying to keep his voice soft and reassuring. 

You nodded, not sure you could trust your voice in that moment. 

He offered a small smile, then gestured for you to follow. "We're not staying here. I have a safer place in mind." 

You obeyed silently, following him through the corridors and then outside, the only sound being the small vials of potion clinking in the bag and the soft thumping of your feet on the wet grass. 

You had no idea where he was taking you, but it didn't matter. In that moment, you were quite literally trusting him with your life, and you hated that. 

Stopping before the Whomping Willow, Remus motioned for you to wait at a safe distance, and you watched in awe as he expertly pacified the violent tree, revealing a hidden entrance to an underground passage. 

Without questioning him, you proceeded in silence, making your way through some damp, sketchy tunnels. This was definitely not how you had expected to have your first heat and your need to be with him was growing stronger and stronger. In normal circumstances, you should have been scared, terrified even, following a grown alpha to Merlin-knows-where, but you actually were starting to feel desperate, aching for something you couldn't explain. 

You finally emerged into an old, creaking building, full of dust and looking like it was about to fall apart. Despite this, fresh blankets were laid out on the bed, candles provided a soft light, making it look somewhat comfortable. 

Remus carefully set down the bag of potions and turned to you, looking a bit sheepish. 

"It's not much, I know. But this place has been a refuge of sorts during my time here as a student... it's secluded, away from prying eyes and other... influences," he explained, deliberately vague about the deeper reasons. 

You looked around, taking in your surroundings. He was right, this wasn't much, but it was safe. "Thank you, Professor Lupin." 

"Please, call me Remus here," he insisted gently. "I'll let you settle down. I'll be just next door. If you need anything, just call for me."  

"Thank you, Remus." 

In the adjacent room. Remus sat rigidly, every muscle tensed, focusing on every breath, attempting to anchor himself to his resolve. He was battling his own nature, his instincts, usually so well-contained, were now threatening to overwhelm him, fuelled by your potent scent. It had been years since he'd felt such a primal pull, and he had never acted on it. So he sat, focusing on deep, steadying breaths. it was all he could do to maintain control. 

Meanwhile, you were beginning to experience the torturing onset of your heat. It was a violent assault of unfamiliar sensations, confusing, intense, leaving you feeling profoundly alone yet achingly in need of something- something, specifically Remus. The room felt too large, too empty, yet suffocating. 

Unable to bear the isolation and the escalating ache, you called out, your voice echoing a desperation you barely understood. "R-Remus... Remus, please... I don't know what's happening to me." 

Remus hesitated at the door, his hand clenched around the frame. "Y/N, I'm here. Tell me what you need," he encouraged.  

"I need... I need... I feel like i'm losing my mind. I need... I don't know," you stammered, your confusion and need radiating from you in a way that tugged relentlessly at Remus' instincts. 

He stepped just inside the room, his expression a mix of concern and fear- for you, for himself, for the line he was terrified of crossing. "I know, I know. I understand. It's your heat... and it's strong. But I brought something that might help," he said, retrieving a vial from the small bag he had brought. "Drink this; it should ease the symptoms." 

You took the vial with trembling hands and drank the potion, your eyes never leaving his as he sat cautiously at the edge of the bed. 

"Why is this happening to me like this? Shouldn't the potion work immediately?" you asked, panic evident in your tone. 

"It should, but... your heat seems to be very strong. Let's just wait for a moment. I'm here." 

"Remus... it's not working. Please, I need..." 

"I know what you need, Y/N. But I can't give it to you. We have to wait it out. It's going to be alright." 

This wasn't going to do. Being far from him was painful. Being close to him without getting what you needed what torture. You needed him in a way you had never needed anything else before. You needed him to consume you, to take you, to mark you, to breed you. 

"Alpha, please," you whispered without even meaning to. The moment the words left your lips, Remus froze, his heart racing as every fibre of his being, of his soul, responded to that word. It was spoken with such raw need that it resonated with the very essence of his being. His resolve shattered, not out of defeat, but out of an overwhelming need to fulfill his role as an alpha. 

Before you could react, you were flipped onto your stomach, the sound of a low growl reaching your ears. You were not even in control of your body anymore. Your instincts were controlling you, and you desperately raised your hips, presenting yourself to him in the most intimate way. 

The sight made Remus' blood travel south immediately. Already hard, he yanked down your trousers before unbuckling his own. You raised your hips higher, whining pathetically, desperate for him to take you. As he looked down at you, his cock throbbed with need and he knew then, there was no going back. 

"Please, alpha," you begged again, your voice trembling. "I need... I need you." 

"Fuck..." he growled, reaching down to position himself at your slick entrance. "I'm sorry," he started, his voice trembling, "this is the only way I know to help you." 

You closed your eyes, bracing yourself for the pain and pleasure that would soon consume you. "Please," you whimpered, "I need this." 

With a grunt, Remus pushed himself into you, your bodies connecting in a way that was both deeply intimate and primal. You gasped at the intrusion, your body trembling as you felt him filling you. 

He felt you tighten and tense as you tried to accommodate his size, your body reacting instinctively. "Relax," he instructed, his voice a low rumble. "You need to relax. Let me take care of you." 

His words, the authority in his tone, something deep within you responded. You forced yourself to relax, even as you felt his girth stretch you. He hissed in pleasure as he felt you accommodate him, your tightness almost too much. 

"That's it, good girl," he rasped out, one hand coming to rest on your lower back to steady you. His hips snapped forward, burying himself fully within you. 

You moaned, your entire being blissfully consumed by the feeling of fullness. 

"Are you alright?" he asked, staying very still within you. 

You could only nod before another desperate plea escaped you. "Yes, alpha... please, more."

At that, he allowed his instincts to fully take over. His hands gripped your hips painfully, and he began to move, his thrusts deep and powerful. A part of him was urging him to be gentle, but the other part, the alpha, was screaming at him to take what was his, to claim, to mate, and it was too strong to resist. He needed to feel you beneath him, to lose himself in the pleasure of your connection. 

You clung to the sheets, your nails digging into the fabric as Remus continued to rut into you. Your body rocked with every thrust, and soon enough, the pain began to fade, replaced by a blissful warmth that spread through your body. He knew he was taking a risk. A huge risk. But he couldn't help himself. He needed you, and you needed him. 

"Fuck, Y/N," he grunted as he continued his relentless pace. He leaned over you, his chest against your back, your bodies moulding together as though they were made for each other. "You feel so good," he growled low in your ear, his voice deep, rasping, reflecting his unending hunger. 

Each of his movement was sharp, controlled yet desperate, a constant rhythm of push and pull and he delved deeper into you, the pulsing throb of him only heightening your pleasure. 

"Alpha... alpha, please... I- I'm going to-" you tried to say but your orgasm tore through you with such force that you lost your voice. Remus didn't slow down. If anything, feeling you clench around him only fuelled his punishing pace. 

"I'm going to knot you," he announced. "I'm going to fill you up. Mark you as mine," he continued breathlessly. "I want everyone to know you're mine, to see you swollen with my seed, to see you bear my mark." 

You whined, barely able to hold yourself up from under his weight, but you managed to keep your hips elevated, desperate to be filled, to be marked, to be owned. 

His movements became jerky, sporadic as the wave of his release began to crest, each thrust of his hips pushing you further down into the mattress. "Take it," he rasped, "take my knot," his voice a harsh whisper against the shell of your ear before his teeth latched onto the soft skin of your neck, imprinting his mark on you. 

You moaned at the mix of pain and pleasure as his hand traveled down your arm, tangling your fingers together and with a final, deep thrust, he surrendered to the pleasure, his body shuddering as he came inside you. His hips flush against yours, his body draped protectively over yours as he poured himself into you with abandon. Finally he stilled, grunting as he felt the knot at the base of his cock start to swell. 

The sensation was foreign, somewhat painful, and you tensed, almost instinctively trying to move away. 

"Shh, it's okay, it's okay," he tried to soothe, still panting from his intense climax. "Stay still for me. It'll subside soon, I promise." 

He remained on top of you for a while, the knot locking you together, securing a powerful and intimate bond between you. His fingers stroked your skin gently, before he carefully maneuvered you to your side, spooning you protectively as his knot was still deeply lodged within you. 

"I know, it's okay. I'm just making you more comfortable. I've got you," he soothed as you whimpered from the movements. 

You stayed like that, your bodies intimately connected, until the knot subsided enough for Remus to pull out. You whined at the sudden loss and the wet warmth spreading between your thigh. 

As he felt you relax into him, Remus gently kissed your temple before carefully disentangling himself from you. With a flick of his wand, the wet feeling between your legs disappeared and a blanket was draped over you. 

Turning to the potions bag, Remus retrieved a vial, his hands slightly trembling as he grasped the small bottle. 

"Y/N, can you sit up for me?" he asked gently, offering his hand to support you. 

With his help, you managed to move into a sitting position, your movements languid, utterly exhausted from what had just transpired. Remus handed you the potion, noticing your confused expression. 

"This is uh... it's just a precaution... to prevent any unwanted consequences," he explained, uncomfortable from the intimate implications of his words. 

Your cheeks flushed with a hint of color as you took the vial, your fingers brushing against his in the exchange. 

"Oh, I... thank you." 

"I know this looks like... perhaps I had planned for this to happen. But I promise, it is not the case. I simply keep this sort of supply for any students who may be in need." 

"I trust you, Remus. And this was bound to happen, one way or another... and I'm glad it was with you." 

"Well, I... erm. It's important to stay hydrated, especially after this. Here," he said, trying to change the subject. 

You laughed softly, accepting the water from him. He had this way of knowing exactly what you needed before you even knew yourself. You were actually thirsty, and the cool liquid helped soothe your parched throat. 

As you sipped your water, a sudden sharp pain caused you to reach for your neck, your fingers brushing against a fresh, deep red mark. You looked at Remus with questioning eyes, seeking an explanation. 

Remus, visibly uncomfortable and with a hint of regret in his eyes, cleared his throat before speaking. "That's... that's a mark. My mark," he began, struggling to maintain eye contact. 

"In the heat of the moment, it's something an alpha can leave on an omega. It's a claim, a deep, instinctual reaction that seals a powerful bond. I didn't mean to- I should have controlled myself better." 

Your fingers lingered on the mark, your initial shock giving way to a different emotion, one of a surprising acceptance and even a hint of joy. "Does this mean... are we mates now?" 

Remus nodded. "Yes, it does. And I'm sorry, Y/N. I didn't intend for this to happen this way. You're a student. I should have been more careful, more in control. But please know, I will take responsibility. I will take care of you, support you, and I promise, I won't be overbearing. I'll-" 

"Remus, stop," you interjected, amused by his words tumbling our in a flustered rush. A smile crept onto your lips, a sense of deep contentment washing over you. 

"I'm not upset. In fact, I'm...happy," you confessed. 

Remus looked up, surprised. "You are?" 

"Yes, I am. To be marked by you, to be your mate... it feels right, despite everything. I don't see myself with any of those young inexperienced alphas..." 

"Young inexperienced alphas," he echoed. "Are you calling me old, miss?"

"Yes, maybe I am..." 

[illyrianbitch]

Beneath the Ashes of Our Broken Oaths — Part Two

Pairing: Morrigan's Sister!Reader x Azriel

Summary: After abandoning the refuge of Velaris, you, Morrigan’s twin sister, returned to the forsaken Hewn City fueled by a vision for a better future. Now, your estranged family seeks your help when rumors of rebellion spread at a time of utmost inconvenience. Torn between your anger and a desire to protect the good, you begrudgingly agree and are forced to face memories of a past life and the unsettling presence of Azriel– the first man you ever loved.

Warnings: inner circle being unable to emotionally regulate, y/n being a soft spot for mor, y/n being suspicious, keir (🤮), some necessary build up for future parts, men in general (🤮).

Word Count: 3.9k

←Part One Part Three→

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

It didn’t take long for people to get suspicious. You had planned for this, of course, you knew the nature of your people. It took a few years, but soon enough you had a system in place; a way to get around the skeptical and paranoid eyes of Hewn City– a way to avoid the power your father held. In the worst case scenario, you always planned to take your own life. Set fire to your information, to everything that revealed the acts you had committed. Your work would die with you. After all, you swore to protect it with your life. 

You were caught one evening as you returned home, becoming aware of the man trailing behind you within moments of his appearance. Easily, your hand found itself resting on a dagger hidden in your sleeve, and you pulled him into an alley, holding him with your knife against this throat.

You recognized him, recognized his golden brown hair and bright green eyes. A commander. He didn’t struggle against you, nor did he make any moves to fight back. “Please,” He had said, his arms up in surrender, “Hear me out.” 

They had spent weeks deliberating their visit to you, wondering if it was worth the effort— wondering if they really needed your help. With the plan underway, Feyre, Mor, and Cassian had stationed themselves, waiting with bated breath for Rhys and Azriel's return. They knew it was unsuccessful the minute both men entered. Rhysand’s usual grace was replaced by visible frustration as he stormed in, the failure of their trip clung to both him and Azriel like a heavy layer of clothing. Mor's gaze flicked between the two, an expectant look ingrained into her strong features. Wordlessly, Rhys moved swiftly towards his office.

"So, by your cheery smiles, I'm guessing it went smoothly?"

Rhysand shot Cassian a piercing glare as he walked past, causing him to recoil in his seat instinctively. Feyre watched Rhysand's retreating and frowned, turning towards Azriel. His hazel eyes met her gaze briefly before looking away. Saying nothing, Az walked to an empty chair and dropped himself down with a deep exhale.

Feyre sighed, and with a resigned glance, she handed her wine glass to Mor, who took it without a word. With a brief look back at her friends, she made her way towards Rhysand's office as Mor eagerly poured the remaining wine into her own cup and took a large sip.

The room remained in a hushed stillness as the mated pair retreated into the office. Cassian and Mor exchanged uneasy glances before they both drew their gaze over to Azriel. His posture, typically erect and poised, now sagged as he curled into himself, his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands as he ran them up and down. There was a slight twitch in his wings as they settled behind him, slumped and slightly limp, reflecting a certain vulnerability– one of a man caught off guard.

It was a rare sight: Azriel, the Spymaster, usually shrouded in shadows and secrets, now laid bare before them. Az wasn’t one to wear his emotions openly, even in front of his family. He’d gotten good at it over the centuries— the practice of keeping his walls up just long enough for him to reach his bedroom, to welcome the sweet release of solidarity before he let his emotions breathe. But here he was, so evidently feeling. The sheer sight of it made Cassian uncomfortable, on edge, as if he should be prepared for an enemy to walk in any second and finish Azriel off.

"What happened back there, Az?" Cassian asked, his voice low and concerned.

Azriel hesitated.

“She called me a dog." He admitted, his voice barely above a murmur.

Cassian, taken aback, let out a sound of surprise that mirrored both a laugh and a scoff. He opened his mouth to respond, a teasing remark making itself to the tip of his tongue, but the burning intensity in Azriel's eyes, which were now on him, halted him in his tracks. Sensing the seriousness of the situation, Cassian chose silence over a misplaced joke, quickly coughing to stop himself instead.

Then, he got up and slowly walked over to Azriel, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Hey, it can only get better from here, right?" He said, his voice carrying a hopeful tone as he tried to alleviate the suffocating tension that reeked in the air.

Azriel turned his head to look up at his brother, his expression a bold showing of both disbelief and deep irritation. Cassian continued.

“I mean… theres only up once you’ve hit rock bottom.”

Mor rolled her eyes. Annoyance etched across her features as she huffed audibly, setting her wine glass down with a clatter before making a swift exit.

"Well, everyone's making fun exits today, huh?" Cassian gave a wry grin, gesturing towards the space Mor had just vacated.

Azriel just sighed, sinking further into the couch, shadows swirling restlessly around him. He closed his eyes, and for a moment, he saw you again. Your face. Your eyes, your anger. He ignored the way his stomach clenched as he pushed the image of you away.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Rhysand was beside himself.

Feyre could see it written on his face, felt it even deeper in her chest. His emotions were burning through their bond, hot enough for a heavy discomfort to settle in her own heart. Rhysand wasn’t just frustrated, he was angry, sad, disappointed, and guilty— all at the same time. The emotions were mixing among themselves, swirling inside of him and replacing any ability for coherent thinking. Instead, he was spewing every thought, every irritation.

"She didn't let me talk, treated me like a stranger in her home!"

Rhysand's voice was loud, an icy anger laced in it. Feyre watched as he paced back and forth, his hands clutching into fists at his side as he continued his rant. She hummed slightly.

"Well, did you at least give your condolences? For Caladan?"

Rhys stilled. He turned around and looked at his mate, at her scrunched eyebrows and expectant face. Suddenly feeling as if he was a child just caught in a lie, he looked away in shame.

“No. I did not.”

Feyre released a sigh.

“Rhys,” She said, the disappointed sound of his name falling from her lips. “That was your in.”

She was right, as she usually was. He had rushed headlong into business, seeking favors, and demanding help, and in doing so, he likely sabotaged the entire plan. And any potential for reconciliation, too. The realization gnawed at him and a sense of regret colored his features.

“Come here,” Feyre said, beckoning him to where she stood. He took hold of her extended hand and sat at the edge of his desk, taking in her kind face, the patience in her eyes. Feyre moved to stand between his thighs, her hands gently running through his hair in a soothing rhythm. The quiet, comforting touch seemed to ease some of his tension as he let out a deep breath.

"You went to her as High Lord. Maybe it would have been more successful if you had gone to her as Rhys, her cousin. Cassian seemed to think so as well.”

Rhys shook his head, leaning into Feyre’s touch.

"Cassian wasn’t there,” He said. “He didn’t see how she was, how she spoke to us—of us. She disrespected you, Feyre.”

She looked into his eyes, a dark violet now, pupils blown wide, and gave him a small smile. Threading her fingers through his hair, Feyre spoke softly to him.

"Whatever she said, I’m sure I’ve been told worse."

He shook his head again, clenching his jaw. Then, he gently reached to where her hand lay on his cheek, grabbing it in his own and bringing them to his lap.

"We may have overestimated the connection she still holds to us."

"Let's not make any assumptions now,” Feyre said with a small frown, a crease forming between her brows. “It was only one visit, and a short one at that."

Rhysand replayed the visit in his mind, the memory now a fresh and painful wound. He walked himself through it, wondering what he could have fixed, where he might have been able to mend the fraying threads of the connection you once held to him. His mind fixated on the look etched on your face, the callousness with which you addressed him and Azriel – even Azriel. 

The change in you baffled him. He tugged at memories of the girl he had grown up with, the one adorned with a soft smile and bright eyes. How had that radiant spirit transformed so swiftly? The answer immediately echoed in his mind – Hewn City, an insidious place breeding misery. It had claimed you, just as it had claimed the rest.

“I don’t know what I can do,” Rhys admitted. “She was just so…”

“Cold? Detached?”

The sound of Mor’s voice caused both Feyre and Rhys to separate, turning their heads to the blonde who leaned casually against the now open door.

“Sorry to interrupt,” She said flatly. She turned her gaze to her cousin. "So, am I right? Was she cold, detached, exactly like I said she’d be?"

Rhysand shared a glance with his mate but said nothing. He couldn’t find the right words to say, and wouldn’t take the chance of saying the wrong ones. Not when the situation was so fragile, so delicate— and especially not when Mor was looking at him with that hard look on her face. The one she only wore when it came to you.

Mor took his silence as confirmation and crossed her arms against her chest. "I told you," she declared with an air of exasperation, her tone laced with pride. "It’s no use. You’ll sooner find spring flowers in the Winter Court than ever get her to agree."

Feyre felt herself deflate. She wanted to believe you were good, wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps it was her relationship with Nesta, a woman that she knew with anger in her veins, similar to how Rhysand spoke of you now. Or maybe it was the few times she’d interacted with you, when you’d surprised her with your sweet tone. 

Feyre casted a look at Mor. 

“We will figure something out. Just be patient.”

Mor let out a small scoff, shaking her head. She pursed her lips before responding.

“Patience won’t thaw a frozen heart.”

Feyre watched as Mor lingered for a moment and then excused herself. But she didn't miss the subtle shift she saw in her friend's face. Underneath her anger and pride, Mor seemed sad… disappointed.

And Feyre was right. Mor was disappointed.

She had only seen you a handful of times since you returned to the hell that you both had escaped. Each of those times had been worse than the one before, an unspoken tension between you two, harsh glances thrown when you’d meet one another's eyes. Yet, deep down, despite her worst beliefs, a part of her had held onto hope that when Rhysand and Azriel returned, you would be with them.

It was a foolish dream, and now, having heard how Rhys spoke to Feyre about you, Mor felt like an idiot for ever entertaining the idea of you coming home. Well, the idea of you at all. 

As she left Rhysand’s office, Feyre’s encouraging words echoed in her head. But she couldn’t feel them, not the way Feyre wanted her too; because Mor knew, deep in her heart...

You were a lost cause.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

You knew about the rumors.

Of course you did.

After all, you were the one who started them.

A part of you found it unnerving, how easily the lie rolled off your tongue. You knew that time had changed you, had hardened you to a certain extent. You wouldn't have been able to survive this city otherwise. And you'd lied a lot since your return. Your entire life was a lie.

But you had been so careful when it came to them-- to your family. You wanted to believe that you were better than the people you looked down on, better than Rhysand, better than Mor, better than the people in your life that were selfish and blinded. But maybe you weren't. Perhaps you had gotten so good at lying that you didn't even realize when you were lying to yourself. You weren't ready to face that reality yet.

Rhysand and Azriel weren't supposed to find you. They weren't even supposed to know- not yet, anyway. You had planned for more time, hoped that Rhysand would be busy with his new babe, that Azriel wouldn't be around to dig into your secrets. They hadn't frequented the Court of Nightmares recently-- preoccupied with their perfect city and the three Made sisters, you assumed. Your own sister was never a worry with her trips to Hewn City being short and far between, usually accompanied by the three men you once loved so deeply.

Azriel's stare lingered in your mind. The hazel color bore into you, made you feel like the memory itself could grab you and drag you back to a past you couldn't escape. You had dreamt of those eyes, of conversations left unfinished, of explanations that never came. Seeing him, when you had been so unprepared, so exposed, was a burning reminder of what you had lost and what you had become in its wake.

You wanted to bury the past even further into your brain, find a crevasse unfilled and stuff every thought of them into it. But you knew it would be a futile attempt. You would never be able to outrun what haunted you, not when those ghosts were still alive.

Your head pounded. You felt the urge to sit and drink your thoughts away, to find Evadne and smoke her specialty herbs. But first, you needed to protect yourself, cover your tracks. Your muddy, messy, and obvious tracks.

The night air in Hewn City was thick with the stench of filth and decay. Dirty alleys echoed with the sounds of bawdy laughter, predatory and wolfish. Occasional sounds of distress from unseen fae pierced through the night, quickly drowned out within the chaos of the city. The ground was layered with grime, and every step felt like wading through a cesspool.

You moved through the twisted streets, a heavy hood on in an attempt to go unnoticed. Still, catcalls and jeers followed. C'mere sweet thing. You continued walking. The man followed. Bet you'd be even more interesting without those pesky clothes, wouldn't you? You grimaced, swallowing the bile that rose a the sound of the grating voice. Quickly, you moved forward, avoiding his sight. Your shoulders fell in relief when you heard his retreating footsteps, followed by loud drunken complaints about how you'd ran off like a tease.

As you approached the hidden building your father had recently taken space in, the atmosphere changed. Your heart instantly felt heavier, and you began to mentally prepare yourself for the interaction. The heavy door creaked open. Keir, surrounded by a select few of his men, looked up from the table where he sat. His eyes, sharp and piercing, bore into you as you entered-- stern gaze irritated by the intrusion.

"Keir," you addressed him with a feigned urgency, "I need to speak with you."

Instantly, anger flashed in his eyes.

"Show me respect." Keir demanded sharply.

"Forgive me," You quickly corrected. "May I speak with you? It's urgent."

Keir's gaze intensified, his eyes narrowing. "How rude of you not to say hello to my men," he sneered, emphasizing each word. "It seems you've forgotten all your manners."

You forced a strained smile, acknowledging the men with a cautious nod. "Hello," you offered.

You casted a wary gaze around the room. Each man looked like a nightmare, their large and intimidating frames were adorned with scars and grimy features that bore witness to countless battles. Some wore smirks that reeked of arrogance, while others openly eyed you up and down, their predatory gazes unsettling and intrusive. Suddenly, you felt 17 again-- bare, defenseless, and vulnerable; subject to the leering gazes of those who saw you as nothing more than an object. It was a feeling you thought you'd left behind, a discomfort that dredged up memories you wished to forget.

You felt dirty, a sense of defilement creeping over you. You were a prize in their eyes, irrespective of any respect they might harbor for your father. These men, loyal or not, saw an opportunity to showcase you as a possession, a symbol of conquest. The thought of how they might do it sent a shiver down your spine, and you recoiled from the mental images that threatened to invade your consciousness. In that moment, you yearned to escape the suffocating atmosphere, to break free from the repulsive feeling that clung to you like an indelible stain.

Keir leaned back in his chair, a twisted grin forming on his lips. "There, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Your attention fixated on Thorne, one of your father's captains. You despised him-- despised the way he wore a sense of self-importance that trailed after him like a pet, despised how he spoke, even how he walked. His eyes scanned you slowly, sweeping up and down as if assessing your every vulnerability. The strength of his scrutiny ignited a simmering anger within you, and you gritted your teeth, resisting the urge to let your temper flare.

You envisioned an alternate reality – a world where consequences were fleeting, and you could seize control. The image of slamming Thorne's head against the table played vividly in your mind. The satisfying thud, the sudden silence that followed, and the triumph of asserting dominance over the predator before you.

But reality anchored you, and you took a deep breath as your fathers voice pulled you from your thoughts.

"Well? You've interrupted me, and now you've left me waiting.”

"I have news," you replied, a subtle unease settling in as you braced yourself for the next part.

"Well, speak," Keir gestured with impatience, and you sensed the collective gaze of the men fixed upon you. It dawned on you – this wasn't a private exchange. Your stage had expanded beyond just you and your father.

"I was just paid a visit by a certain spymaster," you began, your tone carefully modulated. You decided that you would keep Rhysand’s presence a secret— for now. It would bring up too much, too fast. One presence was enough. Azriel alone would do. Keir's gaze sharpened, and you noticed a subtle tensing in his posture.

"Oh, is that so?" He responded, his tone laced with a disdain that didn't go unnoticed. "And what did that deformed overgrown bat wish to talk to you about?"

You felt a strange primal urge to defend Azriel against his words. He doesn't need your protection, you thought, doesn't deserve it. But the same image from earlier came to your mind; where Thorne once was, your father had taken his place. With an internal struggle to maintain composure, you responded.

"He wished to speak to me about rumors of an uprising."

Your father perked up.

"And what did you say to this?" Keir questioned, his eyes narrowing, probing for information.

"I told him I had heard no such thing," you replied, choosing your words carefully. "That perhaps he had been listening to his shadows too much, started to hallucinate situations where he was needed."

As the words left your lips, an uncomfortable weight settled in the pit of your stomach. Each syllable felt like a burning confession, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. It was a calculated deception, a necessary statement, yet the words felt wrong – a sinister compromise that clawed at your conscience.

You needed to do this to survive, you reminded yourself, they deserve it. But nonetheless, it left a residue of self-loathing. You couldn't help but compare yourself to the men in the room – those vulturous gazes, the filth that clung to them like soil. The realization that you had willingly immersed yourself in their skills, ones of deceit and cruelty, left you feeling dirty-- like you had been tainted by the same darkness you claimed to despise.

Keir responded with a contemplative "Hmmm," and you seized the opportunity to further weave your narrative.

"I told him that there are always rumors in Hewn City." You paused for emphasis before adding, "He asked me to tell him if I heard anything else. I told him no."

Silence. You resisted the urge to look away from your fathers heavy gaze, but the idea of looking at any of the other men surrounded you was a worse fate.

"How can I trust you?"

You felt his skepticism hang in the air like a heavy fog, his eyes scrutinizing you for any sign of deceit.

The weight of his distrust settled on your shoulders, and you took a moment to consider the best way to allay his suspicions. As you looked at him, a twinge of pity tugged at you. Your father, for all of his power, was paranoid and weak. He trusted no one. And you couldn't help but feel sorry for the life he led – one constantly clouded by suspicion. But that pity quickly faded. Keir deserved to live in such uncertainty, deserved every bit of discomfort that it provided.

"I hate them too," you said with an energy that mirrored the intensity in his eyes. "I hope I have proved myself thus far, proved that I want nothing more than to see them get what they deserve."

A pregnant pause lingered in the room as Keir absorbed your words. You could almost hear the gears turning in his mind as he assessed the credibility of your declaration.

"Especially Morrigan."

By the way his face slightly relaxed, you knew your words had done their job, played into his vulnerabilities with a precision that left you feeling both triumphant and repulsed.

"I'll take this into account," He conceded, his gaze lingering on you. "I'm assuming he will not be making any more late-night visits to you?"

"No,” You shook your head. “If he does, you will know.”

"Very well," Keir acknowledged. "Leave us."

He dismissed you with a wave of his hand.

A part of you could have sworn you detected a glimmer of pride in his eyes – a sickening acknowledgment that you had played your part too well. The sense of dirtiness clung to you like a wet blanket as you navigated your way home. The streets felt colder and the shadows more ominous, as if each and every one of them were Azriel’s and they knew what you had done-- what you had become. You wished you could shed your skin, remove the evidence of your life here, become something cleaner, something purer.

In the deafening silence of your home, you curled up in bed and shut your eyes tightly. You tired mind slowly formed it’s own hands and pulled you to images of a life before, you thought of the stars, of Velaris, of Mor, and of Azriel and his hazel eyes.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

a/n: woo!!! its starting!!! im prewriting as much as i can for this so i can get it going but eeek!! im just setting some groundwork down so stick with me babes.

y/n will be the president of the “my father is the worst man alive and i am his favorite daughter” club and the queen of dealing with anger as a form of grief.

tag list (some weren’t letting me so lets hope it works)🫶🏻

@kalulakunundrum @janebirkln @thelov3lybookworm @secretlyhers @nightcourt-daydreaming @sidthedollface2 @gorlillaglue25 @abysshaven @historygeekqueen @acourtofbatboydreams @justdreamstars @darling006 @inloveallthetime @dr4g0ngirl

[888artpys]

Chris Sturniolo x Photographer

content warnings : oral sex/ aggressive sex/ unprotected sex/ dom chris/ slapping/ neck grabbing/ 18+

summary : chris sturniolo meets you on the 1st stop of tour & brings you around for the remaining dates hired as their tour photographer.

if u want backstory feel free to read :

→ theprologue

-

As we pull into the hotel parking lot, I start waking Chris up to get everything ready to load onto the dolly. The tour bus slowly comes to a stop, and the soft hum of the engine fades. The seats are scattered with our belongings, and the air is filled with the scent of leather and faint traces of cologne.

We finally make it to our hotel room while the others go downstairs to the dining area. The room is now cleared, leaving just the two of us. Chris jumps up in a hurry, placing the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door and ensuring every lock is clicked and secured. The click of the locks echoes in the quiet room, adding to the anticipation.

He turns around to see me walking towards him seductively, the soft lighting of the hotel room casting a warm glow on my skin. The room is cozy, with multiple large beds adorned with crisp white sheets. The atmosphere is charged with tension and excitement as I close the distance between us.

As he stands there admiring me, I notice a smirk as he cups his area, trying to cover the noticeable bulge in his pants. My arm approaches his, pushing his arm away and replacing his hand with mine. I barely get a grip before Chris groans and manages to push my hand away from his pulsating member.

“I'll tell you when you can touch me. Get on your knees, ma,” Chris commands.

Chris smirks as I start getting on the floor. I feel my leg squish something, and as I break eye contact to see what it is, he quickly grabs my neck and turns my face back to him.

“Chris, wait, my-“

“Oh, my fucki- whatever it is, just move it to the side, ma. I need to be inside you now,” his voice thick with desire.

I quickly catch his attention when I detach his hands from my neck.

In a relieved tone, I exclaim, “Chris, omg, I almost broke my camera.” I noticed it was just the tripod that I snapped off, thankfully not the camera itself.

Chris glances at the camera and then back at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You know what. Give it to me, ma. Let me record us,” he suggests, his voice low and enticing.

“You want to record us?” I question, my eyebrows raising in surprise.

“If you’re okay with it, ma,” he replies, his tone filled with anticipation.

I pick up the camera, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness, and hand it to him, giving him my approval with a nod. Chris turns it on, the soft whirring sound signaling that it's ready to capture our moments. His voice was a low growl. "Now, where were we?"

As soon as I hear the start recording beep, Chris pulls the back of my head by grabbing a handful of my hair, his grip firm yet gentle. The camera's red recording light reflects in his eyes, adding an extra layer of intensity to the atmosphere.

With a raised tone Chris says, “Who’s fucking slut are you, huh?”

I signal him by looking up at him, trying not to break eye contact from this moment on.

“Words, ma, I need words.”

“I’m your fucking slut, Chris. I’m all yours.”

He puts the camera down while he gathers my hair into a ponytail using both hands.

Admiring my innocence Chris states, "Fuck, you're all mine, ma."

He finally lets go of me, breaking eye contact as he picks the camera back up.

I resume my position on my knees, my hands reaching for his waistband. Making eye contact with the camera, I start to bring my hand towards his belt, seeing his dick already begging for attention.

Chris grabs my neck aggressively. "I told you, I decide when you can touch me. I'm in control, remember?"

I smack my lips hopelessly as I feel his entire hand wrapped around my neck.

He lets go of my neck and places his thumb against my lips, pressuring me to insert it into my mouth.

Before I can process the camera flash turn on, Chris says, "Open, ma."

As I open my mouth, I drench his thumb in my saliva while I start unbuckling his belt.

He rolls his eyes and pushes my fingers off his waistband. "You just can’t wait to touch me, ma."

As my face turns red, he repeats for what feels like the hundredth time, "You have to listen to me, ma. Only I demand when you can touch me. Do you understand?"

He interrupts my nod, "Words, ma, I need words."

"Yes."

"Yes, what?" Chris asks.

"Yes, Daddy, I understand. I won't touch you until you let me.

As he puts his finger back into my mouth, he starts aggressively inserting it in and out until my eyes start to water. I tap out after gagging for several seconds straight.

Chris backs up to the bed as I catch my breath. "Take off your pants then come take everything off of me, ma."

I try not to seem too excited as I quickly slip my pants off and reach to put my fingers into his belt loops, undoing it as fast as I could.

Chris interrupts me by tugging at my shirt, signaling for me to let him take it off.

I raise my arms as he swiftly pulls off my shirt, his eyes widening as he takes in my exposed chest.

"Damn, you fucking little slut," he slowly murmurs under his breath.

He gazes at my breasts through the camera screen before leaning in and opening his mouth towards my nipples.

After sucking and roughly flicking my nipples, making them hard, I finally manage to slip his jeans off, leaving him in just his boxers.

He zooms in on my face, pulling my head back. Chris smirks as I groan, "Daddy’s little slut, huh?"

"Yes, Daddy, I’m all yours."

I reach for him, my fingers trembling with anticipation. His eyes never leave mine, the intensity in his gaze sending shivers down my spine. As I pull his boxers down, his arousal springs free, and I can't help but let out a soft gasp. His hand tangles in my hair, guiding me closer. The anticipation is almost too much to bear, and I can see the same need mirrored in his eyes.

I slowly wrap my hand around his length, feeling the pulse of his desire under my fingertips.

"That's right," he growls, his voice low and commanding. “Show me how much you want it."

I start with gentle kisses, my lips barely brushing against his skin. His hips jerk forward, seeking more contact, but I hold back, wanting to draw out the moment. His frustration is palpable, and it only fuels my desire to please him.

His grip tightens in my hair, and a low groan escapes his lips. The sound sends a shiver down my spine, and I can't resist teasing him just a little bit more.

Finally, I take him into my mouth, my tongue swirling around the tip. His reaction is immediate and intense, his body tensing and a deep moan filling the room. I move slowly at first, savoring the taste and feel of him, but soon his impatience takes over.

"Faster," he commands, his voice rough with need.

I obey, increasing my pace and taking him deeper. His hand tightens in my hair, guiding my movements. The room is filled with the sounds of our shared passion, and I can feel his body trembling with the effort to hold back.

The camera captures every moment. Every expression on my face as I lose myself in the act of pleasing him. His hand finds its way back to my hair, gripping it tightly as he aggressively guides my movements, his control unwavering.

"Good girl," he praises, his voice thick with lust. "Keep going, just like that."

I can feel his body tensing, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he nears the edge.

Just when I think he might lose control, he pulls me up, his hands gripping my arms and lifting me to my feet. His lips crash against mine in a searing kiss, full of hunger and desperation. He puts me onto the bed and backs me up against the sheets, his hands roaming over my body, exploring every curve and contour.

"Turn around," he orders, his voice barely more than a whisper.

I comply, my heart racing with anticipation. His hands slide down my sides, gripping my hips and positioning me just right. I can feel his breath hot against my neck as he leans in, his body pressed firmly against mine.

“Here” with the camera in his hand motioning me to set it on the nightstand near the bed.

As I reach out, stretching my body out to put the camera down Chris uses both hands to aggressively thrust my hips onto him inserting himself and filling up my walls.

“Ah,” I moan out surprised. Not at the fact he inserted himself without warning but that he didn’t use protection.

Chris quickly gets out of me and turns my head to face him while catching his breath.

“I’m sorry- I, was that too much- I mean was that too fast- I’m sorry- I-”

“Chris you’re perfect I like it rough, you know it.”

"Do you trust me?" he asks regretting his aggression, his lips brushing against my ear.

"Yes," I breathe, my voice barely audible.

"Okay good," he says, his tone filled with promise.

As I start getting back into position he gently interrupts turning me back around. His hands cup my face, his thumbs stroking my cheeks as he gazes into my eyes. "You're beautiful," he whispers, his voice filled with sincerity and admiration.

He leans in, his breath warm against the back of my neck. "Just relax," he whispers, his voice a calming presence. "I've got you."

His hands continue their journey, moving down to my waist, his grip tightening slightly. He pulls me closer, and I can feel the heat of his body against mine. The closeness, the intimacy, is almost overwhelming.

Chris' hands slide around to my front, his fingers splaying across my stomach. using both hands to cup my waist with both hands. He holds me there for a moment, as I reach under grabbing his member and guiding him. Feeling his pressure outside my walls I open my legs wider, arch harder, with my ass high in the air.

After both letting out a loud moan Chris lets me feel the security of his embrace as he slowly inserts himself letting me get used to his size.

After multiple slow thrusts, Chris eventually starts pounding me aggressively as I cry out loud moans containing his name.

As I feel his body tense up he takes himself out of me and flips me onto my back.

The words barely coming out, “You doing okay ma?” Chris says completely out of breath.

I nod.

As Chris pauses to admire my bare chest, a shiver runs down my spine from his intense gaze. I can feel his eyes on me, a mix of desire and admiration.

He then grabs the camera back from the nightstand, zooming in as he starts playing with my breasts. The sensation of his touch sends a wave of pleasure through me, making me gasp softly.

In a playful move, I snatch the camera, now recording Chris. With a mischievous smile, I run my hand down his chest, capturing his reaction as I tease him.

I then guide the camera down to his waist, signaling for him to fill me back up. The anticipation builds as he slowly enters me, the feeling of him inside me sending waves of pleasure through my body.

Chris grins as he pulls my hips closer to him, throwing both legs over his shoulder. As he inserts himself, my back arches off the bed, and I roll my eyes back. It doesn’t take Chris long to resume his fast pace from earlier. The intensity of the moment, the connection between us, is electric and all-consuming.

The room fills with the sounds of our shared pleasure, the camera capturing every moment of our passionate encounter.

“Chris, let me cum, please,” I beg, my voice trembling with need.

“Hold it for a second, ma. I’m almost there,” Chris replies, his voice strained with effort.

Chris slaps his hand across my mouth as I accidentally moan louder than usual. “Chris, I can’t do it anymore. Ahh, you’re so big,” I cry out as he continues to pound into me. I throw the camera back onto the nightstand, ready to capture our releases.

His thrusts become faster and sloppier, his breathing grows more rapid. I yell out, “Chris, please let me cum. I can’t take it.”

Chris grips my waist tighter, and I feel his swollen member around my walls, reaching his climax. "Look at me," he commands, his voice a rough whisper. "I need to see your eyes when I cum." I obey, my gaze locking onto his as I bring him to the brink. The intensity of the moment is overwhelming.

Chris tenses up, and we both let out a deep moan. The moment of release is explosive, our bodies trembling with the force of our shared climax. The connection between us feels unbreakable, a bond forged in the heat of our passion.

As we come down from the high, Chris collapses beside me, pulling me into his arms. We lie there, catching our breath, the camera forgotten on the nightstand. The intimacy of the moment lingers, a testament to the depth of our connection.

Chris gently strokes my hair, his touch tender and loving. “You’re amazing,” he whispers, his voice filled with admiration.

I smile, feeling a sense of contentment and fulfillment. “So are you, Chris. So are you.”

Chris' phone interrupts us and I glance over and see it’s Matt. I quickly dress myself, thinking they’re outside the door.

Chris pulls my hand towards him, falling back into the bed. “Ma, it’s fine, calm down. He’s calling to ask if we wanna go to the movies after they’re finished dinner.”

I let out a sigh of relief as I nod my head yes, walking to the restroom door.

“Yeah, she’s just gonna shower and get ready. Y’all can start heading back.”

“Well, we’re going to put gas in the bus. I was just giving y’all a heads-up. We’ll probably be back in another hour.”

Chris quickly smirks, guessing I heard the other side of the phone. He gets up, heading towards the bathroom, ready to start another round.

“Chris, we don’t have much time,” I laugh, trying to sound stern but failing miserably as he pulls himself into the shower with me.

[selineram3421]

*has a little idea* I've gotta listen to brain commands.

First Day

Alastor and Child Reader

Warning! ⚠

⚠ implied murder, mention of kidnapping, mention of heart attack, shake of head=no, fake crying lol, italic red=Alastor's thoughts ⚠

Alastor didn't understand why some demons worried over the little children that ran amuck in Hell.

That is until he adopted one himself.

Small, wide eyed, and frail looking. Of course he'd worry after a glance. But after seeing the pile of dead bodies beneath their feet, it seemed like there wasn't too much to worry about.

So all he had to do was teach them how to make others fear them. Especially after the whole kidnapping fiasco with Valentino.

And what better timing than their first day of school.

.

You were playing around in the hotel.

Most of it was following Husk around and scaring the other hotel guests. But then Charlie told Alastor the number of complaints from guests about you and your pranks.

"They are absolutely harmless! What's a little scare going to do?", the deer demon said.

"Someone had a heart attack.", Vaggie piped in.

"Nuh-uh!", you popped up out of nowhere, making the two females jump in surprise. "That frog demon croaked! He's just mad that I made him make a funny sound."

The blonde sighs before holding out a flyer to the red dressed demon.

"Look, I know you're just having fun but not all demons think its funny.", she tells you before looking at Alastor. "There's a school for demon children not too far from the hotel, maybe they can meet demons their age and make friends?"

After dinner you and Alastor sat down on the couch in the hotel room and read through the flyer.

"I don't want to go.", you pouted.

"Don't worry my little terror, we'll think of something.", he booped your nose. "Perhaps we can use this as training!"

"Training?", you repeated.

"Yes! We'll use this as an opportunity!", Alastor said as he stood from the couch, turning to hold out a hand for you to take. "Come little one, there's much I have to teach you."

.

"Remember what I taught you little one!", Alastor says, fixing their coat. "Anything can be a weapon..."

"With enough force and creativity!", they said confidently.

"Correct!", his smile brightened. "Now, let's go show the ladies that you are a proper demon with manners so they feel bad for sending you out. Remember to look sad."

"Hmhmm!", the nod again before taking a deep breath, putting on their sad face and looking down at the floor.

"Perfect.", he approved before leading them by the hand down to the lobby.

Both of the girls were waiting by the entrance doors to say their goodbyes to the little demon.

"We are ready!", Alastor announces.

"Hey! We got them a-", Charlie starts before noticing the little demon's sad face. "..lunch box."

Vaggie squints at them but doesn't say anything.

Though the Radio Demon can see that his little one's sad face is affecting her as well, the moth demon clenching her fists.

"Now, what do we say mon petit?", the deer demon pats their back.

"I'm..", they say but don't look up yet. "I'm sorry for being bad and I'll go to school so..", finally they look up at the girls with little tears starting to well up. "Please don't be mad anymore."

Charlie is obviously affected the most and looks over at her partner, receiving a shake of the head from the white haired demon in response.

The princess takes a breath before handing over the lunch box to the little demon. "Its only for a little bit, alright?"

"Ok..", they say, still keeping up with the act before turning to face him. "Bye Alastor."

"It won't be for long, don't worry.", he 'reassures' them. "I'll pick you up when school is out."

They nod before hugging his side.

He pats them on the head before waving them goodbye as they walk out of the hotel and to the school bus.

Bidding the ladies adieu, Alastor lets his smile widen after turning away from the two, wondering how his little demon will cause chaos.

I can't wait to hear all about it~

*wipes away tears after typing out the fake crying* I was that child huh.

~Seline, the person.

Part 2

Taglist@

@willowaudreykeyes @kiraisastay @c4rved-pumpk1n @stolas-thebirb @scary-noodlesblog @naelys-the-aster @ducky-died-inside @biromanticboba @+?

ML for Alastor🎙

[wake-me-up-inside-imagines]

Hi there could I request a top male yandere popular jock with a bttm reader could it be nsfw as well as for the prompt it's all up to you.

Hi, sure thing! As per the ask, this whole thing's gonna be nsfw, so you've been warned!

I definitely feel like I could have written this better, but I hope you all enjoy it as it is.

Also, just want to clarity this now, Reader and Jason are in college. Jason's on a college level football team, just thought I'd clarify in case anyone was confused.

Yandere! Jock With A Bottom Reader

Male! reader

Warnings: Yandere behavior (I'm counting the possessiveness as yandere behavior), NSFW content, rough sex, degradation, orgasm denial, anal sex, creampie, exhibition, biting, marking, extremely possessive sex, minor threats of violence to other people (he would do worse if he wasn't so horny)

Divider credit goes to @cafekitsune

"Fuck, you're so tight. Tightest hole I've ever fucked. C'mon, keep clenching around me like that. You wanna make me feel good, don't you?"

You find it hard to reply with your face smushed up against the locker, your cheek pressing against your teeth. Jason's standing directly behind you, his back pressed firmly against yours as he holds your head against the locker. His fingers grip harshly at your hair, digging into your scalp as he gives a shallow thrust into your ass. The stretch is almost too much, bu you bare it, allowing yourself to loosen up around Jason's cock.

If you were being honest, this was not how you envisioned the night ending. At least, not his exact way. You had assumed that after Jason's game, the two of you would meet up somewhere, you'd congratulate his victory, and then head back to his apartment, or go get dinner, or something along those lines.

So when Jason texted you to meet him at the locker rooms, you hadn't thought much of it. You were nervous about being near his teammates, they never really liked you all that much, but it made sense to meet your boyfriend where he'd be changing before heading out for the night.

What you hadn't expected was for him pull you into the now empty locker room the second you arrived, crashing his mouth against yours. You thought maybe he just missed you, but before you knew it, both of you lost your clothes, Jason's fingers buried themselves deep inside of you, and only moments later, he was pushing into you, groaning as he bottomed out in your ass.

You probably should have expected this. Jason never was one for shame, and besides, he was high off adrenaline, with no way to blow off steam. No way to blow it off, except for you, that is.

"C'mon baby boy, I need a verbal response. Cat got your tongue?"

Jason suddenly gave a harsh thrust into your ass, drawing a embarrassingly loud moan from your lips. You were rock hard, your dick slapping against your stomach as your body jolted forward. You would have been mortified if you were in your right mind, but at this point, the horniness had taken too deep a hold on your mind for you to care. All you wanted was for Jason to move, to wreck you, to pound you until you collapsed to the floor.

"Yrs," you mumble out. "Werna mke you eel grd." You try to buck your ass further into Jason's pelvis, but he stops you, keeping your hips steady with one hand.

Before you can blink, your head is getting yanked away from the lockers, allowing you to speak and breath normally. Jason removes his hand from your head grabbing your chin harshly, forcing you to look him dead in the eyes. It's painful for you to turn your neck so sharply, but you don't dare look way, not when Jason's looking at you with those intense, commanding eyes.

"Awe, poor baby. Can't speak properly." He mocks, bringing his face closer to yours. A smirk adornes his face, one your used to seeing by now, his teeth flashing menacingly. "Let's try that one more time, yeah?"

Despite the hold he has on your jaw, you nod, your eyes wide. "Yes," you whine out, much clearer than before. "Wanna make you feel good!"

His smirk only grows wider, his hold on your jaw growing impossibly tighter. "Yes what, sweetheart?"

You whimper at the lack of movement. You hated how he teased you, never giving you what you wanted until he decided he wanted to. "Yes sir."

"Good, good boy." Jason praises, the same stupid grin plastered on his face. his leans in to kiss you, and you go to meet him, your lips parting as you close your eyes. You can taste the sweat on his chapped lips, no doubt from the long, intense game he had just played. You guessed he'd probably end up even more sweaty before the night was through. You and him both.

He breaks away from you, his bare chest rising steadily as he takes in air. You look back at him, your chest halfway pressed against his, your eyes slowly opening as you wait for his next move.

Before you can blink, Jason's slamming your body against the lockers again, your chest pressed right up against the cool metal as your head snaps foreword. You don't get a warning before he thrusts into you, his pace beyond brutal as he presses himself as far as he can into your hole, his balls slapping up against your ass.

A loud, high pitched moan leaves your throat. He going so fast and so hard that it’s difficult for you to get your bearings. You place your hands on the lockers in front of you, trying to brace yourself against your boyfriend’s unrelenting pace. F-fuck, slow down! It’s too-too much!”

"Oh, is it?" Jason coos, leaning over you so his back is flush against yours, his head leaning on your shoulder. His muscular arms wrap themselves around your stomach, one of his wrists brushing the tip of your cock as he moves to hold you in place. "Maybe you should have thought about that before you decided to rile me up during one of the biggest games of the season. What did you expect to happen?"

"Wh-what?" You squeak out, your voice shaky from the unrelenting pleasure. You honestly have no idea what he was talking about. You hadn't even seen him before the game, so when could you possibly have riled him up?

"Don't play dumb sweet boy, you know what you did." He groans, slamming into you again and again, your body shaking under him. He loves seeing you like this, he loves seeing you beneath him, giving up control and letting him do as he pleases to get you both off. "You really think I wouldn't notice that sweet voice of yours calling my name in the stands? You think I didn't notice how you cheered for me whenever I made a play, calling out like I was the only one out there? You think I didn't notice how you smiled at me with that gorgeous little grin of yours? It was like you were begging me to rail you right then and there, I could barely focus on the game with you watching me with those eyes."

"Ah, ah, ah~" you whine, your hard dick leaking pre-cum all over your stomach. You had no idea you were doing anything to provoke Jason, you hadn't even realized he could hear or see you in the stands, but fuck, it felt so good to be taken like this that you found it hard to care that your innocent actions had stirred up a beast inside of Jason. You'd do it forever if it meant he'd make you feel this good afterwards.

Jason grunts behind you, giving a particularly hard thrust in your ass. "But the worst part of it all was that I wasn't the only one who was distracted." He chuckles darkly as you turn your head, confusion shining in your cock drunk eyes. "Oh no, you didn't think the others wouldn't be able to hear you, did you?" His thrusts become harsher, more brutal, if that was even possible. "Because they did. You should have seen them. They couldn't keep your eyes off of you. You know how it feels to have your whole team give your boyfriend lustful looks like that?"

Jason moves his head, opening his mouth and biting down hard on your shoulder. You cry out, the pain and pleasure almost unbearable for your overstimulated body. you knew you weren't going to leave this locker room without several marks all over you, but you couldn't complain. You liked how possessive Jason was over you, how he claimed you over and over and over again, never letting anyone doubt who you belonged to. You were his, and it turn, he was yours, you had not doubts about that.

He releases your skin, kissing the bite mark he left behind before moving to your neck, his lips brushing over your skin before he finds a spot to suck on. "I'll tell you what it's like. It's jealousy-inducing. It's blood-boiling. It's maddening. How dare they look at you like that? Like they'd ever get to have a chance with you? You're mine!" He bites down again and your hips jerk violently, your cock straining for release at the painful ecstasy you're experiencing. You feel him release you, his lips looking for another spot to mark up. "Mine, not theirs! They'll never have you, not like I do. I had to teach them that before they tried anything."

You turn your head to look to him again, your gaze half lidded. "I-oh shit, just like that...what? What-What lesson?" Your face suddenly shifts into an expression of understanding. "They can't...Are they watching right now?"

Jason smiles, this time a little kinder, kissing your forehead lightly. "Oh no baby, don't worry, they can't see you. I would never let them. This," a hand reaches down to your cock, wrapping around it and pumping it at a leisurely, almost teasing pace. "This is for my eyes only. I would never let them see you like this."

"But..." he continues, his smile growing more sinister. He speeds up, the sound of skin meeting skin and your moans of pleasure echoing off the walls. "they can certainly hear you. You didn't think they went home, did you?"

You tense up a little, your face flushing red with embarrassment. Jason's team was still there? And they're listening in? You hadn't seen anyone besides Jason on your way in, so where were they? Were they all standing behind the locker room doors, pressed up against them as they listened in on what their teammate was doing? Were they there the entire time you'd been going at it?!

The hand jerking you off quickens it's pace. A moan tries to force it's way out of your throat, but you stifle it, embarrassment flooding through you at the thought of multiple different men, none of whom you knew very well, if at all, listened in, getting hot and bothered to the sound of your pleasure.

"Ah ah ah," Jason scolds, placing his lips near your ear again. "Don't get all quiet on me now. What happened to all those pretty noises you were making?"

"I-mmmph," you stifle another whine, trying your hardest not to make any noise. You want to answer Jason, but you settle for keeping your mouth shut, too afraid of letting something slip to risk trying to talk.

"Hey," Jason grunts, annoyed with your antics. He suddenly stops moving, snatching away the pleasure you had been so desperately chasing. He takes his hand off your dick, holding it limply at his side instead. "I won the game today, remember? Don't you think I deserve some kind of reward?"

He watches as you nod hesantly, unsure of where he's going with this, but desperate for him to resume fucking you. "You know what I would like, more than anything?"

"N-no?"

He leans closer to your ear, his hot breath enveloping your skin. "What I want," he starts, his voice dangerously low, "is for you to scream my name. I want to remind everyone who you belong to. Can you do that for me?"

You don't answer for a moment, still embarrassed at the prospect of others nearby, but Jason gives one sharp thrust into you, which is all it takes to get you bobbing your head up and down at dangerous speeds. You feel immense relief when Jason picks up where he left off, this time letting all the noises you had been trying to muffle slip out in a torrent of incomprehensible noise. Screw whoever was behind the locker room doors, screw being quiet, you were so close to sweet release, and you refused to mess it up by being too quiet for Jason's liking.

"That's more like it!" Jason's voice comes from above you, his chin moving to rest on top of your bent head. "You didn't seem to mind them hearing you earlier, so why should you care now? Fucking slut. Probably wouldn't mind the whole team having a turn with you, would you?"

"No! No, only yours, don't want anyone else! Just you, only you!" You cry out, dick twitching as your guts get rearranged. Behind you, Jason's pace becomes clunky, more inconsistent. He's getting close, and based on the intense pangs building up in your stomach, you are too. "Shit, keep going, I'm so, so close!"

"Oh yeah?" He breathes out, his chest heaving with the effort of his strokes. "Then prove it. Prove who you belong to. Tell them who owns you!"

"You do!" You whine, your voice cracking. "You, only you, fuck Jason, I'm gonna cum, please don't stop!"

"I wouldn't dream of it." He growls back, picking up the pace. "Cum for me, show them how good I can make you feel."

He watches with fascination as your stomach tenses, your hardened dick spewing white hot cum all over your stomach and thighs, your dick twitching with each burst that comes out. You cry out with pleasure, and he feels pride bubbling in his chest at the reminder that only he can make you cum so hard your seeing stars, only he can see you so weak and pliant, and only he gets to cum inside of you, claiming you as his for the umpteenth time.

Your body shakes as you come down from your orgasm, legs trembling with the effort of keeping you up. You're faintly aware of Jason stilling inside of you, your ass growing warm with the influx of cum flooding your hole, your boyfriend's grunts and groans sounding out loudly in your ears. All the energy in your body has been sapped, leaving you a tired, panting mess under Jason's muscular body. You feel like collapsing, and you almost do, you knees buckling beneath you, before strong arms wrap themselves around you, holding you up by the stomach.

"Awe, poor baby's tired already." Jason taunts, his signature smirk reappearing on his face. He moves one arm up your back and the other down to the back of your knees, swooping you up in a princess carry, holding your tired body close to his sweaty chest. "And you didn't even do anything! I've been running around all day, tackling people, sweating my ass off, and you're tired after just one round?

You rest your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes in bliss. Despite his teasing, you feel safe in Jason's arms, safe enough to forget that his teammates are still there, outside the door.

You let him hold you for a while, trying to catch your breath, jolting a little when he suddenly lowers himself onto a seat nearby. As he sits down, he hooks the pile of clothes you two made with his foot, dragging them toward you two until it's close enough for him to reach with his hands.

"Here." He says, putting you down next to him. "I've got your clothes. Get dressed. We aren't going out there naked." He stands back up, grabbing his own clothes before putting them on, covering his sweaty skin with cleaner clothes.

You follow suit, albeit slower than your boyfriend. You use your boxers to wipe off the cum on your body, reminding yourself to change them when you get back home. Your muscles ache with every movement, your tired limbs in no rush to clothe you in a timely fashion. By the time you finish, Jason's staring at you, watching your every move with bored looking eyes.

"You done?"

You nod. "Sorry for taking so long."

Jason sighs before moving towards you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder as you two walk towards the door. "It's fine. Save what energy you can while you can. It's gonna be a long night for you." He chuckles at the confused look on your face, his eyes twinkling. "What, you didn't think that was it, did you? Oh no babe, by the time I'm done with you. every muscle in your body's gonna be sore. Be prepared."

You would have responded to him, but before you could, he pushes open the doors, stepping out into the gym beyond them.

Sure enough, his teammates are there, all strewn about in different locations. Most of them look preoccupied with their phones, but you can see the redness on a couple of their faces, not to mention more than one hard on showing through their pants. Some of them look up as you to pass by, but they quickly look away, whether it be from the sight of the hickeys and bite marks on your neck, or because Jason glares at them the second he sees their heads shoot up.

Neither of you say anything as you exit the building, or as you make it to Jason's car. As soon as he unlocks it, you open the door to the passenger seat, sitting down on shaky legs as you wait for Jason to hop in with you.

Eventually he does, but to your surprise, he doesn't start the car. Instead, he turns to you, grabbing your chin with his hands and smashing his lips onto yours. The force shocks you, but you eagerly reciprocate, letting him shove his tongue down your throat while you moan into his mouth.

"Mine." He mumbles against your lips, his eyes slight.y parting to look at you. "Mine. Nobody touches you, nobody looks at you, except for me. I'll beat the shit out of the next person to even glance at you. Understand?"

You nod slightly, breaking apart from him to catch your breath. "Yours." You whisper back. "Only yours."

"Good." He murmurs. He pulls away to start the car, but before he does, he grabs his phone, opening it up to text somebody. You don't pay much attention to that though. You let your mind wander, imagining what Jason will do to you once you get back to his apartment. You have no doubt he'll make good on his promise to make your whole body sore, but the more you think about it, the harder it becomes to suppress a shiver of delight.

You can't wait to see what he has in store for you.

I hope you enjoyed!

[ohbo-ohno]

Prompt requests: 1) Price x Reader - abandoned farm / waking up in a random room with no idea who/where/why/how you got there 2) Soap x Reader - forest / dealing with strange natural (or not-so-natural) phenomena 3) Ghost x Reader - the only other car in the abandoned parking lot / being followed

1k game here

i went ahead and just did one of these! i've got several requests in my inbox still, but i might come back and add another one you had later :)

1.7k of your ex-boyfriend ghost catching up with you. no smut!

The car's been tailing you since you left work.

It's a discreet car, and you probably wouldn't have even noticed it if you hadn't run several errands before starting to head home. The driver isn't even trying to be subtle - he never parks more than a spot away from you and he never lets another car get between you and him on the road.

You already know who he is. You hate to admit it to yourself, but you know.

Ghost always was possessive. It's not a leap to think he'd be pissed at the idea of anyone getting close to even your car.

Plus, he probably wants you to know he's following you. He always was a sadistic bastard, always liked the see the pain he was causing.

There's no one you can call for help. You didn't rat him out the first time you ran, and you're not going to now. There's no way you could get the police to keep you safe without telling them all about Ghost and his secrets, and you'd be better of just surrendering to Ghost's wrath at that point.

You take a deep breath and tighten your hands around the wheel.

You can't get help.

You can't run - he's tailing you too closely for that.

You can't fight - you don't keep your gun in your car, and you've never been a match for Simon hand-to-hand.

You pull into a dark parking lot, one that's almost entirely empty save for a few people waiting at the bus stop. You take a few deep breaths as you pull to a stop as far away from the bus stop as you can, trying to prepare yourself for the inevitable confrontation.

The car parks a spot away. Just seconds later, he's climbing out of the driver's side and striding towards you.

You knew it was him. He'd never send a henchman after you, even all these months later with so much distance between the two of you.

He's clothed entirely in black - like he always is on the job, apparently black hides bloodstains best - and comes to a stop right in front of your window, so your just staring into a wall of darkness.

You roll the window down, the awkward silence heavy.

The first thing you notice when he ducks down is that he's wearing the mask. Not the one sewn onto a balaclava, but one with the skull pattern printed onto the balaclava itself.

"Get out," he grunts. His first words to you in nearly a year and they're a command.

You scowl. This is exactly why you ran in the first place.

"No." You try to infuse as much confidence into your voice as possible, but you know you fail.

He huffs. "Love, c'mon, I'm not playing games. Get out of the car."

You shake your head, gripping the steering wheel until your knuckles turn white.

"No! I don't have to listen to you - especially when you've been stalking me all day-"

He sighs loudly, and before you can complain he's reaching through the window and opening the door for himself, quickly ducking into your car.

"Hey, stop!" You try, batting away his hands when he unbuckles your seatbelt, pulling you up by the waist until your standing unsteadily against him. "You have no right-!"

"Baby. Shut up." He growls, reaching around you to tug the key out of the ignition, the hand around your waist affording you no wiggle room.

"Don't you tell me to shut up!" You complain, pushing against his chest as he starts to nudge you in front of him. "I haven't had to deal with you in nearly a year and the first things you think to say to me are an order and shut up? Fuck you, asshole!"

There's a low chuckle at your back, and he turns you around to pin you to the car. Your breath hitches as he presses your chests together, ducking low enough that you can't look anywhere but his eyes.

"I missed you," he says, low and secretive.

God, you wish you could hate him. Everything would be so much easier if you hated him.

"Let me go," you say, forcing sternness into your voice.

"No."

"I'm serious," you try, pushing at the center of his chest. He only uses the pressure as an excuse to lean closer, draping himself over you.

"I'm serious too, love. You're never leaving my line of sight again."

You shut your eyes against the wave of longing that brings. He used to talk like that all the time, back before you realized how deep he was in his life of crime.

Gonna keep you forever, love.

Might chain you to the bed. Keep you safe at home, make sure I always know where you are. Little fuckdoll waiting at home for me, hm?

Never letting you leave me. Never.

I can't stand to be apart from you, love. It feels like I'm missing a limb.

You can't leave - you know that, don't you? I'll hunt you down, baby. This isn't a relationship you can get away from.

Simon was always a little possessive, a little controlling. Sometimes it got you off, and sometimes it scared you. In the weeks leading up to your escape, it did a lot more of the latter.

"We're broken up," you say on an exhale, looking back up at him. He's tugged the mask up to his nose, and his warm breath ghosts over your face. "I left you. We're not together anymore, Ghost."

He nearly flinches at that name, stiffening against you. "Don't call me that."

You don't correct yourself, and one of his hands comes up to collar your throat.

"I'm not joking. You don't call me that, understood?"

He applies just the slightest bit of pressure on either side of your neck and you fold like wet cardboard. Nodding quickly and taking a big deep breath in when he stop squeezing.

"What do you call me?" He bites, leaning closer until you're almost brushing noses. You try to flinch back but can't make it very far. "Say it. What do you call me?"

"Simon," you blurt out, nearly a plea. You haven't been near his intensity in so long, it's hard to handle now. You drop your eyes shamefully, unable to look at him.

"Good girl," he purrs, hand moving upwards to cup your chin and tilt it up. You can't help but meet his eyes, and the softness there nearly breaks your heart. "I'm never Ghost for you, only Simon. You got that?"

"You hunted me down like a dog."

He smiles at that, leans close enough to press a kiss to the tip of your nose. "I got you back. You're the one who ran away, love. It's a scary world out there, I can't leave you all alone."

"I don't need you to help me."

"You will. You'll need me again. Everything will go back to just how it was, and you'll see how good it is again. I'll take care of you."

That makes your heart beat a little faster, makes your breath quicken.

The first few months with Simon were... well, not heavenly but certainly good. Things were at their best when you first moved in - when he was still eager to dodge work for you, and when you didn't realize how violent "work" really was. Things only started getting bad when you started putting the pieces together.

"You can't protect me from your world, Simon," you whisper, tilting your head towards him just enough to bump your foreheads together. That's the whole reason you had run in the first place - nearly getting kidnapped and having a gun held to your head had been more than enough to scare you out of his world.

"I can," he growls, pressing closer to you. "You just have to let me. You didn't know before, but now you do. Now I can make sure you know how to keep yourself safe when I'm not there."

"But I shouldn't have to!" You exclaim, tears welling in your eyes. Why can't he just understand? "I don't want to always be looking over my shoulder, always waiting for someone to hurt me, or to hurt you-"

"That's not going to happen."

"You don't know that!" You explode, shoving at his chest as he tears slip past your waterline.

"I do," he snarls, the first hints of anger painting his words. "I can keep my woman safe. I can keep what's mine safe."

You sniffle as you look up at him, bottom lip quivering.

You're not even sure what to say at this point. What else is there?

He seems to realize you've run out of words and deflates against you, curling both of his arms around your waist and holding you as close as he can while resting his chin on top of your head.

"It'll be okay, love," he comforts, swaying side to side. "I get why you ran, alright? I know you were scared, and that's my fault. It won't happen again. But it's time to stop running and to come home. You know that's where you're meant to be."

You sniffle against him, blinking into the dark fabric of his shirt.

"You scare me," you confess quietly, safe without his eyes boring into yours.

He only stiffens for a moment, then goes soft against you again. "I know."

One hand moves up to pet over your hair, stroking across your head in the exact way that always makes you feel a little loose limbed. It works now, and you give him a bit more of your weight.

"You're scared because you're smart. I'd be worried if you weren't scared. I shoulda known before that I couldn't keep my job from you, and that's on me. If I had told you, you might not have run."

"I would have."

He snorts, tugs a lock of your hair. "Shush. I promise, things will be different this time. Better. All cards on the table."

Your hands tentatively wrap around him, linking at the small of his back. You've always loved how big he is compared to you, how protected you feel in his shadow.

Even now, knowing what you know, you still feel that way.

It's that thought that has you finally breaking down, leaning into his hold and squeezing him tight to you.

"Oh, love," he sighs, squeezing you as tightly as he can without hurting you. "It's alright, you're okay. Just get it all out. Everything's going to be alright."

As much as you hate it, you think he might be right.

[coffeeghoulie]

Mushy May Day 4: Wound Tending/First Aid

After Dew cuts his finger on stage, Aether takes care of him.

Content warnings for blood and mentions of injuries

Mushy May put together by the wonderful @forlorn-crows <3

Divider by @ghuleh-recs <3

Aether smells it before he sees it. He's unmuzzled, unlike some of his pack, so despite his human glamour dulling his ghoulish senses, he can almost taste the thick, cloying scent of blood. He keeps playing, just barely stumbling over a chord, his eyes darting across the stage at his Papa, scanning, searching.

Papa's fine. Still singing, commanding the attention of the screaming crowd with out a hitch. Aether redirects his gaze, looking for the source of the blood.

His eyes lock on it, smears of color against an otherwise pristine white Stratocaster, and his heart drops into his gut. His mate is bleeding. It takes everything Aether's got to keep his cool and not storm across the stage to the fire ghoul.

Dew, in his defense, has not faltered; his scent hasn't changed, still riding on the excitement and adrenaline of performance. Still, Aether keeps an eye on him, watches as that guitar gets redder and redder, dripping from the fingers of his picking hand.

He'd be more worried about the bleeding not stopping if Dew were human, but they're ghouls. If anything, the bleeding has only riled him up.

The rest of the show, thankfully, goes off without a hitch. After bows, Dew steps off to stage left as Aether goes right, watching out of the corner of his eye as Dew hands his bloody guitar to his human tech, the man wide eyed at the state of his hand and the guitar. But Dew brushes right past him, and Aether quickly goes through the motions with his own tech, chasing after his mate backstage.

Dew's halfway to the dressing room when he intercepts him. "Darling," Aether says, his hand wrapping around his skinny wrist. The sleeve of his compression shirt is soaked through, with blood or sweat Aether can't quite tell.

"'M fine, Aether," Dew snaps, voice exhausted and tinging on a growl.

Aether doesn't flinch. "Listen to me, Dew," he says, not unkindly, straightening to his full height. Dew tenses, eyes locked onto Aether's. "You really think it's a good idea to walk right into a room with Rain and Sunshine while you're still bleeding?"

They're both still masked, but Aether knows Dew's rolling his eyes. His wrist is still locked in the circle of his grip. "I can deal with Rain and Sunny, Aeth. I'm fine, lemme go. I wanna get changed and get on the bus."

Aether's fingers twitch around Dew's wrist. The air, now that Dew's no less than a foot and a half away, the smell of blood is overpowering. "Dewdrop. I have been watching you bleed all night, unable to do anything about it. Ask for it and I will help you, love, but I don't want you to go in there without stopping the bleeding. I love Rain, and I love Sunny, but I love you."

Dew lets out a huff of breath from his nostrils, the steam catching in the low light. "I'm a grown ghoul, Aether," he snarls, but it's weak, and Aether knows him well enough to practically see the way he's clinging to that persona, the stoic shell that gets pulled up over his soft spots. Aether reaches up with his free hand and brushes his fingers over the side of Dew's helmet, as if tucking a long strand of hair behind a pointed ear.

"I know, darling," he hums, eyes tender. "I know. I just don't like seeing you hurt. Let me help you?"

Through the lenses of his own mask, Aether can see the way Dew's unglamoured, copper eyes soften, the fire ghoul leaning ever so slightly into his touch as he nods slowly, almost imperceptibly. Aether can feel the adrenaline starting to falter, even through the hard plastic of the mask. The crash is barreling towards Dew like a train, and Aether pulls them into one of the venue's unused dressing rooms, locking the door behind them.

Aether takes his mask off, and Dew follows suit, collapsing down onto an old threadbare couch as he pulls his balaclava down. Aether finds paper towel in the bathroom, and a first aid kit under the sink. He sits down next to Dew.

The fire ghoul's examining the cut on his finger, still bleeding, but sluggishly. He glances up as Aether sits down. "You gonna patch me up, Doctor Aether?" He asks, but the snark is fading, revealing sheer sincerity.

Aether's lip crooks up in a smile. "I am, darling. Gimme your hand?"

He does so without hesitation, trusting completely, and Aether meets his eye, kissing his knuckles before examining the cut himself. A string sliced into his pinkie on stage, and Aether hisses in sympathy.

"I barely felt it," Dew says, exhaustion seeping into his voice. "Think I got sweat in it. Fuckin' stings now."

"I bet," Aether says. He cleans the blood from his mate's hand with damp paper towel. "It looks nasty."

"Kept playing though," Dew shrugs with his other arm. Aether glances up at him, amethyst to copper. "The fans ate it up."

"If I couldn't smell it, I think I would have known when I heard it," Aether says as he reaches into the first aid kit for gauze and medical tape "Proud of you for sticking it through."

Dew makes a noise between a laugh and a scoff as Aether presses a wad of gauze to the cut. "What else was I supposed to do? Up and leave?"

"You've got me there," he hums. They're so close that Aether can feel the familiar, comforting heat radiating from Dew's body, the fire that burns at the very core of him. Dew shifts his weight, the springs of the couch squeaking in protest.

They fall into a comfortable silence as Aether works, ripping a strip of medical tape to secure the gauze to his finger. Dew watches, narrow chest rising and falling as Aether shuts the first aid kit, examining his work.

"There we go," Aether hums, tipping his head back and taking a deep breath, all of the worry hitting him as his own adrenaline starts to crash. "Should be good to meet up with the pack, 'm sure Swiss is wo-"

He cuts himself off as spindly fingers wrap around his wrist, grip tight. "Think you're missing something, starshine."

Aether cocks his head, brows furrowing tight as he does another once over on his mate. His hands come up to cup his face, thumbing over sharp cheekbones. "Are you hurt somewhere else? What am I missing, darling?"

Dew sighs, but he's smiling, relaxing into Aether's touch. "Starshine, I'm okay." He raises his hand, waggling his fingers in front of Aether's nose. "Come on, gimme a little somethin' somethin'."

"Oh," Aether laughs, taking Dew's hand in his and kissing the back of it. A little spark of quintessence jumps between them, just enough to kickstart the healing process. "Let me kiss it better, darling."

Dew laughs, smiling fondly at his quintessence ghoul. "Alright, Doctor Aether, can we go change, or do you think Rain and Sunny will still jump me?"

Aether stands, taking Dew's hands to help him up. "Let's go get changed. I'm sure the others are worried about where we ran off to."

Dew snorts, tucking himself against Aether's side. "I think they think we found a dark closet and sucked face for half an hour."

Aether cackles as he puts his mask back on.

"Aether?" Dew asks as he does the same.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you, for taking care of me." The fire ghoul's eyes are soft and earnest, shining through the lenses.

"Any time."

[calliesmemes]

ATLANTIS: THE LOST EMPIRE (2001)

SENTENCE STARTERS PULLED FROM THE DIALOGUE FEATURED IN THE ANIMATED FILM ATLANTIS: THE LOST EMPIRE, with some quotations slightly modified for roleplay purposes.

CHANGE gendered words and in-universe phrases as needed.

SPECIFY muse for multimuses.

   “   Uh, would you gentlemen please excuse me for a moment?   ”

   “   If I ever hear the word "Atlantis" again, I'll step in front of a bus!   ”

 �� “   You have a lot of potential.   ”

   “   Who... who are you? How did you get in here?   ”

   “   I'm acting on behalf of my employer, who has a most intriguing proposition for you.   ”

   “   Relax. He doesn’t bite … often.   ”

   “   Did you really know my grandfather?   ”

   “   We stayed close friends ‘till the end of his days.   ”

   “   He spoke of you often.   ”

   “   I've spent my whole life studying dead languages.   ”

   “   I will stake everything I own, everything that I believe in... that this is the genuine Shepherd's Journal.   ”

   “   I'll show them! I will make them believe.   ”

   “   For years your granddad bent my ear with stories about that old book.   ”

   “   Your grandpa was a great man. You probably don't realize how great.   ”

   “   Don't let her age fool you.   ”

   “   Our lives are remembered by the gifts we leave our children.   ”

   “   Atlantis is waiting. What do you say?   ”

   “   Boy, I’m so excited, l-l-l-I can't even hold it in.   ”

   “   Excuse me? I need to, uh, report in?   ”

   “   Blondie, I got a bone to pick with you.   ”

   “   If you're lookin' for the pony rides, they're back there.   ”

   “   You can’t put a price on the pursuit of knowledge.   ”

   “   This should be enriching for all of us.   ”

   “   Now tell me your story, my little friend.   ”

   “   This is an outrage! You must leave at once! Out, out, out, out, out!   ”

   “   Now, what have I told you about playing nice with the other kids?   ”

   “   Back to the pit from which you came!   ”

   “   OK, everybody. I want you to give Mr. Thatch your undivided attention.  ”

   “   Cartographer, linguist, plumber. Hard to believe he's still single.   ”

   “   Captain, you'd better come look at this, sir.   ”

   “   Do you want to do my job? Be my guest.   ”

   “   How much time do we have?   ”

   “   I don't think he's comin' back.   ”

   “   Move it, people! Sometime today would be nice!   ”

   “   I won't sugar-coat it, gentlemen. We have a crisis on our hands.   ”

   “   Looks like all our chances for survival rest with you, Mr. Thatch.   ”

   “   We’re all gonna die.   ”

   “   Looks like we have a little roadblock.   ”

   “   That thing is going to keep me up all night, I know it.   ”

   “   You know, we've been pretty tough on the kid. What do you say we cut him some slack?   ”

   “   Hey, Milo! Why don't you come sit with us?   ”

   “   Hey, Milo, don't you ever close that book?   ”

   “   I know, I know. Sometimes I get a little carried away.   ”

   “   You know, that's what this is all about, right? I mean – discovery, teamwork, adventure. Unless, maybe, you're just in it for the money.   ”

   “   Hey, how’d you learn how to do that?   ”

   “   I never got to meet your grandfather. What was he like?   ”

   “   He was like a father to me, really.   ”

   “   My parents died when I was a little kid, and he took me in.   ”

   “   That is so cute!   ”

   “   Uh, no... no offense.. but how does a teenager become the chief mechanic of a multimillion dollar expedition?   ”

   “   So, what... what happened to your sister?   ”

   “   I just like to blow things up.   ”

   “   All right, who's not dead? Sound off.   ”

   “   Maybe that's our ticket outta here.   ”

   “   I gotta hand it to you. You really came through.   ”

   “   They can smell fear just by looking at ya.   ”

   “   We are explorers from the surface world. We come in peace.   ”

   “   Come. You must speak with my father now.   ”

   “   Someone's having a good time.   ”

   “   Commander, there were not supposed to be people down here. This changes everything.   ”

   “   This changes nothing.   ”

   “   You presume much to think that you would be welcome here.   ”

   “   I know what you seek and you will not find it here.   ”

   “   Your journey has been in vain.   ”

   “   May I respectfully request that we stay one night, sir?   ”

   “   Your heart has softened, Kida.   ”

   “   A thousand years ago, you would have slain them on sight.   ”

   “   We were once a great people. Now we live in ruins.   ”

   “   The kings of our past would weep if they could see how far we have fallen.   ”

   “   Our way of life is dying.   ”

   “   When you take the throne, you will understand.   ”

   “   Well, the King and his daughter don't exactly see eye to eye.   ”

   “   Well, if he's hiding something, I want to know what it is.   ”

   “   Look, I have some questions for you, and I'm not leaving this city until they're answered!   ”

   “   Oh, there is so much to ask about your world.   ”

   “   You are a scholar, are you not?   ”

   “   I got a few questions for you, too. So let's do this, OK? You ask one, then I'll ask one, then you, then me, then...well, you get it.   ”

   “   how did you get here? Well, I mean, not you personally... but your... your culture. I mean, how did all of this end up down here?   ”

   “   Wh... what... what … are you telling me… that you remember what happened because you were there? No, that... that's impossible...   ”

   “   How was my accent?   ”

   “   You know, you deserve credit for even... even gettin' this far.   ”

   “   By the way, we were never properly introduced. My name's Milo.   ”

   “   Uh, hey, you got a nickname?   ”

   “   You know, my grandpa used to tell me stories about this place as far back as I can remember.   ”

   “   I just wish that he could be standing here with me.   ”

   “   We are not thriving. True, our people live. but our culture is dying.   ”

  “   I wish there was something I could do.   ”

   “   Why don't you lead the way, because I have no idea where we're going.   ”

   “   This is amazing! A complete history of Atlantis!   ”

   “   I am such an idiot.   ”

   “   This is just another treasure hunt for you.   ”

   “   I would've told you sooner, but it was strictly on a need-to-know basis.   ”

   “   Welcome to the club, son.   ”

   “   Mercenary? I prefer the term "adventure capitalist."   ”

   “   You don't know what you're tampering with, Rourke.   ”

   “   Academics. You never want to get your hands dirty.   ”

   “   I got to admit, I'm disappointed.   ”

   “   You're an idealist, just like your grandfather.   ”

   “   For once, do the smart thing.   ”

   “   I really hate it when negotiations go sour.   ”

   “   Well, as usual, diplomacy has failed us.   ”

   “   You've got to listen to me. You don't have the slightest idea what this power is capable of.   ”

   “   Let’s get this over with. I don’t like this place.  

   “   Doesn’t anything surprise you?   ”

   “   Talk to me, Thatch. What's happening?   ”

   “   So I guess this is how it ends, huh?   ”

   “   You've read Darwin. It's called natural selection. We're just helping it along.   ”

   “   Be serious. This is wrong, and you know it.   ”

   “    You pick now of all times to grow a conscience?   ”

   “   She has been chosen... like her mother before her.   ”

   “   I followed you in, and I'll follow you out.   ”

   “   it's been my experience that when you hit bottom, the only place left to go is up.   ”

   “   What do you think that you are doing?   ”

   “   We're going to save Atlantis, or we're going to die trying.   ”

   “   Well, I have to hand it to you. You're a bigger pain in the neck than I would have ever thought possible.   ”

   “   Tired? Aw, that's a darn shame, because I'm just getting warmed up.   ”

   “   There's a hero's welcome waiting for the man who discovered Atlantis.   ”

   “   I don't think the world needs another hero.   ”

   “   I'm going to miss that boy. At least he's in a better place now.   ”

[reyadawn]

Punish Me Once

*image not mine, credit to owner*

This is specifically for the Anon who asked @darling-millicent-aubrey this earlier. Please bare with me on this, its COMPLETELY out of my comfort zone!

Summary: Noah taking you to meet the rest of the band; things get a little heated you're partying on the tour bus. Dirty dancing, grinding up against one of the band members who you think is Noah but it's dark and you're drunk. So wreckless of you. Noah's in the corner watching 👀

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x OFC x Joakim "Jolly" Karlsson

Warnings: EVERYTHING, 🔞 so dont even THINK about reading if you're under age, language, kissing, choking, hair pulling, spanking, degredation, handjob, blowjob, fingering, unprotected sex (threesome), creampie...basically, pure unadulterated filth 🥵

Word Count: Who cares?!

Buckle up buttercups!

€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€

How I managed to get myself to this point was beyond mind-boggling. One minute, I'm screaming myself hoarse at the barricade of the Bad Omens' performance at The Highwire and the next, I'm taking shots with the band on thier tour bus after the show.

I was currently seated next to Nicholas at the small table, kicking back my lost-count-of Buttershots. The rich and smooth butterscotch flavor slid warm down my throat and settled into my stomach. I was past the point of tasting the alcohol.

Music suddenly blared from the speakers as I kept my blurry gaze fixed on Noah. Tall, dark, handsome, entire body saturated in tattoos should be every woman's hottest fantasy. Basically, he was sex-on-legs. As the music carried on, I got up and started dancing, hips swaying in the short plaid skirt I wore. I raised my arms above my head as I felt strong hands suddenly gripping my hips.

I gasped, as I purposely rubbed my ass to the front of the man behind me who I was quite certain was Noah. Peeking through partially opened eyes, I didnt see him anywhere in sight at the table or front of the bus. I continued grinding down on the hardening cock behind me, the sudden feeling of fingers between my thighs from behind. I smirked, knowing full well I had no panties on, as the mystery fingers gently swept through my already soaked cunt.

"You filthy fucking girl", the deep voice behind me whispered. A hand wrapped around my throat, tipping my head forcibly back and gently squeezed. Lips were at the skin exposed where a bruise was sucked to life.

Opening my eyes again, the bus was empty now except for a very pissed off, very turned on Noah seated at the table. His hand ran through his hair irritably as he looked up at me with fire flashing in his gaze. The large erection he sported behind the black sweat pants he wore was threatening to burst.

Through my drunken state, I stopped grinding against who I assumed was Noah, knowing now it wasn't him. I half turned, looking up into the heated face of Jolly and I could feel my face grow hot in mortification.

Suddenly, Noah yanked me from Jolly's grasp and I damn near stumbled and fell after him as he dragged me down the isle, past the bunks and into the back room. Jolly was hot on our heels as Noah waited for him to enter, slamming and locking the door behind him.

"Strip. Now. Don't make ask you twice, princess. You wanna' act like a fucking slut, I'll treat you like one", Noah snapped, arms crossed in front of his chest. "You, too, Jolly. Clothes off".

I stared at Noah in shock, my eyes briefly slicing to Jolly, but complied. I was shaking like a damn leaf as I stood naked in front of the two men. Noah smiled darkly before sauntering over to me and placing his hand on my shoulder to forcibly sink to my knees.

"Take me out", Noah said, arms now relaxed at his side, hands balled into fists. I reached for him, pulling the waistband of his sweats down causing his cock to spring free and I damn near lost my ability to breathe at the sight; long, thick, red tip shinning with precum.

"Open", Noah commanded before looking over at Jolly who was more than hard himself. "You suck my cock until I come down your throat and don't you even think about fucking gagging". I nodded only once before getting to work.

I slid my lips along the length of Noah's cock, flattening my tongue to take him as deep as I could into my mouth. The rich earthy taste of his skin had a wave of slick coating my clit, running down my thighs. I hollowed my cheeks, sheathing my teeth behind my lips and sucked hard, earning a hiss from Noah.

SLAP!

My eyes snapped open to see Noah's hand come down on Jolly's ass who was currently bent over the arm of the loveseat. "We share, don't we, Jolly? We aren't greedy or selfish are we? You're never doing that again are you?", Noah growled, each question he asked, his palm making contact with Jolly's skin, turning it a bright red. Noah's other hand suddenly caught in my hair, fisting a handful to thrust into my mouth. My pussy clenched at the sight of Noah spanking Jolly and I almost gagged as he reached underneath him to carress his balls. Jolly whimpered, shifting over the arm, no doubt to relieve the pressure on his aching cock.

All of a sudden, Noah tipped his head back and cried out as hot fluid splashed on my tongue. By now, tears ran down my cheeks and saliva down my chin. I probably looked like a strategic hot mess.

"On your fucking feet", Noah said, pulling his cock from my mouth with an audible 'pop', hauling me roughly to my feet.

"Stop manhandling me, Noah", I snapped. He suddenly rounded on me, hand shooting out to wrap around my neck, hauling me to his chest and turning me so my back faced the loveseat.

"What was that, princess? You've got a smart mouth. Clearly you learned nothing from having it stuffed full of my cock so how about I let Jolly here fuck that sweet ass of yours while I fuck this tight cunt at the same time? You'll be our own personal Chinese cock trap", Noah replied, as he uncerimoniously shoved a free hand between my thighs, sinking two long fingers inside me while curling them upward. The act raised me to my tip toes and my eyes rolled back as I let out a pornographic moan.

Noah backed me up to where Jolly now sat spread eagled on the loveseat. Jolly's fingers gathered through my slick that collected on my thighs before slowly pushing a thick finger inside my ass. I preened, arching my back, Noah's hand still around my neck as he brought his lips to mine, still thrusting his fingers in and out of my dripping cunt. I whimpered into the kiss as Jolly guided me to sit, ass down over his lap. The head of his cock pierced the tight ring of my ass and I squeezed my eyes shut tight.

Noah pulled away from me. "No, no, princess, eyes open...let me see those pretty eyes as he fucks your sweet ass...one day, it'll be mine", Noah said roughly. The fuck did that mean? Using more of my slick to coat his cock, Jolly sank me down until his cock was fully seated inside my ass. I leaned back until I rested against his chest as Noah straddled over us, the head of his cock pushing into my core. Noah's hands reached to grip the back of the loveseat over Jolly's shoulders as he gave a hard thrust, sliding inside me to the hilt.

I screamed. There was nothing for me to do as Noah's relentless thrusts to my overstimulated pussy had Jolly's cock rising and falling inside my ass. Jolly had my legs pinned up so Noah could bully his cock inside me, the head pummeling my cervix repeatedly. My orgasm hit me out of nowhere, my ass instinctively queezing Jolly's cock causing him to come as he let out a rough shout, and I screamed again.

It was too much. The feeling of being overly full, stretched. I could only let Noah fuck his cock into me at a now bruising pace as he removed a hand from the loveseat to rub his thumb in furious circles over my clit. I reached up, grabbing a hold of his bisceps, muscles buldging from the grip he held to keep himself upright.

"Come on, princess...come for me...come all over this cock...be a good little cumslut for me", Noah said, pistoning his hips. I opened my lips on a silent scream, eyes rolling back as he gave a final hard, deep thrust, holding himself inside me as he emptied his balls, lips biting into the side of my neck to shroud his cry of release.

I limply laid against Jolly as Noah pulled his cock free on my body. He stepped back, fixing his clothes as Jolly moved to lay me on the cushions and covered me with a blanket where I promptly passed out.

"I think we broke her, man", Jolly said, getting dressed. Noah looked over at him and grinned, the two men sharing a high five.

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Don't come at me, I did this on my lunch break at work! 😅

@darling-millicent-aubrey @doomhands-jr @thefallennightmare @exitwoundsx @concreteangel92 @concreteemo @lma1986 @lilhobgobbler @bloodylullaby @bluestdai @artificialbreezy @amourtoken @livingdeceasedgirl