#mans has been THROUGH IT he FINALLY got to rest

[yamchaisawesome]

Okay fine I’ll update the post. I see you newcomers with your love for the old codger and to that I say welcome in kids!

So this guy somehow got better. Like, the only light in the otherwise bleak as fuck chapter 4. I was going with the theories that bro was going to show up somehow but this? I couldn’t have predicted just how peak it was. This is quite a bit longer than the original analysis but I feel like it will be worth it. I’m also going to assume you’ve gone through chapter 4 already.

Gerson in deltarune, unlike his more seam-esque undertale counterpart, takes the role of a badass old man shounen mentor figure. He starts off unassuming, more like a gag than a character with actual story significance. However, anyone who’s got enough context can already tell this is going to be big. He’s been foreshadowed both by the goner maker and Alvin at this point, and the fact this fairly minor character from undertale is getting this much attention implies yeah this guy has some stuff going on.

What we have going in is that:

A: He’s a dead man walking, literally and figuratively. Literally raised from the dead and likely not going to last that long due to his existence being reliant on a very sealable fountain.

B: If you know anything about Gerson, he knows way more than he lets on.

It is to be pointed out that literally all of this is optional. Someone who just sorta played undertale casually and didn’t interact with much in Hometown wouldn’t know anything going on. As such, Toby makes this guy’s deal clear throughout the story of chapter 4 while still taking advantage of the dramatic irony held by players in the know.

We get our first hint that the Old Man is more than a gag upon him literally breaking the prophecy in order to pave a new way forward. The imagery is pretty clear here as he helps the young’ins defy fate in order for them to get through the hell it has put them in. This behaviour continues as he keeps leading the fun gang “the wrong way” in order to help em solve puzzles and intentionally walks way slower than he can to mess with the gang, Susie in particular. This introduction to The Old Man is tail ended by him breaking another piece of the prophecy. Upon questioning him on this, he hits you with this old sagely wisdom. He believes that “A fairytale is a pretty little thing” but that the best way to navigate those stories is to “go between the lines”.

This idea of Gerson believing the prophecy is a story like anything else, and that it can be read and adapted a countless number of ways is his approach to freedom and feeds into both his wisdom and experience as an author. Let the story serve you and not the other way around, basically. This feeds very well into Susie, whose whole arc has been about shirking narratives about herself. Not just those of the prophecy but more relatable things. Those narratives that she’s not worthy of love, or just not good enough generally are a constant throughout her character arc.

The one she’s dealing with in chapter 4 is about her never being as good at healing as Ralsei. This sort of learned helplessness is likely predicated on her other recent failings, those being her not being able to save Undyne or get the code at the Holiday mansion, and her needing to rely on Ralsei to help one of her few friends in their time of need was just the final straw.

Before we get into the details of Susie and Gerson’s relationship, I’d just like to call attention to the fact that Gerson’s study is the only location that isn’t the signature “bright and blue” colouration seen in the rest of the dark sanctuary.

I’d really like to stretch this and say it symbolizes the literal break from the otherwise bleak narrative that Gerson provides in this chapter but that might be too far.

Anyway, Jackenstein.

I love how this demonstrates Gerson’s background as a teacher and father so goddamn well. He understands the youth very well and instantly clocks the kind of kid that Susie is. His strategy of calling her a “coward” and basically rage baiting her into conquering her inhibitions and beating that narrative in her brain shows a pretty clear grasp on who Susie is in particular. He doesn’t try a fancy speech or whatever like he does with Kris earlier, he just fucking throws her attitude right back at her. Considering they met a total of 20 minutes ago, it goes to show just how good he is at reading people. We’ll get more of this with Kris later but that’s its own section.

He also encourages Susie to push past her narratives of what she can’t do with his letter, but that doesn’t tell us much more about his relationship with Susie. Instead, the letter demonstrates the flaws and regrets the Old Man has- particularly in his relationship with his son Alvin.

In the light world, both in the epilogue of chapter 2 and the prologue for chapter 4, it’s pretty clear that Alvin has a narrative of inadequacy all his own. This is the idea that his writing will never outgrow his father’s, or even be any good at all. Apparently, it’s to the point where he doesn’t even write any of his own sermons, just reusing the work of his father. This could be part of the reason Gerson feels so strongly about breaking that narrative in Susie, in order to atone for what he has done. Given the themes of religion in chapter 4, both his tutelage of Susie and letter to Alvin both could easily be read as Gerson using this miracle in order to redeem himself in his own eyes and cleanse himself of “sin” even in a religion that lacks it. The delivery of the letter is also important. Susie, with her own inexperience, was able to deliver the letter in a way that got the point across better than Gerson ever could. With its unintentional grammar and spelling errors, it demonstrates to Alvin how “Long as you got the point, the words don’t matter” in a way that Gerson’s usual prose simply can’t achieve. Iron sharpens iron, student sharpens student.

Anyway, I know what you fuckers are here for. You don’t want unsubtle literary analysis of a dead old man and his kids! You want hype moments and aura, you want the hammer!

Well too bad, we gotta get through the tea party scene first!

First thing we need to talk about is how in sync Susie and Gerson are here. Like, they’re bouncing off each other and absolutely loving life! Susie might not be a talented writer but, as Alvin would say, she has “a flair for entertainment” and the Old Man loves a good story!

Next thing is Kris. If you let them refuse tea, Gerson offers the poor human an apple, which is known to be a big thing of theirs. There’s also his weird route dialogue, in which he gets that something’s wrong in spite of a general lack of words exchanged and tries to encourage and console Kris. This once again shows his knack for reading and guiding people, and frankly it’s really sweet that he’s trying to help them through our rampage.

But enough of that. You know what time it is!

The Hammer of Justice is ringing!

This is my favorite fight in the game, and honestly the shadow crystal fight that I think is most integral to the story. It’s as easy to learn about as Spamton’s if not easier and makes his turtle ex machina against the titan make a lot more sense.

The more I fought this guy, the more I came to appreciate the lesson he’s teaching. If I have one word to describe this fight, it’s forgiving. Gerson lowering his damage to match Susie’s current HP and banning items in order to get her to heal more and get some practice in just reminds you that this isn’t a fight against some insurmountable threat like the Knight or a crazed omen of what could be with Spamton, but an ally that’s here to help you learn a thing or two.

As an aside, the fight is so goddamn hype. The lore drops and inspiration we get from Gerson’s dialogue, the fact you can skip some attacks if you impress the Hammer enough with your spells, the goddamn rude buster ping pong you play with him, the music, THE MUSIC!!??? Absolute peak fiction, no notes. The fight brings an atmosphere like no other.

It also answers a question that hardcore Gerson fans like myself wondered: how badass was Gerson at the height of his career? The answer: VERY. Bro doesn’t even use the shadow crystal and is still strong enough to be up there with the other secret bosses. A very satisfying moment for all us Hammer lovers.

I legitimately cried when I beat him for the first time, especially after the final dialogue that summarises Gerson Boom as a character: a lover of stories and one that knows just how mutable they are.

Utter Chad right here.

Now to move onto his impact…

The reveal that he is in fact a dead man walking isn’t a surprise for the attentive but is still a shock to the system after becoming so attached to the crusty bastard, especially for Susie. Her clear horror and mourning for a man she technically never knew in life is gut wrenching, and the fact that she basically goes around chasing the guy’s ghost for the entirety of the second sanctuary is reflective of her general fear of abandonment by those she cares about.

This makes his triumphant return at the end all the sweeter. I cheered when I saw him for the first time as I watched him and Susie absolutely wreck the Titan.

I have no idea how Alvin will react to the letter in Chapter 5 onwards, or if Susie will incorporate the Old Man’s motif into her own music at some point, but I hope so. Gerson deserves the legacy, Gerson deserves it all.

Anyway, thanks for reading all this! I saw how much you all liked this old post and wanted to do a follow up that does the new stuff justice!

I feel like Gerson is under appreciated. Like, he’s surprisingly well developed for how little time we get with him.

In undertale, he’s effectively the monster equivalent of an old man doing a massive yard sale, getting rid of shit he doesn’t need. However, due to his old man status “studying history sure is easy” and so he’s the only guy who tells you about the prophecy of the angel and the delta rune, as well as about Boss Monsters.

He also casually mentions he was a war hero back in the day, the Hammer of Justice. Now, two of the items in his shop are the torn notebook and cloudy glasses. These are both items belonging to the human soul of perseverance. Now, he could’ve just picked them up from trash zone, buuut it seems just as likely that he killed that human himself.

This is possibly why he is not in the least bit scared of you on the genocide route. Like, at all. He spits such raw lines as “I wouldn’t buy your chitzy garbage at knifepoint”. He also seems oddly self aware, like more than sans, saying he knows the player cannot kill him while in his shop when threatened. This absolute mad lad will charge you full price for his wares and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it, and he fucking knows it.

Utter Chad right here.

[rooster-the-love-of-my-life]

Idiots At a Wedding pt.5

Summary: Pretending to be Bob's girlfriend in front of his family has to be easy right? Right..?

Pairings: Bob Floyd x fem!reader

Warnings: kissing, allusions to smut but no real smut, cliffhanger

A/N: I woke up horny and in the mood for some angst ok, don't blame me. Not proof read, we die like men💪💪 Anyways enjoy reading, and don't be a stranger. Also, this taglist is kinda getting out of hand, I don't want to close it but I really need advice on what to do.

series masterlist || part 4

Bob floyd made you silly in all the right ways.

The moments after your confessions was a whirlwind. You and him went back down for dinner thst night, pretending everything was just as it was before, but the entire time he was holding your hand from under the table. You were blushing and giggling like teenagers, stealing secret glances, making prolonged eye contact, making everyone around you sick with how in love you looked, how in love you really were.

When you went back up, you couldn't keep your hands or your lips off of each other. As soon as the door closed, Bob pushed you onto it and kissed you with such vigor and passion the you completely returned, by racking your hands through his carefully brushed blonde locks, messing them up with every dig of your fingers. It was only when someone knocked loudly on your door that you pulled away from each other, very reluctantly of course.

"Unfortunately you need you to go and pick up the bridesmades dress with Bob tomorrow. Jeff and I've got to run home and get some work done." It was Annie, yet again being the block to Bob's cock.

"What's so unfortunate about that?" Bob asked from behind the door where he was supposed to hide is messy, freshly snogged face.

"Why are you so red?" Annie questioned, eyebrows coming together, trying to figure out what was happing in her brothers childhood bedroom prior to her coming there.

"It's fine Anne, I'll go with him." You diverted the conversation, shielding him further.

"Alright, goodnight kids." She sized you up, smirking. "Use protection."

You gasped while Bob went red, if that was even possible, freezing at what he heard. Turinging around, you just laughed at his face, placing a kiss on his cheek and walking into the bathroom.

The rest of the night went by quick, you stayed up till one, talking, kissing, touching. You had to physically push Bob off of you and to the other side of the bed, so you could finally get some sleep. But even in sleep he found you, arms wrapped around you waist, legs tangled with yours, radiating immense amounts of heat.

In all the days you'd stayed with him, this was the first time you had woken up with him next to you and it had to be your favourite sight. For the first time since you had met Bob he had always shy and reserved and his posture showed that. Tense shoulders, always sat up straight, body always stiff. But now, as he snored softly he was at peace, not an iota of tension was in his body, and upon seeing this, you had made it your life's mission to let him stay this tension free forever and always.

You could have stayed in bed for the rest of your life, but your bladder had other plans. You tried to control it, but after a certain point you just couldn't take it anymore and stared shimming out of Bob's firm grasp. Even though you thought you were being very stealthy, your moving had woken up the man behind you.

"Stop it." He mumbled, pulling you in closer, if that was even physically possible, making you lose all the progress you had made. "Stay here."

"I've got to pee." You whispered, dragging out the last word, grabbing his hand and prying it off of your waist.

"Hold it." His hand wouldn't budge making you seriously judge your strength.

"Bobby, I have to go really badly. I've been holding it in for the past twenty minutes." You whined.

"Fine." He lifted his hand up and you ran to the bathroom. "But come back in two minutes. That's an order." Even in sleep army lingo didn't leave the lieutenant making you giggle softly.

"Sis yes sir." You saluted as you came out of the bathroom and moved your eyes to the sight that awaited you. His side of the bed was empty and untouched whereas yours was completely undone and the way he was lying on the bed left little to ho space for you. You leaned against the wall of the bathroom and admired Bob, eyes traveling up from his legs tangled in blankets to his back and then to his messy blond hair. You wanted to take a picture, keep this locked in your phone forever, but before you could, the rough, sleepy voice of the cutest man you had ever seen interrupted.

"You gonna stand there staring or are you going to join me?" The question was normal, but the country accent that it was spoken with made it much more alluring.

"Careful Bobby, your country is showing." You smirked, not moving an inch, wanting to make then man wait for you longer.

"Fuck, I love it when you call me that." He mumbled, pushing his head and hips further into the mattress. "Drives me nuts."

If you would have know such a simple nickname was having this effect on the man, you would have driven him to madness or confession by saying it every chance you got over the last year. The smirk never left your face, and you didn't leave your place.

"Sunny, please come back to bed." He begged, sitting up now, giving you a full view of his chest. "It's so cold without you."

"Says the human furnace." You snorted, pushing yourself off the wall and taking slow, calculated steps towards the bed. "You want me back in bed baby?" You coaxed, as he nodded his head and pouted his lips.

"Yes please."

"Always so polite and respectful." You neared the bed, knees touching the frame.

"Only for you." His eyes were fixed on you, watching all the moves you made, every breath you take. You planted one of your knees on the bed, hands moving in front, crawling over him.

"God, I love it when you neg for me Bobby." You whispered, a hands distance away from him.

You were expecting a reply or atleast a groan, but what you got was even better. He reached out and ulled you on top of his by your waist, holding you delicately as he leaned back. His mouth caught yours, pulling you into a deep kiss, lips moving slow, not trying to assert dominance or show off, just portraying all the love he had for you.

The way he drove you wild with just his mouth, you couldn't help but wonder what the rest of him could do. Feeling as daring as ever, you slowly moved your hips, dragging them painfully over his, making him groan into your mouth. You repeated the same movement a few times, getting bolder and hornier with each one, pulling soft moans from the man under you.

He pulled away from your mouth to try and regain his breath and control himself from fucking you right then and there, but you were having none of that. Your lips made there way down to his neck, pressing feather light kisses on his collarbone and all over the right side of his neck.

"You're a little minx you, you know." Bob managed to say in between his moans.

"And you love it." You replied, lifting your head to look into his eyes for just a second before continuing your attack.

"Oh, fuck it." He let go of any ounce self control he had left in him and grabbed your waist tighter, flipping you two over.

What was supposed to happen, was that he would now take control and show you around pound town. But poor Bobby forgot he was already on the edge of the bed, and all that the flip accomplished was sending you two out of bed and onto the hard ground.

"Shit, sorry. Are you okay?" Bob asked, landing on top of you, pulling the blanket down as well.

"We should take this as a sign to not have sex in your childhood bedroom." You giggled, as he dropped his head in the crook of your neck, sighing out loudly.

"We should probably get up before someone come to investigate." He pushed up from the ground, biceps flexing in the process, offering you his hand once he was standing. "M'lady."

You took it gladly, pulling yourself up in the least sexy way possible, with the goofiest smile ever adorning your face. If this was life with Bob, you'd want it in this universe and the next, till you lived out an eternity kissing and falling.

"Why thank you very much kind sir."

----------------

Even after much convincing and persuasive kisses, Bob couldn't get you to ditch the days plans and just stay in bed with you. Through giggles and soft kisses, you finally made your way down to the living room, to find Mary sitting there alone, watching tv.

"Morning Ma." Bob greeted her, with a with a peck on the cheek, much chipper than usual.

"Morning? It's ten already." She taunted, pausing her show, turning back to look at the two of you. "I'm not sure how they do things in the navy, but in my house morning arrives much earlier."

"You'll have to forgive us." You spoke. "Someone here didn't want to get up."

"Can you really blame a man for wanting to get a few more hours of beauty sleep in?" Bob flicked back his hair in the most dramatic way possible, making you and Mary burst out laughing. If someone would have told you that quiet Bob Floyd was this chatty and funny when he got comfortable with someone, you wouldn't have believed them, but here you were, standing in his mother's kitchen, laughing your ass of at something stupid.

"What time are yall going to go pick up the dress?" Mary asked, as you two were stuffing your face with waffles.

"After breakfast." Bob mumbled the reply with puffed up cheeks full of food.

"Don't talk with food in your mouth." His mother reprimanded and then turned to you. "I can wait for you to see the dress, it is so beautiful."

"I don't doubt it for a second. Lucy has implacable taste." You nodded, getting up to put your empty plate into the sink.

"Ma, I wanted to ask you something." Bob started. "Would you mind of we ate out today for dinner?"

"Oh, not at all. Where are we going?"

"Um... we as in Sunny and I." He scratched the back of his neck while correcting his mother.

"Oh I see." She smile slyly at the two of you, who were going red under her hard gaze. "Don't be out too late." She permitted, making you snap your head up and grin at Bob, who was already doing the same.

"Pick you up at seven." He winked at you.

"It's a date." You winked back, getting giddy at the prospect of going on a date with the man you had been crushing on for forever.

"Just one thing," Mary stopped on her way back to the couch. "There will be no hanky panky in my house at night."

"Ma!" Bob gasped, as you chocked on plain air. If only Mary Floyd knew what was happening just moments ago in her house.

"What?" She shrugged, still smirking.

Soon enough, you were in thr passenger seat, headed to the tailor's shop as Bob showed you around his hometown. The more of it you saw, the more you felt closer to him. You just wished you could do the same, but that was all you could do, whish, because there was no way you were taking him home, at least not in the near future. You arrived at the quaint shop, the door opening with a little ding.

"Hello, how may I help you?" An older woman popped out of the back of the shop and greeted the two of you.

"We're here to pick up a bridesmade dress in Lucy Floyd's name." Bob answered, closing the door he had opened once you were inside as well.

"Ah, yes. Mary said you'd be here today." She nodded enthusiastically. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but you are Robert right? Her son kn the navy?"

"Yes ma'am." He replied with a blush, he knew his mother was proud of him, he just never thought she would tell the entire town about him.

"I thought so. My how you have grown." She gushed. "And who's the lady may I ask?"

You opened your mouth to answer, but Bob beat you to it. "My girlfriend." He said proudly, grabbing your hand tighter. Hearing him introduce you as his girlfriend so proudly made your brain malfunction, because this time around, it wasn't a lie, and how you had managed to make it so in just a few days was beyond you.

"Aren't you a lucky girl." The woman teased and went to the back to get your dress out.

"Don't I know it." You whispered, grinning like a bashful school girl.

"Would you like to try it on once? See of we need to alter anything?" She asked.

"If you wouldn't mind."

"Oh not at all, come on back dear." She ushered you to the back of the and helped you out of your clothes and into the delicate floor length dress. It was the most beautiful piece of clothing you had ever seen, and upon wearing it once, you never wanted to take it off again. It hugged you in all the right places, and the back was just gorgeous. Few people could pull of the colour yellow, but you were sure anyone would look beautiful in this dress.

"Boy is he going to faint when he sees you." The woman gushed.

"Can we not show it to him right now? I want to surprise him." You asked.

"For sure. Why don't you get changed while I pack it up for you?" She smiled.

You thanked her and changed out of the dress very reluctantly. When you stepped outside, Bob who was leaning against the counter, mindlessly scrolling on his phone, snapped up his head.

"Where's the dress?" He asked, confused. "I thought you were trying it on."

"I did try it on and it fits like a glove." You replied.

"Show me then." He said, eager to see the dress.

"Nope, you've just got to wait till the wedding." You declared, as he whined.

"Come on Sunny, please." He pouted, pulling the same expression he did when he begged his mother for ice cream as a kid. The only difference was, his mother was more weak than you are and always gave in.

"No no. Put that pout away." You shook your head at his ridiculousness. "The wedding isn't that far away."

"Fine." He grumbled, but his frown quickly turned into a smile as your lips collided with his left cheek.

"There you go. You'll go crazy when you see her in the dreas." The woman came back out with a bag in her hand and a smile on your face. "Enjoy the wedding."

You thanked her profusely, complementing her skills and walked out the shop and towards your car. Bob tried peeking into the bag to get a look at the dress, but when you shoved him off a few times, he knew you weren't kidding.

After driving around the town for sometime, you went back home and lazed around the whole afternoon. If this was a dream, you never wanted to wake up.

---------------------

The night came quicker than you realized. While getting ready for your first date with him, you couldn't help but pinch yourself to see if this was actually happening or if you were hallucinating in the psych ward. Only yesterday, you were pacing around the room, ranting to your friend about how badly you wanted Bob and here you were twenty gour hours later, actually going on a date with him.

He had picked a fancy restaurant for the two of you to go to, somewhere close to home, yet for enough to give you the privacy you needed. Ever the gentleman, he had brought you flowers, pulled the seat for you and opened all the doors, making you swoon. You were waiting for your food to come, sipping on wine, when he spoke up.

"I can't believe this is happening. I'm going out with the girl of my dreams."

"The girl of you dream huh?" You were amused, and also giddy.

"Obviously." He replied. "I can't stress this enough Sunny, you're the most wonderful person I have ever met. The best person on this planet."

"Stop it, all these praises are going to go to my head and I'll be unbearable." Your eyes went wide to add some dramatic flare.

"Never." He scrunched his nose, smile never leaving him.

"I-I didn't get a chance to say this to you last night, but I really like you Bob. So much that the moment I met you, I knew there would be no one else in the world for me." You voiced. "I really, really, really like you honey, in fact I think I might just love you."

"I love you." Bob let out before he could stop himself. You froze at his confession as he stuttered, trying to cover up. "No I don't. I do. But I don't, not on the first date. But I do, but right now I-"

"I love you." You stopped his rant, gently placing your hand on top of his from across the table. "I love you too Bobby, on the first date and on every date."

Hearing this made him so happy he could burst. If it wasn't for the waiter bringing over your food, he would have leaped over the table and kissed you hard till you were thrown out of the restaurant. The night went by like a breeze, you said sweet nothings to each other with sprinkles of 'I love you' thrown into the conversation.

You should have known that life couldn't be this good to you, not with your luck. But in the haze of happiness, you seemed to forget all about it, and the universe reminded you in the most horrible way possible. You were sharing desert, almost about to leave, when someone called out your name, and the moment you heard the voice, all colour drained out of your face.

"What're you doing here?" The voice continued. Bob's eyebrows pulled together, trying to figure out how you knew the man standing behind you. You turned around slowly, hoping that it wouldn't be him standing there, but alas, it was.

"Michael." You closed your eyes, your worst nightmare coming to life. "What're you doing?"

"I asked you a question first." He replied sternly with a cold expression.

"I'm attending a wedding." The voice that left you sounded so foreign, so week, so scared.

"Who's?"

"Bob's sister's."

"Who's Bob?"

"I am." Bob spoke up, as you whipped your head to him, looking at him with an expression he could understand. "Sunny, who's this?"

You didn't want this to happen, not now, not ever. Michael had cut you out of his life years ago, and you had done the same. But as fate would have it, you two ended up under the same roof once again and it had to happen on what was suppose to be the nest night of your life.

You gather up whatever strength was left in you and spoke up. The words that left you were a total thunderclap to Bob's ears.

"He's my brother."

Taglist:

@4margaritasalex @futurecorps3 @thisisgracetrying @clairejpg @fangirlinc   @igotmajordaddyissues @m3laniehearts @mayafatimakhan @starkleila @itscheybaby-blog @spookycupcakepirate @dcamelia @americaa @paulina1998 @lgg5989 @datingbtr @thatchickwiththecamera @luckyladycreator2 @kanevill @dempy @saramaple @hockeyboysarehot @redhoodedtoad @nobody7102 @alexwinchester23 @unstablecaffeinatedmind  @teti-menchon0604 @my-name-is-baby @goth-detectives @ae-aeitch @articel1967 @fubbbubb @xoxabs88xox @msfirth @arriiieess

[queen-of-diamonds-xo]

Qatar Heat Pt.2 (OP81)

Oscar Piastri x female! Driver! Reader

🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂

Summary: part two of this fic!

Watching his teammate rolled away as he battles with unanswered questions. Oscar is rushed away and confronted by his manger Mark Webbar- where the pressure you endure come to light.

Warnings:

Mentions of a weight clause for reader, a bit of tension, both of you are still idiots just a little bit more aware of your feelings

A/N: okay here it is! I’m so sorry this took so long your girl has been in a massive funk lately but finally getting this out feels so good. I hope your enjoy, the themes in this may be a little strong but your girl can’t help writing about supportive men speaking up for woman’s advocacy!

Masterlist

🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🍂

Oscar felt helpless as he watched your body being strapped onto a gurney and rushed away. Cameras flashed around him in a dizzying swirl, sharp questions slurring together in a meaningless blur of noise.

“Oscar, what’s going on? What did she say?”

“Mr Piastri, any comment on what you just witnessed?”

“Mr Piastri, do you think women are cut out for formula one?”

That last one ran deep down Oscar’s spine, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tilted his head at the reporter. Almost daring them to repeat the question.

His movement towards the man was blocked by the weighted pressure of Charles' hands on his tensed shoulders, blocking his attempt at confronting the sexist reporter. His fists clenched by his sides as he scoffs one last time in the man direction, turning his attention to the swarm of McLaren personal surrounding you.

His steps towards you were held back, Charles’ voice ringing through his ears. Charles hands pressed into Oscar’s shoulders, effectively blocking the man’s advance. He felt hopeless, his feet sinking into the heated tar like mud- his strained voice fading into the chaotic swarm of noise.

He was quickly forced away, McLaren support surrounding him as they guided his staggering steps into a closed off room. Their words not registering as his neck strained, desperate to catch one last look at you as the door to the motor home is locked behind him. Oscar’s hands rested atop his helmet, thankful for the privacy it provided as a strangled, broken plea escapes his parted lips. His chest straining as his mind runs away from him, still focused on his teammate, the girl he would do anything for.

He is ushered into a still conference room, the silence a welcoming change as the door clicks.

In seconds Oscar was left alone, his blood thundering in his ears. He heaved with weighted breaths as he paced the room. A consistent back and forth as he replayed your words in his mind, battling with himself to not go running out the door after you.

His hand fighting with his helmet, rushed movements yanking the suffocating weight from his head. The pounding remained consistent as the protective gear hung heavily in his hands. His sick covered gloves a stomach churning reminded if the pain McLaren had caused.

He replayed the events in his mind, running through the memories- a desperate search for answers in every fleeting moment he had shared with you.

So.. she got her period- that he saw sure off.

They forgot to fill her water at the hottest race of the year and-

They forgot?

Engineers don’t just, forget these things.

His cheast tightens with a whole new kind of anger. The one ran deep, an icy flow in his veins that squared his shoulders and tightened his jaw. He narrowed his eyes as he tried to remain control of his breathing.

But if they didn’t forget, they.. did this on purpose?

His eyes narrowed in a pointed gaze.

But.. why would they do this?

He made his way out towards the door, leaving his helmet forgotten and his gloves tucked into his coveralls.

gripping the cold brass in his hand, Oscar took a moment to breathe. Allowing his breath to catch, the shaking in his hands steadying.

Nothing good will come from approaching this in anger. No, he needs to be calm and consistent. He needs to lay out the facts and the evidence for the world to deliberate.

He needs people to know the truth. Not for himself, and definitely not for the team.

But for you.

The girl who came speeding into his life, messing up his sim times with her sarcastic commentary. Sending his heart racing with every second glance, his stomach shuffling with nerves when you laugh, low and controlled, at his jokes.

The one who always stood with composure and grace when people throw brash and sexist comments your way.

The one who shut them up with race results and unteachable talent that left the whole paddock (world) silent.

The one who left him breathless in every sense.

He wasn’t going to stand by and watch as the very team who did this to you, made up excuses and lies- letting the world slander your racing ability.

This wasn’t personal- it wasn’t about you

Just… your ability as a driver.

Yeah, sure. That’s how he will rationalise what he’s about to do.

The door opening caught him by surprise, stepping back slightly as the person sleeked into the room. Standing tall, blocking Oscar’s escape.

Oscar eyes narrowed at the older man in front of him, his manager and mentor Mark Weebar.

Oscar arms crossing against his chest as he rejected the man’s presence, not at all in the mindset for a post race debriefing right now.

Mark stood unwavering in front of the door, mimicking Oscar’s stance watching the young driver intently. His eyes daring Oscar’s to speak first, a smirk itching on Marks features at Oscar’s indifferent expression. Waiting carefully for mark to break the silence first

“Before you go out there, there are some things you should know first.”

Marks gaze met Oscar’s, the older man’s face hanging low. His shoulder weighed with the knowledge of a terrible truth. One he truly didn’t believe Oscar was ready to hear- At least not in his current state.

Marks movements were slow, hesitant as he extended out his arm. His hand clutching a stack of papers, jerstering for Oscar to take them.

Oscar’s hands shook as he gazed the papers, they looked identical to his racing contract with McLaren. The only difference being your name staring back at him.

He thrust the papers back towards Mark, the pile burning in his hands. His eyes gone wide as he stared accusingly at his manager;

This was your racing contact.

He couldn’t have this! He couldn’t read this- he could be fired, or worse.

“I’m not asking you to read it. I’m giving it to you, to leak to the press.”

Oscar wished he heard the man wrong, but at Mark stood unwavering, he couldn’t help but stare down at the stack. His gaze a mix of horror and intrigue.

“Now, you didn’t hear this from me. But-“

Mark oaused, taking a moment to steady his shaking words. His eyes refusing to meet Oscar’s.

“There’s a part of her contract- a… a weight clause.”

The stack of papers fluttering to the floor paused Marks words.

Risking a looks up at Oscar he watched the driver's eyes burn with fury, a blaze igniting as his body started to shake.

Oscar’s eyes closed with his teeth biting hard into his lip, the metallic tinge of blood meeting his taste buds. Every bone had gone ridged, hairs on end as his body practically buzzed with anger.

“Zac insisted on it.”

The two men's eyes met, Oscar’s burning with dark fury.

“They didn’t fill her water for today race, did you know?” Oscar’s voice was calm, head tilted to the side, eyes tracing marks frame. Sizing up the older man.

“I-I didn’t think that they would actually go through with it.” Mark admitted in a whispered confession, eyes closing and he’d lowering in shame and defeat.

Oscar’s foot collided with his helmet, the crack of the plastic visor evident as the headgear crumpled against the wall, sliding with defeat and landing on the ground.

Outside the motorhome, All post race celebrations were forgotten as drivers were whisked away by their teams. Being fed perfectly constructed statements about the incidents of today's race.

With the victor in intensive care, and her teammate and fellow pole sitter missing- there wasn’t much to be celebrating in the first place.

The paddock buzzed with uncertainty, all attention drawn to the McLaren motorhome. The building sitting unerveringly still, no one in or out as reporters and photographers fought for a glimpse inside.

Oscar kept the papers tucked into his race suit, mind steady as he opened the door.

Being met with a wave of flashing lights and incomprehensible questions. Everyone talking over themselves, begging for Oscars statement. He walked slow towards the group, holding up his arms to gain their attention.

“I’m not here to answer questions, just to deliver the facts.”

Oscars turns towards the McLaren motorhome, Mark posted at the door giving him a nod of encouragement. Blocking Zacks attempts to breach the compound to silence Oscar. Zacks fists pounding on the glass echoing behind him, the principals shouted threats silenced.

“It was brought to my attention, that during today’s race y/n’s drink supply was left unfilled. On purpose.” He make sure to put emphasis on that last part. Fighting with his voice to stay steady, praying it doesn’t crack.

“Now I don’t think i have to tell you just how disgusting, not to mentions dangerous that is. But that isn’t all.” Oscars unzips his race suit, the stack of papers being pulled from the confines.

“This-“ he holds the papers high in the air with a shaking arm.

“This is my teammates race contract. You will find a highlighted section on page three. this section outlines the details of my teammates weight clause. Stating, and I quote ‘If driver y/l/n is found to be in breach of the weight limit- set by McLaren- she will be met with immediate reprimands including but not limited to; one race ban, denial/push back of upgrades, limited access to sim testing and/or immediate dismissal from the team.”

Oscar paused as the crowd in front of him erupts. Anger and confusion evident in the air as reporters shout for answers. His eyes locking with a female reporter, her hand brought to her mouth in shock. Her eyes wide with disbelief and she shakes her head.

“I will not stand aside as my teammate is silenced. I will not stand aside while McLaren jeopardise her heath and wellbeing, all for aesthetics.” Oscar’s voice raising into a shout, allowing the words to fly from his mouth with heated passion.

“My teammates body autonomy has been signed away, now under ownership of a formula one team. Y/n lost consciousness after the race as a direct effect of the deliberate decision not to fill her drink supply orchestrated by and under the direct supervision of Zac Brown.” Oscar finished his statement by handing your race contract to the press. 

Seizing his opportunity to sneak away while they clawed at the papers, desperate to capture images of the alleged passage. Oscar stands behind the motor home. His hands racking through his hair.

A wave of panic hitting him hard. His throat tightens as he chocked on a sob, his eyes burning with hot tears. His body screamed at him, muscles strained and tired. His jaw ached from clenching it. His hands hurt from his nails biting at the skin. His mind swirled with anger and confusion, unable to think straight.

“That was one hell of a statement Piastri.”

You voice broke him from his spiral, smooth and sweet like caramel. He looked at you with shock and disbelief, his movements stalled as he raked his sore eyes over your frame. Lent casually against the wall, one leg propped against the exterior of the motor home, the other planted steadily on the ground. One hand cluchting your side as the other hold a cigarette. Oscars eyebrows raising as you take a long drag, your eyes closing as you allow the smoke to invade your lungs.

“I didn’t know you smoke?”

The question caused a surprised laugh to slip past your lips. Followed by a sharp and deep couch, it rattled your frame. Leaving you hunched over for a moment. Flicking the but away from you as you step away from the wall. Making your way towards Oscar. Your steps slow and shuffled as you approach the man.

Now face to face you grab his hand, Oscars heart skipping a beat. His eyes refusing to meet your heated gaze, scanning the area behind you.

You step closer to him now, your breath fanning over his face. His eyes closed as he inhaled the stained aroma of cigarettes and Gatorade. Your hand rests on his chest feeling the reparative rise and fall with each breath. The other is placed over his shoulder, the action tensing the man’s body and his eyes closed. Not daring to move and inch, his fingers twitch by his sides.

“It’s going to be hell, once Zac finds us.” The words are quiet. A whispered moment of uncertainty as your eyes trace over Oscar’s face. Raking down his nose, following each freckle down to his parted lips.

His eyes opening just to meet your heavy gaze, the air surrounding you gone thick. His tongue flicking over his bottom lip, swallowing his nerves as he raises a shaking hand. His rough palm resting gentle on your cheek, his thumb tracing over the smooth skin.

He chuckles low, a deep rumble in his chest. A white flicker of a small grin and his froth teeth capture the light of the setting sun. The golden glow slowly warming your tangled bodies. The drum of noise carried away by his smooth voice, low and controlled as always

“Yeah well, I’m not letting you go through hell alone.”

He leans in closer, his lips brushing yours. He eyes still swirling with uncertainty as he hesitates to close the distance. A brief wave of panic overtaking him as his mind catches up with his actions. His limbs burning just as he was about the pull away, you put him out of his misery.

Your hands curling around the back of his neck, coming to rest in the nape of his hair. Using the leverage to pull him down, your lips connecting. The kiss burns, so many words unspoken on the tips of your tongues. His swirling around yours as you lean into him, allowing his arms to wind around you. Your weight easily supported by him as you allow the world to slow.

🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂

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@wherethezoes-at @fangirlmusicbiashoe @landosbabe4

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[stonedtaemin]

you stupid girl

❕brat taming, ass slapping, mutual masturbation, lots of name calling (esp. whore, bitch, slut), cum eating | ao3 | wc 3.1k

mc is a brat and caleb decides he has to teach her a lesson *requested ♡

it first started as little joke, a prank, if you will. caleb was just so easy to rile up, so what was the point in not having a wee bit of fun?

fancy dinner with the fleet? her foot was rubbing sensually onto his leg across the table, slipped out of it's heel and toes pressing hard onto his crotch. on a phone call with one of the higher ups? she started mouthing at his cock through his pants.

even when he was cooking, god dammit, she would come up behind him and massage his ass. manhandling him and then snickering off, a knowing smirk playing onto her lips. each time he swore under his breath, shaking his head.

today was no different. caleb had had it up to here with her shannanigans, hands fiddling with the hem of his sweatpants, trying to focus on putting together a new plane model.

"would you stop that? you're gonna make me mess up, pips." he choked out, a tent already trying to form in his pants.

she was laying onto the floor next to him, chin resting on her hand in boredom. she let out a long, disgruntled sigh. her fingers did not move an inch. she wouldn't listen to his pleas.

"but it's so much fun and this is so... not fun."

he snorted, sitting up and stretching his back out. this was his third model of the day, he started as soon as they woke up and now the sun was setting. today had been a lazy sunday, one that was full of nothing but lofi and coffee. his stomach grumbled just at the thought of food.

"for you, maybe. i thought you liked helping me with this stuff..." his eyebrow cocked, eyes focusing back onto the important project at hand.

"i mean, yeah. but you look so handsome when you're focused. and i really wanna sit on your cock."

he choked on his own spit.

"horny fuck." he laughed at her, heart beating fast.

"yeah. what're gonna do about it?" she taunted, eyes squinted at him. he looked at her from the corner of his eyes.

"maybe if you're good and let me finish, i'll reward you." he hummed, eyes sliding back to the model.

she grunted, head falling downwards onto the carpet. she wiggled her legs into the air as if to throw a mini tantrum. she would never get his attention.

"whatever." she got up, knees cracking.

he smirked, not even throwing a glance her way. suits her right, putting him through all of this hell lately.

she padded away from him, closing their bedroom door behind her.

if she wasn't going to get his attention that way, then she had another thing coming for him. she searched far and wide through several drawers, hands looking for purchase.

bingo, she smirked to herself.

not even 5 minutes later she walked out into the living room again, watching as caleb has repositioned himself onto the couch. he's leaning back, considering what step to do next. he still didn’t even bother looking up at her.

she bit her inner cheek, groaning in annoyance. she pressed further, standing right in front of him, clearing her throat. finally, caleb's eyes fell onto her. he immediately regretted it because what he saw was so insane. here she was, dressed in nothing but a tiny red thong and a cropped old t-shirt of his from high school, nipples of her breasts poking out from the distressed seam. she was fucking glorious and he was but a mere man. god. damn.

"so now are you gonna fuck me?"'

"jesus christ." is all he could manage to blurt out. his fingers went up to rub his forehead, eyebrows furrowed.

she pushed his work further away from him, then turning back to straddle down onto his lap. heat rushed and pooled into his cock, growing harder with each time she circled her hips onto him.

"c'mon and fuck me." she whined, bouncing up and down in frustration.

he growled with annoyance. evol wrapping around her whole body. she was frozen in place, eyes widened with slight panic.

"god, you're such a needy slut. like you're in heat, just begging to be fucked all the time. you know that?" his voice wasn't like his normal voice... this was like when he was in his colonel suit. like she was a soldier that had overstepped her duties.

"i—"

his hand snapped up and grabbed her by the chin, yanking her face hard. she immediately shut up.

"been such an impatient little shit lately. i've been real nice about it too. right, baby?" he cooed menacingly, a devious smile spreading onto his lips.

she nodded slowly, a soft moan escaping her lips with anticipation. if she was horny then she was super horny now.

"tell me."

"y-yes..." she whined, struggling against his evol. she so badly wanted to rub against the growing bulge that sat perfectly against her folds. she was sopping wet, his pants getting ruined.

"i don't think you do..." he whispered, pulling her face closer to his. his lips hovered dangerously above hers, breath fanning across her.

she closed her eyes, trying to initiate a kiss. he pulled away.

"i do, i swear. i just wanna make you feel good, caleb." her words were almost convincing.

his fingers roamed down her chin to her neck, pushing her hair aside to expose her neck. he leaned forward, biting hard onto her. she whimpered at the pain, back arching. he pulled and sucked, skin already bruising from the abuse of his mouth. his hands made their way down her torso, cupping her exposed breasts.

he massaged them slowly, grabbing hard and pinching her nipples.

"don't believe you for a second. you're just an impatient whore that needs to be filled with my cock." he spat out, teeth nipping at her sensitive skin.

“yes, need you to fuck me caleb. i’m a whore. your whore. p-please!” she thought she would burst into tears if he didn’t put something inside of her. she ached for his touch. need to feel him against her walls. she was dripping down her thighs and onto the couch.

he stared at her like she was a prize that he needed to take. his tongue rode up the valley between her breasts then lifted up. his hands cupped her sex but didn’t do anything. he just grabbed her, panting at how soaked she was. he was deciding what to do with her.

she cried out, not knowing how much more she could take of the pulsating heat that knocked at her cunt.

"caleb, please... oh god."

he mouthed over the peak of her tits with hunger, hot puffs of breath sweeping over her skin. his hands kept fondling her and pulling and tugging. he couldn't get enough of her against the palm of his hands. couldn't decide which breast he wanted to suck on the most. he wished he had two heads and two mouths.

she threw her head back in ecstasy, feeling caleb's mouth devouring her chest. her fingers hooked through his hair, nails clawing at his scalp.

"gonna fuck you real nice and good so that you can finally shut up.” he groaned, eyes darkening as they locked onto hers.

“ye-yes please…” she sighed, thighs burning from the grinding she was finally able to resume.

his hips rocked up to meet hers, a moan tearing through his lips and spilling onto her bare torso.

his fingers finally found their way down to her folds, again, this time letting his fingers swipe into her slick. her breathe hitched when his touch finally graced her, immediately riding onto his hand as he pumped one, then two fingers in and out of her. the squelches of his fingers stroking her pussy filled the thick air around them. it was sinful. his cock grew bigger by the second just by the delicious noises. a groan resounded from deep within his chest.

“fuck, you drive me crazy. listen to yourself.”

she cried out, caleb biting the shit out of her shoulder as he finger fucked her.

“yes, yes, yes— love your f-fingers, caleb, ah— shit!”

her cries echoed throughout the house.

his lips kissed gently onto her chin, tongue tracing her jaw.

“bad little bitch— take that shit.”

she nodded fast as his thumb circled onto her clit, her moans falling out in a jumble. just as she was about to claim an orgasm his hands stopped, pulling out abruptly and rudely, if you asked her.

she whined with agony, about to say something but his fingers shoved into her mouth, her slick coating her tongue deliciously. he clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“be a good girl for once and don’t say anything, ‘kay? gonna give you what you need, baby.” he whispered.

he fingered her mouth just as he had to her pussy, going in and out of her wet mouth. she gladly took it, eyes locked onto him and glistening with lust. her cheeks were blossoming with heat, eyebrows bowed in arousal. she looked absolutely divine and caleb couldn’t stand it. he hummed in approval as her tongue swirled around his meaty fingers.

his fingers retracted with a pop, a trail of saliva falling after.

“get on your hands and knees, on the couch. face the window.” his words were short and straight to the point.

she stood up from his lap, slightly dizzy with how hot she was. he watched her as she backed away. he moved to the opposite side of the couch so she could get into position. she did as she was told, crawling onto the couch and ass perched up. she gripped the arm of the couch to ground herself.

she looked behind her to watch as caleb pulled his pants off, underwear wet with her slick and his own arousal. he threw his shirt to the side, sweat falling down his carved chest. she licked her lips with hunger, eyes never leaving his fit body. he smirked as she did, arms flexing for show. she wiggled in anticipation, letting out a deep groan.

“caleb. please hurry.”

his underwear was finally off, cock swelled up against the front of his abdomen. he was huge as always, veiny and thick. she needed him now.

he got on his knees behind her, hands grabbing onto her hips harshly. nothing would have prepared her for the loud crack and harsh feeling of his hand coming down onto her ass cheek. she bowed forward, a scream emitting from her mouth. her forehead rested onto the arm of the couch, eyes screwed shut.

“i told you to shut up.” his words were heavy. he massaged her cheek afterwards, thumb kneading against the reddened skin.

“mmph— yes sir.” she cried out.

another slap landed onto her, harder than the last. she swore she could cum just from the feeling. he was so rough.

“the more you whine the more it’ll hurt.” he said, fingers trailing and brushing against her slit. it was a ghost of a touch. she stopped herself from grinding them into her.

“yes sir.” she repeated again.

he chuckled deeply, his hand going to his dick to stroke slowly.

“touch yourself.” he commanded.

her fingers went down and between her thighs, pushing her thong aside. she took two fingers and rubbed her clit slowly, parting her legs some more for him to get a good view. she watched behind her as he stroked himself to her masturbation. his lips caught under his front teeth, a hiss slowly coming out as he shook his cock a few times. he couldn’t stand watching her anymore, he had to be inside of her, right now.

she wiggled her ass a little, moaning softly. she was making herself feel so nice and warm. she couldn’t help but circle to her motions, fingers dipping in and out of herself in the process.

“please baby, need you here. so fucking horny for you.” she whined, two fingers taking her lips and opening them wide for him, her ring clenching in desperation.

he didn’t even feel like smacking her again for being impatient, he himself was getting impatient.

“think you can take me in one go, sweetheart?”

she nodded frantically, arching her back even further. she looked like a feline stretching, ready for him to dive in.

he lined his cock up with her pussy, making her bite her lip hard in anticipation. his tip dove down quickly into her folds, cock being sucked in past the threshold of her entrance. she cried out as he thrusted deep into her, tip already grazing her cervix. he was so big and deep, she could feel her insides being absolutely wrecked. she loved it.

“oh— fuck!” she screamed, hands gripping onto the couch fabric for dear life.

she tried moving against him but his evol forced her in place, a whimper escaping her mouth. she rolled her eyes back in annoyance, huffing.

“just sit still and take it like a good slut.” he purred, hand splaying over her back, the other gripping onto the handle of her hip.

and with that, he slammed in and out of her slowly and so fucking good.

her moans sounded every time his cock sank all the way inside of her, skin smacking against hers. her breasts swung back and forth with each time he pounded into her, legs shaking. the small crop top was even beginning to feel hot. she pulled on the collar of it, feeling sweat trickle down her neck and onto her tits.

“fuck yes, feels so good. god caleb— right there, yes!” she squealed.

he huffed out heavy breathes, each time his cock bottomed out a wave of pleasure washed over him. he knew he couldn’t last long.

“you look so beautiful taking me like this, baby. pretty little flower blooming just for me.” his voice came out in a whinier tone than he wanted, but god dammit he was feeling so good.

she took her hands to spread her cheeks more, pink asshole puckering as he fucked her pussy like it was the last thing he would ever do. he moaned at the sight, a slight wail bubbling from his chest. he was definitely going to fill her up if he kept going like this.

“so— fucking— good! need to cum, please caleb, please let me cum. i— i can’t…” her pleas bled together, eyes squinting and welling up with tears as she looked back at him.

his purple iris’ swirled with desire as they bore into hers, hands massaging her hips with a gentle reminder that he loved her so much. she was such a beautiful creature, in his shirt and sexy underwear. being a good little fuck toy for him. he couldn’t get enough.

“yes, baby. cum. let me feel you.” he gave in.

immediately she fell apart, cries spilling out of her. her hands went back behind her, caleb’s hands pinning them together as he rode her orgasm out. he wanted to cum so bad, but he had other plans. she circled her hips slowly onto him as he kept thrusting, soft whines dying out. she was breathing hard, body slumped onto the couch, face buried.

“oh, f-fuck. baby…” she whispered, voice muffled.

caleb chuckled, tapping her ass softly with his palm as he let go of her wrists.

“sit up onto your knees, baby.” his voice came out gentle but she knew to obey.

he pulled out reluctantly, wishing he could keep pumping in and out of her delicious hole.

she hummed, sitting up slowly onto her knees. caleb got up, feet planting onto the ground and standing over her like a skyscraper. his cock was covered in her juices, slick and hot. it stood proud and hard as hell, hovering over her face.

“make me cum, sweet girl.”

her hands went to wrap around his length, twisting languidly and achingly well. she knew the perfect way to do it, an expert in calebology. he threw his head back, eyes staring at the ceiling. she watched as he swallowed thickly, adam’s apple bobbing. she hummed at the sight, thinking about just how gorgeous he was like this. she was in awe. her man.

“you’re so fucking big caleb. love how big you are.” she moaned, breath fanning over his cock.

he smirked, biceps flexing slightly. his hands cupped her cheeks, grazing over her skin softly.

“yeah? look so good next to my dick. pretty girl. mine.” he was so close.

she fluttered her eyelashes, mouth opening and tongue sticking out.

“wanna eat your cum, please, please, please. give it to me, caleb, i need it.” she begged, eyebrows pinning in plea. she begged like it was her own personal prayer.

he cried out in pure bliss, not handling the situation as composed as he wanted to. she was going to be the death of him and he was going to be totally okay with that.

“fuck yeah, you want that? wanna swallow my cum like a greedy little bitch, hm?”

“yes!” she cried out.

“f-fuck!” his fingers gripped onto the back of her head, tugging hard at her hair.

she dragged the tip of his dick onto the center of her tongue, smacking it as thick ropes came out of him.

“fuck yes, you fucking whore.” he seethed, teeth gritting as he watched her lap up his seed. his dick twitched violently into her hand, as if he could see each rope push itself out and into her mouth.

she took his cock deep into her throat, sucking up and down his length. he thrusted into her, gagging the shit out of her. her guttural sounds as she choked onto his cock made his orgasm hit harsher with each time he hit the back of her throat.

“pip-squeak…” he moaned softly, fingers loosening as his orgasm finished.

she slowly pulled off of his length, lips glistening with spit and cum. his slumped with finality as it popped out of her mouth. she licked the bottom of her lip, smiling lazily. his fingers hooked onto her chin, pulling her face up.

“did you swallow like a good girl?”

she opened her mouth, proving that she had consumed every last drop. he leaned down, lips smashing onto hers, tongue licking against her own. he kissed her nice and slow, thumb grazing her cheek softly in praise.

she pulled him down hard, straddling him once more. he huffed out a laugh, lips trailing down to her chin, then her neck.

“was i good for you?” she pondered, voice soft.

he pulled away, planting a kiss to her temple.

“yes, baby. you were so good.” he smiled.

“does this mean you’re not annoyed with me anymore?” she taunted, her head falling onto his shoulder. she poked his neck with her fingers, rubbing her hand onto his hard chest. he was covered in sweat.

“mhmm. for now.” he jabbed her side.

she was sure to be a brat again. how could she not be, when her boyfriend looked like adonis and fucked like a god?

[yuamusuzuran]

The Dragon & the Foreseer who loved him - pt.11

Pairing: Sylus x Zayne/ SnowCrow

Chp word count: 2985

MINORS DNI/ EXPLICIT AND MATURE CONTENT AHEAD!

Chapter tags: yearning, pining, LOTS OF EMOTIONS, reunion, kissing, Sylus POV

Previous chapters: CHP1, CHP2, CHP3, CHP4, CHP5, CHP6, CHP7, CHP8, CHP9, CHP10

If you wish to become a part of the tag list, refer here!

Click HERE to read on AO3!

ENJOY!

CHAPTER 11 - Please don't call me that...

These past three weeks have been the longest Sylus has ever had to go through, not even waiting multiple lifetimes could compare to the yearning he was feeling whilst laying in Akso Hospital.

Every day, he was tended to by the best of the best doctors and nurses he could afford, Livia and the twins bringing him anything he needed or wanted while also putting up with his moodiness.

But Zayne… he never came to check up on him, despite being the one who had patched him up in the first place.

Sylus asked, multiple times, about him, but he always got a similar answer. ‘Dr. Zayne is on shift in cardiology today’; ‘Dr. Zayne worked a night shift at the ER and is resting today’; ‘Dr. Zayne is in surgery’.

Excuse upon excuse… but no matter his frustration, Sylus couldn’t stay mad at him for long.

In the meantime, Livia had made sure to test out her theory, even managing to have a cup of coffee with her old friend. She was still uncertain if her “shielding-them-from-destiny’s-gaze” theory was correct, but she was absolutely convinced that, yes, Zayne does remember Sylus… and very well.

At least, that’s what his mind had shown her.

But now, when he was finally discharged and instructed to remain on strict bed rest, the leader of Onychinus had one final thing to do before leaving Akso Hospital.

“You’ve really outdone yourself with this bouquet Livia commented, her head barely visible behind the flowers, "Is there a reason why you chose white roses and white jasmines?"

Sylus chuckled, clicking the elevator button once they boarded, “It’s a secret between me and the good doctor”

Livia pouted and turned her head away, causing the man to chuckle.

The elevator ride continued in silence, Sylus taking a deep breath before leaning against the wall.

His heart, although usually beating very fast, was unstoppable at that moment, a strange sensation building up in his stomach.

He wasn’t feeling like this when he had reunited with his beloved Foreseer, it was a sudden and a miraculous encounter.

But now, when Sylus knew where his office was, and that he will definitely see him face to face… he couldn’t calm down.

“Are you nervous?” Livia’s voice suddenly broke the silence, her tone somewhat cheerful but mostly surprised.

Sylus looked at her, making sure to steady his bouncy leg, “What gave you that idea?” he asked, attempting to mask the trembling in his voice though his usual purr.

“I can literally cut the air with a knife, you’re about to burst” she said nonchalantly, Sylus only chuckling at her assessment.

“Maybe you’re correct” he eventually responded, his vision unfocused, “I’m just regretting not dressing into something fancier”

Livia eyed him up and down, in utter disbelief “What are you saying? You look very handsome in a biker outfit!”

Another chuckle escaped the silver-haired man, his posture finally relaxing, “When I have such a cheerleader, there is no chance I will fail in this endeavor”

“You bet!” Livia chirped, a tender smile spreading across her lips.

The elevator soon dinged, opening the door so the duo can finally get off on the 10th floor.

Not many people were around aside doctors and designated nurses, all of them eyeing the duo with surprise and the expected interest when it came to Sylus.

But nobody stopped them; nobody even asked them where they were going, Sylus making sure to look as casual as possible. When a certain nurse or a doctor seemed a little too suspicious of them, he’d give them his signature smirk, promptly immobilizing them.

Zayne’s office was at the other side of the building, Livia leading the way with confidence.

Once there, however, Sylus suddenly became unable to take a deep breath, his hand balling in the middle of his chest, where the crystal once used to be.

“Are you okay?” Livia asked with concern, “Are you in pain?”

“I’m fine…” he reassured, taking the bouquet away from the woman’s hands, “I suppose you were correct… I am rather nervous now”

Livia smiled, reaching up to caress his cheek. Her cold palms managed to somewhat ground Sylus, the tone of her voice being nothing but gentle:

“Take as much time as you need in there. I’ll wait here, making sure you two can have a proper conversation, without the need to hide your memories”

Sylus smiled, gently clasping Livia’s hand, “Thank you, kitten”

The two then parted, Livia quietly nudging and cheering for him before sitting down in the waiting room, determined to act as a shield against the fate itself if it meant Sylus and Zayne could have a proper conversation.

Sylus took a deep, heavy breath, gently squeezing the bouquet in his hand before relaxing, knocking thrice on the plain white door.

“Who is it?” a stern voice came from the other side, Sylus’ heart immediately skipping a beat.

But, instead of announcing himself, the silver-haired man pushed the handle, opening the door quietly.

“Why knock if you’ll enter anyway-” Zayne had gone silent as he turned from his desk, a silent gasp escaping his lips as he gripped onto the files he held, “Mr. Sylus…”

Sylus had to snicker, closing the door, “No need to be alarmed doc, I just came to pay you a quick visit and…” he produced a bouquet of white roses and jasmines from behind his back, holding it with his right hand whilst trying to appear nonchalant, “Express my sincerest gratitude”

Zayne remained silent for a while, his expression as blank as he could muster. And yet, the moment he laid his eyes on the jasmines that had made up majority of the bouquet, their gentle scent filling up his office, he gulped, closing his eyes.

“This is not an appropriate behavior, Mr. Sylus” the doctor stated calmly, putting down the documents on his table before making a few steps towards him, “If anyone had seen you bring this to me, they might think I’m taking a bribe”

Sylus chuckled with amusement, “Surely a single bouquet wouldn’t spark that much suspicion?”

The doctor’s lips curled into a barely noticeable smile, “You would be surprised… this is a competitive field”

The two remained silent for a moment, Zayne observing the flowers as he adjusted the glasses that rested on the bridge of his nose.

And Sylus had to use every ounce of composure just to not close the distance between them and embrace him.

Despite all those centuries of being apart, his Foreseer was as beautiful as Sylus had remembered him, his robes now changed with black hospital scrubs while his once long, jet-black hair was now cut shorter for convenience.

But those eyes… those beautiful, green eyes that reminded the dragon of the first days of spring, still remained cautious, curious… and so lovely.

Zayne was the one to reach for the flowers first, Sylus giving them up without hesitation.

“What a waste” the doctor commented before turning around, “They’ll wither in this office; I’m not here often…”

“Don’t worry, I can always bring you a new one, doc. If the flowers are to your liking, of course” Sylus assured, his voice much quieter than before.

Zayne didn’t respond as he turned away from him, heading back towards his desk. He handled the flowers with utmost care, moving piles of paperwork and medical equipment to the side just so he could lay them on the flat surface.

“I’m glad you came to see me” the doctor sounded very professional, polite, “But I assume that you already have all instructions needed to continue your recovery at home?”

“Of course” Sylus confirmed, barely able to keep the flirty smile on his face, “The team you have assigned to my care are truly knowledgeable. But I will still need to come to Akso every week for a checkup”

Zayne nodded, still turned away from Sylus, “I suspected as much… But if you want a reassurance that I’ll be the one handling the check up, I cannot promise you that. I’m currently working on several different stations-”

“I don’t expect you to give me reassurance, doc. I know you’re very busy…” Sylus’ voice suddenly broke, the man needing to take a deep breath to continue, “All I wanted to do was see whether you’re alright… To finally have a chance to have a proper chat with you”

“Mr. Sylus-”

“Please don’t call me that…” Sylus had to close his eyes, aware his voice was trembling.

This sudden change in his voice, however, seemingly did something to Zayne, the doctor turning around as if he had just heard the most shocking news.

Sylus couldn’t let this opportunity slip away, completely ditching any sense of composure he had tried to keep up.

“I know… you remember me…” he mumbled, taking a heavy gulp as his eyes locked with Zayne’s, “Even while I was in the ICU… I saw recognition in your eyes”

The doctor started shaking his head in the very next moment, backing into a table, but Sylus didn’t have any intention of leaving that office without speaking his mind first.

With a single step forward, the silver-haired man relayed: “I know why you wanted to avoid me… and why you’re still trying to deny it… but please, have mercy on me. Use the name you gave me properly…”

Sylus was very aware of how shaky his voice was as he took yet another deep breath, frustration and sadness that had accumulated during all of those days almost threatening to drown him.

But then… Zayne closed his eyes, his mask of professionalism cracking in half as he removed his glasses.

“Sylus, I…” he murmured, voice barely above the whisper as he intertwined his own fingers, squeezing them tight above his stomach, “I cannot… So many times before, you-”

“It won’t happen again” Sylus suddenly raised his voice, doctor looking up at him as if he had lost his mind.

“Sylus, you have no idea how many times I’ve seen you hurt-”

“I said…” the silver-head made additional few steps, the two men now only inches apart as he mumbled, “I promise… it won’t happen again. Nothing will happen to me, even if we’re in a close proximity”

Zayne frowned, his lips turning into a thin line as the anger started consuming him, “How can you be so sure? How can you know-”

“I do” Sylus’ voice was gentle, quiet, the purr in his undertone.

Despite his better judgment and without a clear permission, the former dragon gently picked up the doctor’s hand, raising it to his lips only to plant a single, gentle kiss on his knuckles.

He could hear Zayne gasp for air and then gulping, the doctor looking away from him before pulling away his hand.

Sylus could see something shift in Zayne’s eyes… but whatever it was, he doubted the doctor would acknowledge it in that moment. It was obviously too much for him…

With a sigh of defeat, the silver-haired man slipped a hand in the pocket of his leather jacket, pulling out a black business card which he gently placed on the doctor’s table.

“If you so wish, we can speak on a later date, I promise I’ll explain everything” he said reassuringly, squeezing his fists in agony of not being able to embrace the man in front of him.

Sylus then stepped back, straightening his posture. He could clearly see surprise on Zayne’s face, but he had to remain resolute in his own restraint.

This was a brand new situation for his beloved, something he doesn’t fully understand nor believe in yet… and it has been so long since they’ve last seen each other. It would’ve been foolish from Sylus to expect any sort of affection on Zayne’s end.

He just… needed to take it slowly. Not expect anything in return, now or ever.

They both have lived such different lives at the moment…

As a sharp breath escaped him, Sylus offered his hand to the doctor, Zayne automatically accepting it and shaking it.

“Thank you, doctor Zayne, for saving my life three weeks ago” the silver-head said in the gentlest tone possible, “Only fate could’ve placed me into your capable hands”

Zayne bit down on his lip, looking up at Sylus with glistening eyes, “Destiny was the one… that did this to us…”

Sylus had to chuckle, “True… but at least now, we might have a slight chance of fighting it”

They retracted their hands at the same time, the air between them heavy with all emotions they were feeling. But it was Zayne who broke the silence first:

“How are you so sure that now… it’s going to be different?”

Sylus had to snicker again, “Let’s just say… both you and I have a little divine force looking after us”

The doctor frowned, but a sudden realization in his gaze told Sylus everything he needed to know… and had allowed him to muster up the courage to say one final thing before leaving the office.

“Doc, I…. don’t expect you to reciprocate my feelings” he muttered, his jaw clenching as Zayne adorned an even deeper frown.

But even that change in expression didn’t deter Sylus from saying what’s on his heart, “It’s… been centuries, two millennia… since we last saw each other. Of course I don’t expect you to just run into my arms like nothing happened… especially due to your own circumstances”

“Sylus, I-”

The silver-haired man shook his head, pleading only with his gaze to continue, “You don’t need to say anything… because the last thing I would want to do is upset you, or make you feel like you owe me something”, Sylus took another deep breath, “But… at least allow me to check up on you every now and then, to make sure you’re alright… and live a good life”

A long pause ensued, Zayne’s expression completely empty as he observed the other man. But, eventually he nodded, his voice gentle:

“Alright…”

Sylus smiled, nodding along before turning his heel to leave, “Whenever you’re ready to talk, for an explanation, contact me. I’ll make time for you, doc”

As he turned, Sylus could hear a sharp breath escape Zayne’s mouth, his voice deeper and shakier than before.

“So… after all these years… you were still looking for me? You still yearned…”

The silver-haired man smiled to himself, feeling a familiar tingle in the corners of his eyes.

“I’ve never stopped yearning…”

Mustering up the strength to move, Sylus headed towards the door of the office, opening his mouth to say his final goodbye to the man behind him… only to hear two words that made his heart soar.

“Sylus, wait-”

Without hesitation, the man turned on his heel, Zayne only inches away from him… and in the very next moment, his strong, yearning arms wrapped around him.

Sylus reciprocated, capturing the doctor into an embrace so tight he believed they’ll melt into each other.

Zayne’s face was now buried in the other’s shoulder, only quiet sobs and his body shaking showcasing the extent of his own longing.

“Zayne…” Sylus mouthed, planting a gentle kiss on the doctor’s neck.

“Call me how you used to…” Zayne demanded, his voice shaky, “Please…”

A smile, wider than any other, sprung on Sylus’ lips as he mumbled, “Sweetheart… my beloved…”

Zayne took several deep breaths as he broke their embrace, his cheeks wet as he looked up at Sylus.

He was the one to close the gap between their faces; he was the one to cup the man’s face in need and urgency, their lips melting into each other as if they have never even been separated.

Sylus himself couldn’t believe that what was happening in that moment was their true reality… but the moment their lips connected, his body and soul remembered.

He remembered the way Zayne’s body squirmed in his embrace, how his Foreseer loved to bury his long fingers in his silver hair, the suppressed and labored breaths his beloved would let out whenever his yearning became too much.

Out of old habit, Sylus gently raised the doctor by the waist, slowly carrying him towards the table, their lips never once separating.

“Not… now…” Zayne mumbled into the other’s lips, never making a real effort to break the contact-

A knock at the door was something neither of them heard, but the subsequent words made them freeze up:

“Sylus, the twins have called; we need to- OH GOD!” Livia exclaimed before slamming the door shut, her voice high-pitched as she yelled from the hallway, “I DIDN’T SEE ANYTHING! I’M SO SORRY!”

The two men remained baffled for a moment or two, only to start chuckling and wheezing at the sudden interruption.

“If she hadn’t come in…” Sylus eventually purred, looking deep into Zayne’s eyes, “I would’ve probably ravaged you right here on this table”

“Don’t say such things…” Zayne scolded him, his voice tender as a mischievous smile spread on his lips, “But… you better leave… someone we don’t want might actually walk in”

Sylus sighed, lowering his head on the doctor’s shoulder. He didn’t want to leave… but he knew he had to…

“Call me as soon as you can, alright?” he eventually said upon rising his gaze, planting a gentle peck on the doctor’s lips and cheek, “I know you’re busy saving lives, but-”

Zayne shushed him; one long finger lay across Sylus’ lips “I won’t keep you waiting for centuries this time… I promise”

Sylus couldn’t help but smile back at Zayne, planting a small kiss on the very finger that managed to silence him.

The two soon parted, barely able to keep their composure… but one thing neither of them wanted to hide was the new glint that had appeared in both of their eyes.

After centuries upon centuries of waiting… they were finally reunited.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

TAG LIST: @rafayelsplushiekiller @jasmines-greentea @nezuswritingdesk @angelwhizpers @katiralovely @nothoughts-justzayne @zarakem @saltyobservationcheesecake @animegamerfox @indigoary @0nyxfeathers @belle643 @hazel-n-0-t @multisstuff @we-rice-boi @cheesemachine44 @napa-the-yappa @szafficat @chalamazed4life @twilightsmissingfur @crowroses13 @crimsonrubie @hirostrvw

This chp had really packed an emotional punch! I hope you enjoyed!

New update should be in about two-week's time, on July 5th! Until then, stay safe everyone and thank you for reading!

Peace, love and goodbye!

[decapod-appreciator]

ooh wait since u also like both dunmeshi and dc (just saw ur gorgeous gorgeous farcille art !!) could i request a crossover of the two? with any characters u want :D

THIS ACTIVATED A NEURON. SO

I wavered between yj and bats, but I wanted cass n duke in there so we’re going bats. the main party is Tim, Duke, Steph, and Cass.

Tim is a half elf, raised by a wealthy elf family but generally not involved in high society because of his uncertain parentage. Instead, he devoted his time to studying dungeons. Now he’s finally left home, and he’s decided he’s going to see a real dungeon lord if it’s the last thing he does. he hires Duke and Steph as bodyguards.

Duke is a human knight who rose through the ranks not because of any wealth or family connections, but for his sheer skill and dedication to doing good. despite training as a swordsman, he has a natural knack for illusory magic. He heard that the Lord of the Dungeon grants wishes, so he was planning to go in on his own using an enchanted necklace as a guide, but he accepted Tim’s offer of employment because he didn’t want to let this rich boy go in alone. if he finds the Lord of the Dungeon (who is Bruce btw) he’ll ask for the curse on his parents to be lifted.

Steph is the half-dwarf daughter of a local bandit leader. she tried to stand up to him and got her shit thoroughly rocked, so she’s doing freelance work in the dungeon for training, and with the hopes she might find some allies (and maybe sickass magic items) to help her out. she often gets underestimated because of her size, but she packs a serious punch and she inherited her mother’s dwarven constitution. it takes a lot to put her down.

Cass is a snake beastkin made by David Cain in an attempt to create the perfect assasin. she’s disgusted by black magic, and hates that she was litterally created from it. The gang meets her on their first forray into the dungeon, in which she saves them from a cockatrice and then follows them around silently for the rest of the day. she ends up very attached to Steph, who she sees as a pure and heroic ideal to strive for.

bruce has been lord for ~100 years? he initially became Lord to protect his city, but as the people started to revolt against him he became more and more isolated, until he took his closest friends and family into the dungeon and disappeared.

Babs is a sea serpent chimera on one of the upper floors. she was a gnome gifted with remarkable divinatory magic, and the daughter of the Lord’s closest friend. when she was attacked by a sea serpent and nearly killed, loosing both her legs, Bruce made her into a chimera. she hates how confined she is to the water, and she resents that Bruce calls on her for security updates 24/7. she would try to leave, but her tail is too massive for her to even attempt dragging it across land. she employs Huntress, an elf monster hunter, to take care of the monsters around her pool so it can act as a safe haven for adventures (and so she can talk to anyone other than bruce once in a while)

Damian is a Kobold. idk man he’s small and yappy. he wants to prove his worth as the inheritor of the dungeon by killing anyone who gets too close to the Lord. Jason is a failed chimera (dragon? bicorn? griffin maybe?) trapped in the lowest level of the dungeon.

[reverieblondie]

Tiefling man (or men—if you feel like writing multiple) of your choice pinning you to a wall and biting/nipping your throat.

Sorry this took so long! I was kinda taking an unofficial break from request, But now I am back to doing them! So excited! I am very proud of this one I rewrote it from what I originally had so I hope you like it! Also I couldn't think of anything for Dammon so I used @sinkuna / @dark-and-kawaii OC Kieran. I love him so so much!

(Rolan, Cal, Zevlor, and Kieran)

18+ MDNI! Fem Reader, SMUT!

Rolan

Is he… trying to intimate you or eye fucking you? 

As you look over to Rolan, you see him staring at where you are leaning over the front counter, waiting for Cal to get you the scroll you ordered. You are not unaware of Rolans staring problem, but you're never one to back down from a staring contest. So, game on Archmage. 

When you start staring, you notice how Rolan at first seems a bit surprised with how his eyes widen the size of saucers and his skin flushes a bit darker; you think for a second he's going to look away, but then when you smile he seemed to look less tense… 

The longer the silent game went on, the more smug he became; you watched him get comfortable as he leaned against the wall of books with his arms folded and an arrogant smirk on his lips. Then he walked over, never once leaving your gaze. Closer now you watched as his eyes wander over you, his body coming so close to yours, and right as his lips part. He breaks the gaze by looking down at his feet. And you erupt in glee. 

"Ha! Too bad, Rolan, you lose." 

You should have guessed it from the look on his face; he looked so confused and kinda hurt…

Before you could say anything else or even ask, Cal interrupted with a chipper smile and your scroll. Rolan took that moment to move away without a word. You watched as he made his way to the stairs, but before he left, he turned to look over at you one last time, his brow furrowed, his broad shoulders now slumped, and his lips in a prevalent frown. Rolan let out a quick scoff before quickly disappearing up the stairs, leaving you with more questions than answers. 

You wanted to follow after him, but if he was angry, you didn't want to push it. 

"What's the matter with Rolan? Did I interrupt something?" Cal asks, concerned. 

You continue to stare off, baffled, before turning to Cal, "I have… no idea. We were staring-" 

"Oh! You finally noticed?" -huh?  

You turn to him and lift your brow at him to elaborate, "You finally noticed how he looks at you, right?" 

"Um, I thought it was a staring contest… What do you mean how he looks at me?" 

Cal shakes his head with a sympathetic smile, "You have to figure it out; I'm not explaining it. He wouldn't want me to." 

So, you left… but, of course, as you got home, you began to think, and your mind immediately went to Rolan. He was the one staring at you with those keen, bright eyes first. Why did he have to get so angry with you? It had been going so well…

Ugh! This is so frustrating. If he has a problem, why doesn't he just talk to you? He has never had an issue with it before, nagging at you with that… soothing, sexy voice. 

You roll your eyes; this is ridiculous… Maybe you should go talk to him? No! If he has a problem, he has to come to you! And that's exactly why you're going back to sundries to make him have to come to you! 

Sure, it's hours later, and they will be closing the store soon… but Cal still told you where Rolan was hiding for the rest of the night while he dragged Lia out to the tavern for the rest of the night. You're not exactly sure what he had in mind, but you're not complaining about it. 

You walked through the quiet halls of the tower, looking through the endless bookshelves, hoping to run into him. Finally, turning a corner, you see him reading at his desk, his profile so sharp and striking, and his nose. You don't know whether to bop it or ride it. 

Rolan finally peers up from his book, meeting your eyes, and you watch as he jumps, muttering something in a deep infernal. He fixes his posture before walking over to you with a sneer. 

"What are you doing here?" 

You scrunch your face into a matching scowl of your own, "I came to see what your problem is?" 

Rolan looks at you confused, as if you have sprouted a second head before moving back to one of irritation. "My problem? You're the one coming in here unannounced!"

"You're acting weird, I thought we were playing a game." 

Irritatingly, he tilts his head adorably." Game? What are you talking about?" 

You feel a sharp sting in your chest, "Yes… you know, the one you started with your staring." 

Rolans face turns a bright red, "I… I do not stare." 

Rolling your eyes, you're becoming increasingly annoyed with this denial thing. "You stare like you've got a problem." 

You watch as he grits his teeth; you're about to continue making your point in the argument, but you're quickly cut off as he marches over to stare you down. You look up, and it's that same look in his eyes from earlier… but now that he's closer… It looks different. 

"My problem is that you think everything is a game…" He places his hand on your cheek as the other rests against the large shelf behind you, "And when I look at you, I have this… feral urge to make you mine every day." He leans in closer to whisper, "And that's not a game." 

To say you're shocked is an understatement… You feel your pulse race, and your stomach flutter. He places his forehead against yours, "Please say something…"  

Your blood rushes through your body to your lower stomach, and as he moves to lean into your neck, tracing your pulse with his hose and his breath fanning over your sensitive skin.

"Do it…" You say as you touch his chest, feeling his heart racing, and move your hands up to cup his jaw, looking into his golden eyes and his firm lips. "I want to be yours, feel this 'feral urge'" 

You almost want to laugh at that last part; imagining Rolan, someone so composed, going feral, seems like an impossibility. Then you feel his lips against your neck, followed by the feeling of the points on his teeth. The feeling has your body's temperature rise as you cling to his shirt, your thighs tightening the deeper he bites. 

He pulls away before he can break the skin, kissing the dull, deliose pain away as his hands slide down your body to hold onto your hips. You Can't resist yourself as you wrap your legs around his hips and feel his straining length pressing against your sex. The feel of him makes you gasp, and Rolan is quick to catch your lips in a searing kiss swallowing down your moans as he teases your clit through the thin fabric restraining you two. 

The more he ruts against you, the wetter you get, and you can tell from how he begins to whine in his throat he can feel you seeping through the fabric. It doesn't deter him, and he wraps his tail around you and buries himself into your neck. You're begging for him to stop teasing and to split you open on his cock as you reach up to grab one of his horns. 

That's all he needed to hear before he ripped off your soaked panties and bit down on the curve of your neck, letting the trickle of iron fall on his fevered tongue, and his cock teased your quivering entrance, taunting you to beg for more.

Cal

It's another night spending the hours playing drinking games and sharing stories of your recent adventures with your fellow patrons, just waiting for him to walk through the door… You two had been writing letters back and forth since the day you had left, and now, as you make your way back to the city, you're hoping to see him again. 

Your fingers anxiously tap as the noise around you becomes a dull drone of sound, and your eyes stay fixed on the door. Then he walks through; Cal walks in with that friendly smile as he surveys the room. Then his eyes meet yours, and you see how his grin gets a bit brighter, and your heart races a bit quicker. It's hard not to be smitten with him; you have been pining for a while now… but no matter what you do, that dork just can't seem to take the hint. 

Cal weaves through the crowd, and you're quick to stand on your feet to meet him in the middle; as soon as you're in reach, he's lifting you up in a sweeping hug. Yeah, when others do this same embrace, you are quick to dodge, not wanting to be touched, but something about feeling Cal's muscles coil in his arms and feeling the strength of his hands as he slightly squeezes your back, tickling you with the points of his claws. Well, it's just so much better… 

After your little twirl leaves you feeling weightless, Cal is quick to take you to the bar, "I want to hear everything you have gotten into!" 

"You know if you want adventure, you should join me on my next trip. Think Rolan can spare you for one?" 

Cal smiles, tilting his mug around to play with the golden fizz inside, "Well, I would love that, but I'm not much of an adventurer… Maybe I could be the camp guard and help make your meals!" 

Oh, someone needs to wife him up…  -That person could be you if you stop dragging your feet!

You quickly grab his hand and squeeze it, "I think that sounds like a grand idea." 

Time and everything else just seems to disappear when Cals is around; you two get lost in sharing stories and lame jokes. He truly is the best part of this city…  And it turns out you're not the only one who knows this…

Though everything around you sounds just like endless yammering, you hear a sentence that makes your ears twitch. 

"Isn't that the archmages, brother?" 

"Yes, isn't he cute? He's apparently really nice and can practically lift a crate of books with one hand." 

"Think he could throw me around then?"  

No! That's your plan! You throw a glare at the two sudden rivals in the room while also trying not to be noticed by Cal. Lucky for you, he doesn't, but the two staring solely at him don't really notice you either. You need to show that you're his, and there will be no cutting in. While you're racking your brain for an idea, you feel a hand nug your chin up, making you meet Cal's bright eyes. 

"Hey, you look like you're zoning out. Are you ready to leave?" 

You're quick to mutter out a string of nos as you grab onto his arm. Cal tilts his head, confused, but you just go with the first thing you can think of, "I'm sorry… I'm just… cold?" 

"Cold? But the fire is right there?" Cal points to the roaring fireplace stationed nearby, and you're kicking yourself for your lack of awareness, but you will not be deterred! 

"Well… I'm still cold… Could I hold your hands?" You mutter as sweetly as possible. Cal, being the gentleman, doesn't even question it before he grabs your hands with a big smile. Please, gods, don't let your hands get sweaty. 

You feel his thumbs rub slowly over your hands, and you just have to take the plunge, "I wish I had this all the time." 

His thumbs stop before you hear him chuckle loudly. -Okay, not what you were expecting. 

"Yeah, it is pretty nice; I don't have to worry about getting cold as easily." 

That's not what you meant… 

You hang your head down to stare at your boots; why did you have to fall for such a loveable airhead. You thought that was the perfect approach, direct and sweet. But… maybe that's not clear enough. Maybe it's going to have to be you showing him and everyone in here. You're already doing your fair share of public affection by holding his hand, what's a little more. 

So you just go for it and lean into him, pressing a kiss on his cheek. You know your face is beat red by the sheer amount of heat you feel radiating off of you. Building up your nerve, you peer up and see Cal looking surprised, but at least know he finally understands…

Cal just smiles at you with earnest eyes, "You're so sweet, you know that?"

You let go of his hands and slumped against the table, "I'm not trying to be sweet... I'm trying to be alluring... Show you how I feel... to see how you feel..." 

"Re-really?" He sounds surprised, and it only makes your heart squeeze more the damn ditz. "Well, if you want to know how I feel… we should probably go somewhere private." 

Your head pops up, and you see his cheeks a shade of dark red, and he bashfully rubs his neck. 

"Wait, are you saying you like me too?" 

He holds his hand out to you, "Do you want me to tell you? Or do you want me to show you?" 

The choice was clear… 

You retake hold of his hand and let him lead you through the crowd, wearing the proudest smirk on your face. Once alone, Cal gently pins your body to the nearest wall while his tail coils around your thigh as his lips slip against yours. He angles your mouth to open where he lips in his tongue past your lips to tease yours. 

A soft whine slips from your throat as his grip only tightens on you; he parts from your lips and traces your neck with his tongue. "You know how long I have been dreaming of tasting you?" 

"H-how do I taste?" 

Cal pulls back to meet your eyes; he gives you a quick kiss before he drives his fingers underneath the hem of your trousers, "So far? Like the heavens, but I need more to really know." 

With a nod of your head, Cal is sinking to his knees, pulling your pants down over your hips and past your thighs. They are not even to your ankles yet before he is driving his forked tongue over your slick folds and growling into you. You throw your hands up to brace yourself as he sinks his claws into the flesh of your thighs and parts you open on his hot tongue. 

"Just what I thought, definitely sweet…" 

Zevlor

You know what you're doing; you've been doing it for hours just to get him bothered... and much to Zevlors chagrin, it's working. 

It started this morning when he woke up to you wearing his favorite shirt… One of the few that are tattered with rips and holes. Zevlor watched as you pranced around him all morning in that shirt, giving him coffee and making him eggs, but when he would reach for you, you would step away with a smirk. You watched as his face twisted in worry, but you made sure to just shrug it off with a sweet smile. 

"Sorry, Commander, I have errands to run."

Zevlors' brow lifted at the name; he was used to 'darling' or 'my sun,' but 'Commander' was a new one that was definitely making him feel a bit flushed. He could tell you were up to something, and he couldn't help but take the bait. 

"Would you like company, my dear?" 

You let out a long hum like you were actually considering it before you agreed to let him "tag along." By the time you two had made it to the city, he had figured out you were playing a game and acting like a true brat. Walking in front of him and demanding your way? Pouting and huffing at anything that might suggest you wouldn't get your way. He racked his mind, wondering if he might have upset you, but nothing came to mind. What was your deal? 

Well, your deal was simple… Get Zevlor riled up so that he will take care of this newfound brat attitude of yours. It was an idea Shadowheart had given you, and you were excited to see if the famed zero-tolerance hellrider would come out… but he needed a bit of a push. 

You stopped abruptly in his way, making him run into you as your ass pressed against his groin, "I have something for me in there." 

Zevlor watched your pointed finger as you pointed to a fairly unassuming shop, but walking in was a different story… He had never seen such tiny and sheer clothes in one place. Feeling like he would be out of place in a shop clearly not meant for him, he offered to wait outside. But that wasn't going to fly with your plan. 

"Aw? Shy? Come on, I thought you Hellriders were an unbothered brave bunch?" You stepped closer, tracing your finger over his chest. "I got something custom made, you know… I wanted to show you…" 

So there he sat, waiting for you on the other side of the curtain; you, of course, made him wait till you heard his throat clearing, a tic of his to show he was uncomfortable. Once that was heard, you were throwing the curtain back and giving him a preview. A tight corset number that pushed your breast up to be practically spilling out the top and the rest of the outfit? Practically non-existent. A small triangle of cloth covered your mound, and when you turned, your ass was completely exposed. 

"A thong." you simply said with a smile.

It took everything in himself to not dig his nails into you and bend you over. But you two were in public, so he told himself not to wait until he got home, but you were making it hard…

"It's lovely. Are we taking it home today?" you could hear the hope in his voice. 

"No, it's still being worked on," you said matter-of-factly, and it took you everything not to squeal when his face furrowed. 

"Did… you just do this to tease me?" 

You played with your hair as you watched him from the mirror, "I don't know? Is it working?" 

Your fate was sealed. As you two left the shop, you both knew the game that was being played. It was just a manner of seeing when the other would crack. Zevlor was determined to make it home while you were just waiting for the snap.  

As Zevlor watched you stroll through the city, he noted how everything you did seemed to be laced with temptation. Your hips swaying, your eyes lingering, and your lips always in a glossed smirk, practically toying with him. But Zevlor is a gentleman, and though his eyes are currently leering on your ass, he won't just bend you over the nearest cart. You deserve better than that. 

You didn't want better than that. 

As you walk, you realize that your plan isn't working, and it's causing your teeth to grind. There has to be something to get him to scold you or show you any kind of unfiltered desire… Then, a thought flicks into your mind. With a whisper and a flick of your hand, you summon a simple spell, just a random wind gust. Just enough to get some action going…

The sudden gust of wind forces your skirt to fly up as you turn... and there he sees you, completely bare for him... Zevlor can no longer hold himself together.

You watch his face twist from shock to a stern stare before he marches over, grabbing your hand and dragging you out of sight. 

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" he growls from under his breath, making your skin tingle. 

You would be lying if you said you weren't excited about your scolding from the ex-hellrider, but what happened was something you didn't see coming. He led you through the alley to the shadows. Zevlor is quick to press you to the nearest wall with his body pinning you in place. His full lips so close and his glowing eyes furrowed, you parted your lips to continue to taunt, but the words were cut from your throat as you were spun to face the wall and not your Commander. 

"I've had enough of your teasing..." his rich voice husked into your ear as his hands frantically lifted the back of your dress. 

You whimper as the cool air breezes across your exposed ass, "Teasing? I don't know what you could possibly-" 

A hot slap strikes across your ass, making you gasp into the stone wall. 

Zevlors hand caresses your flushed flesh, "Please continue to lie if you want to bend over my knee. You have been teasing me, haven't you?" 

You nod, and it's another slap to your ass that makes your eyes roll to the back of your skull, "Your words, please." he demands. 

"Yes, I- I wanted my commander's attention…" 

The weight on your back eases, and you turn to look at him over your shoulder; you see him with a smile that makes your knees weak. Then a flicking over your clit as you're keening and curling forward at the intensity.  

Zevlors hands spread across your ass, digging his hands into your flesh … "If you want my attention, you shall have it." 

His hand joins his tail, parting your slick folds and teasing your entrance, while the other works at the laces on his trousers, "Now, what should I do with such a brat?" 

"The spanking was doing something…" 

His trousers drop, and you feel his lips on your skin as he brushes aside your hair and his index and middle fingers push into your quivering hole with a painful, slow cadence. He is going to make you beg by the end of this, isn't he? 

"You're lucky I don't have my belt today." He curls his fingers in you, finding the spot that has your toes curling and your breaths picking up. "But I can figure out other ways to make you listen." 

Needless to say, your plan worked perfectly.

Kieran

Your nails dig into your palms as you press yourself further against the tavern's dark wall. You're a room away from everyone else, just like he planned…

Kieran's sharp teeth shine even in the darkness, and he watches your nerves take over your body. He traces his finger over your racing pulse, "How come every time I see you, you get all shy? You think I'm going to hurt you?" 

It's true since you met him, you have always claimed up in his presence. Maybe it's because of his striking beauty… or his reputation… The other servers warned you of his cruel tendencies. So you tried to keep a distance, but that must have made him want to seek you out more. Taunting and toying at you, and now he's got you alone and pinned.

 “Well… I…” 

He steps closer, bringing his arms to cage you against the wall. You look up to see him smiling, and his eyes glow. Gods, why is he so handsome? He could be the man of your dreams if he didn't have such a reputation. 

"Well, now you're trapped, so answer my question? Do you think I'm going to hurt you?" 

Your body shakes, and your thighs tighten, "Yes…" 

He brings his lips to your ear, "Yeah? You might be right…" 

Then you feel his teeth sink into your neck. You squirm in his hold at first, terrified, but as he bites down, he leans further into you, soothing you with his body heat and the feeling of his hands sliding from your chest down to your ass, pulling up your dress. The pain dulls into a bliss that has your body feeling like you're floating. You don't even notice how your panties are moved to the side by your own hand, touching yourself. Kieran parts from your neck to watch you with a grin. His tail coils around your ankle as you move your hand faster and faster against your sex. 

You don't know if it's a spell or if it's your desire… but you can't stop yourself from wanting him. Before you can reach your bliss, he moves your hand away, looking at the slick coating of your fingers. He laughs at you at first, making your chest cramp up in shame, and then you watch as he licks your fingers clean. 

"Spread your cunt for me, shy girl…" He lifts your body off the ground with your legs spread open wide. You hold tightly onto his neck, digging your nails into his skin, fearful he will drop you. 

Your skirt is trapped up your hips, and your stockings are ripped from his hands, scratching your sensitive skin. Then you feel something thick and hot slap against your quivering cunt. It has you getting slicked and holding on tighter. 

"W- Wait, what if someone hears?" 

He chuckles as he slaps his cock against you again, "Don't be loud, and we won't have a problem…" He licks the shell of your ear as he slowly splits you on his length, "But I bet I can make you scream." 

[kotton-kandy953]

❏ 𝐒𝐎 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐔𝐋 !

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🔪 love interest ꒱ . . . yandere ! vampire ! dahlia x religious ! fem ! reader

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🔪 format ꒱ . . . oneshot

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🔪 warnings ꒱ . . . blood (lots of it), death, kinda non-con?, obsessive behavior, possibly ooc dahlia, very religious reader, violence, yandere themes

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🔪 synopsis ꒱ . . . In which vampires hidden in the shadows roam the walls of Mondstadt. And unfortunately for you, an innocent deaconess, one of those sinful creatures is in love with you.

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🔪 authors note ꒱ . . . I remember when Dahlia was first leaked there were a lot of theories about him being a vampire and I LOVE that idea. also, Ive been watching vampire diaries for the past few months so I NEEDED to write a fic about vamps as soon as possible.

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🔪 word count ꒱ . . . 2.3k

Vampires. They were wretched, evil and demonic creatures. The mutated corpses of the dead lurk only in the night to feast on the blood of poor, unsuspecting humans.

No one knows how vampires multiply, nor how to tell them apart from other humans. The only way to kill one of the vile creatures is either through fire, decapitation, exposure to the sunlight, or a wooden stake to the heart.

Well, at least that’s what the church has been telling you for your entire life.

Vampires did exist and did lurk in the streets of Mondstadt at night, although their attacks are more common outside the city in surrounding areas such as Wolvendom or Dadaupa Gorge.

It’s ironic that you know all of this information despite never actually seeing one of the monsters for yourself. Actually, you see it as a blessing from the great Anemo Archon above that you’ve never come into contact with one.

But, oh, how your god can have a sense of humor.

Your church shoes taped rhythmically against the marbled floors of the cathedral. You kept your heavy Bible by your side with a firm grip so it doesn’t slip and fall. It’s happened too many times before.

It was dead empty in the building when you arrived, it always was this early in the morning, only a couple hours before morning prayers.

But you just love it when it’s silent, giving yourself peace and quiet to talk to your Archon, your god, in silence.

Or… at least that’s what you thought you were going to get today. “Peace and quiet?” More like footsteps louder than ever coming from a young man bounding down the hall.

Who in Teyvat would be here this early!? You thought to yourself right after shutting your Bible.

The young man brushes the pink strands out of his eyes once he’s finally made it to you. He was sweating all over and was holding onto his own Bible with a death grip. Did he… did he run all the way here? But why??

“My apologies, Sister Y/n, but I have quite the favor to ask you,” he said while taking note of the glare you just shot at him. Even if it was for a second, he still got the hint.

With a playful grin, he asks, “was this a bad time, Sister?”

Plastering a smile on your face, you said, “No, no it’s alright! What is it Deacon Dahlia?”

Dahlia is also a member of the church, he was a Deacon and as well as the Herald of Barbatos. He’s a bit more mischievous and drama-obsessed than the rest of the clergy.

That’s why you hated him so.

But as a deaconess yourself you have to at least pretend to love everyone. It can be such a hassle sometimes.

Although, Dahlia is rather easy on the eyes. He has such beautifully pale skin and pretty, lavender eyes… but that’s all he has going for him in your opinion.

Dahlia looked around the room, pretending to check if anyone is there before leaning in rather closely to you, “The sun’s just barely risen, Y/n,”His voice would drop to a whisper, “Aren’t you afraid a vampire migh—“

“-Dahlia!”

You stopped him right there, his expression quickly changing to a rather shocked one, “Don’t talk about such… Such things in this sacred space!”

He nodded his head in understanding, “Oh, you’re right, you’re right… I apologize.”

But after clearing his throat, a rather impish grin graced his pretty face, “But I’m being serious, Sister Y/n. How does such a beautiful woman as yourself never fear being out this early—”

“-Dahlia.” You shot a glare at him.

“And why should fear such creatures when I know my god would protect me from those wretched demons,” you lied. Well, only the first part was a lie. You were afraid of having the blood sucked dry from your veins. It terrified you.

“‘kay, I’ll drop the subject,” he covered his mouth with a gloved hand as he laughed. Archons, how you hated his laugh, how he found everything about you so amusing.

With a roll of your eyes that he failed to notice, you flipped open your Bible sitting in your lap. But when you slid your finger across the page, you cut it.

“Oww,” you winced, while at the shallow, bleeding wound on your index finger. Dahlia was still standing next to you, his eyes locked on the finger you held in pain with your other hand.

His eyes widened and he could feel his heart beat faster and faster by the second, it was so loud in his ears that he wouldn’t be surprised if you could hear it too.

He opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. My goodness, was his body overreacting to just a drop of blood.

When his fingers began to twitch at his sides, he quickly dismissed himself, “I- I’ll get you a bandaid.”

You were a bit confused as to why he ran out the room so urgently, even handing his Bible to you.

It was just a paper cut…

Dahlia slammed the bathroom door shut then hurried over to the mirror, thank the gods only he and Y/n are the only ones here .

“Oh, lord…” he muttered to himself, his black, gloved hands coming up to cover his face in hopes of calming himself down.

“I can barely even control myself around one drop of blood…? How pathetic.” Removing his hands from his face, the pink haired male opened his mouth as he stared at his pearly white teeth in the mirror.

He ran his tongue over the sharp fangs that grew from his gums, if he goes out there now, anyone in Mondstadt would recognize him for what he is.

A vampire.

An unholy, sinful creature.

But he didn’t want you, or anyone, for the matter, to see him, the herald of Barbatos, as a monster struck with an insatiable lust for human blood.

If anyone did find out they’d probably stake him right in front of the clergy or even burn his home down with him still inside.

Dahlia knew you hated him, despised him, even. You made it pretty obvious…

But that never changed how passionately he felt about you, his stunning deaconess.

He’s always been like this — obsessed with you. He fell so, so deeply in love with you that he didn’t know what to do with himself at first.

Since turning into a vampire, the Deacon would fantasize about doing rather unholy things to you on a daily basis. Not anything sexual though, he wasn’t a perv.

It would be about sinking his sharp fangs deep into your veins, drinking the delicious blood straight from your pretty little neck.

Just thinking about it made his face burn red, “How I wonder what her blood would taste like…”

When both the morning prayer and service were over, you found yourself left alone in the church.

Where did Dahlia run off to…? You thought. Setting your Bible down on one of the wooden pews with his in your arms. You looked around for him, but found nothing. You knew him, and you knew he wouldn’t just leave anyone with his Bible.

And plus, he still hasn’t given you that bandaid.

“Dahlia!” You called out, only getting your echoed shout as a response. Where in the world could be have gone? You were growing rather impatient.

He can’t just show up to church hours early then disappear when the actual service starts.

After trying every door in the church, you finally found one that was locked. It was the storage closet… could he be in here?

“Dahlia! Are you in there!?” You shouted through the door.

You were met with a long silence until finally hearing his voice, “What’s wrong, sister? Miss me already?” He responded, resting his back against the cold, hard door and sliding down to sit on the floor.

“What- No! What are you doing in there!? Everyone was looking for you but you just disappeared!” You groaned, “And you left your Bible with me…”

There was another pause, “So you’re worried about me—!?” He completely ignored everything else you said just to say that.

“-Open the door!!”

“Are you sure? Because… I don’t think it’s very befitting of a deaconess to enter such a confined space with a man. Especially right under god’s eyes.”

Standing up again, Dahlia unlocked the door. “But, since you so insist.”

With swift movements, Dahlia pulls you into the closet, his hand cupping over your mouth and holding your back closely against his chest while kicking the door shut.

The Bible fell to the ground with a loud thud. When you desperately tried to pry his hands off your body, you couldn’t. He was too strong… it was almost inhuman.

You tried fighting him off you until your eyes landed what was lying on the ground.

Is that… blood?

As your eyes traveled further down, your blood ran cold.

It was a dead body with multiple bite marks in the side of their neck and arms. The corpse belonged to someone you’ve never seen before, so you assumed they had came to the morning prayer today.

You screamed into Dahlia’s hand cupped over your mouth, did… did he do this!? Why would he do this? You knew he wasn’t to be trusted from the day he first stepped into the church.

But you didn’t expect him to shamelessly commit murder in cold blood!

“Y/n…” He sang, “you have to stay quiet — I won’t bite… too much,” he smiled as he turns you around to face him.

He wiped off the blood dripping down his chin with the back of his hand, the other still holding onto you like his life depended on it.

“Your teeth…” you muttered, you voice barely above a whisper. “No, no… don’t tell me you’re a…” he put a finger to your lips them moved it away, a smile on his beautiful face.

How could someone as pretty as him become such a vile creature… and how has nobody noticed yet!?

“A vampire? Was that what you were going to say, sister?” Archons how you hated how he would said ‘sister’ in reference to you. His tone was anything but innocent when speaking to you.

“But… but how…” You heard so many stories about vampires not being able to walk out in sun or else they’ll burn to death. But since he’s a vampire...

You stared him dead in the eyes, a petrified look adorning your pretty face. You looked adorable like this to him, all shaky and afraid… oh, how Dahlia loved it.

“My vision allows me to walk around in the sunlight, if that’s what you were wondering.” His hand now traces along the side of your neck, his purple irises zeroing in on one particular spot.

“Praised be to Barbatos for this vision of mine, am I right?” He laughed, a devilish grin gracing his sickly pale face.

Your cheeks flushed a slight red tint as you felt his delicate fingers trace down your neck and along your collarbone through the fabric of your dress.

Was it embarrassment that you were feeling? Shame? You didn’t know, but you did know one thing: That you hated how attracted you are to him. Why did he have to be that stunning.

Suddenly, he leaned in close to your neck, leaving soft kisses on the delicate skin. Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers gripping his clothes in a silent plead to not do anything you both would regret.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do this…” he whispered.

“D- Dahlia, we shouldn’t—”

“-Hold still for a second, sister, this might hurt just a bit,” before you could let another word out, Dahlia bit into your neck. His sharp teeth sinking deep into your delicate flesh as you cried out in pain.

Pulling away for just a second, the deacon cupped a hand over your mouth as he licked your blood off his lips. “Could you please stay a bit quieter, sister Y/n? You don’t want me- us to get caught, now do you?”

You stared at him, he was right.

Since the people of Mondstadt have no idea how vampires multiply, under the slim possibility that there is a survivor from one of the viscous attacks, they are ran out of the city as if they had turned already.

And if that would happen to you… your life would be ruined.

You nodded your head slowly, well, you couldn’t speak anyway with his hand cupped over your mouth like that. You wondered why you weren’t as afraid of him as a normal person would be…

Your thoughts were cut off by the feeling of his tongue licking up the blood rolling down your neck and staining your pretty dress.

“Dahlia…” you muttered, wincing in pain from the wound on your neck, “Will… will I turn now that you’ve…?”

His purple eyes met yours as he replied, “No, no ‘course not. You’ll have to have my blood in your system then die for you to turn, it’s pretty complicated. Although… I’ve never turned a human before, so I don’t know all the details… What, do you wanna test it out?”

When you said no almost immediately, he laughed, he expected such an answer from you.

“As expected,” he placed a kiss on your wound, making your body jolt from the pain. “I wouldn’t want to corrupt the perfect little church girl… although, I think she’s already fallen for me…”

Were you really falling for Dahlia, or was that just what he wanted you to believe?

When you opened your mouth to respond, you lips were met with his. You could taste your blood on his lips and although you were repulsed, you couldn’t deny that he was a good kisser.

The feeling, the scent, taste… everything about him was so, so sinful. Yet, that’s what made you want more.

Then, the thought finally crossed your mind, How will I hide this bite mark from the church?

I got dahlia in my first ten pull (that I was saving for wanderer 💔) yipieee

sorry if there are some typos or anything I am tired as fuck and it’s barely even late yet

[beardedhotchner]

El Tango De Roxanne

(Part 3 of Spencer Reid x Prostitute!Reader)

Part 1 Part 2

A/N: Three flashbacks of your relationship with Spencer... I hope you guys enjoy, Amia xx

T/W: Prostitution, trafficking (?), sexual assault, swearing, Reggie talks about Reader like she is his property, talks of Reader's body, an attempt at smut, unprotected sex, sex after an argument,

"Shit-" Reg says, his ridiculously expensive scotch now half on the table and half over you. Even while more-than-slightly inebriated, Reggie's eyes still roamed over you. Your tight white dress now turning sort of see-through where his drink had landed.

"It's fine. I.. I'm gonna go grab a new dress." If it was anyone else, Reg wouldn't let them out of his sight. But he knew you, he trusted you to come back. You always did.

He waves a hand, dismissively, "Go get changed." His attention moves back to his 'business partners'. Yet as you stand, his hand comes down hard on your ass, like always when he is showing off his dominance over you. "Hurry up now." He warns, a small smirk on his face.

"Sure thing, I'll be back in a moment, boys." You tease cheerfully, the men raking their eyes across your form. As you left the hotel's bar, you tried not to shiver in disgust. Out of sight of Reg, you kick off your heels, knowing you had to be quick. Reg would've undoubtedly put a time limit to what he thought was reasonable for you. So the quicker you got to the room, the longer you had to fix yourself up.

Picking up your shoes by the straps, you dashed across the shiny lobby into the first elevator with open doors. Instead of finding yourself alone, you ran straight into someone else, slamming you both to the floor as the door shut behind you.

"SHIT. I am so sorry!" You squeaked, trying to scramble to your feet and collect your heels that had scattered across the floor. The lean man under you, whose hands had instinctively gone to your hips to break your fall as you both tumbled to the ground, has flushed red and is rambling.... something? If you were honest, you'd been too distracted by the feel of him under you and his gentle hands holding you steady to pay attention to his words. Now standing, his hands finally drop and you catch the last of his speech.

".... chance of running into someone or bumping into them in an elevator is pretty low, less than 5% actually." You couldnt help but stand in awe as the doe-eyed man infront of you tripped over his words. "It depends on how many people are in the building and how crowded the elevator is, but overall, it's unlikely to happen often."

You blink a few times, trying to process his words before you (almost dumbly) say, "What?", complete with a slight head tilt.

Spencer couldn't help his mind from wandering as he looked at you. You looked adorable and sweet. And my god, you smelled heavenly. Your perfume lingering around him in a cloud had his own head buzzing and now he could see you.... even with the brown stain across your dress' middle.

He moves to speak but the moment is interrupted by the ding of the elevator. You realises he's at his floor and try not to show the disappointment on your face. However, you cant stop the butterflies when he gives you a small wave before leaving.

You couldn't help but think about him for the rest of the evening. After changing quickly and heading back to the bar, Reg nodded in approval. Even with the slight blip in the elevator, you still beat the time limit he had set for you. His eyes raked over you and you could tell you chose the right dress.

A bright red corset with a deeper wine coloured skirt that hung around you legs. His partner's eyes clung to you as you came to rest yourself next to Reg's seat. One of your hands rested on the back of his chair, holding your weight as you let youself be undressed by these men's gazes. This was the job...

You never had thought that this would be the way that your first argument with Spencer would end. You were furious just moments ago, and now?

Now, your clothes gone, your face was pressed against the wall and your back arched. Your ass pressed against his crotch, his cock was already straining in the fabric. His hands were everywhere: pinching and tugging at your nipples, groping your ass, trailing over your clit teasingly.

"Please..." You moaned out, begging him to touch you as arousal pooled between your thighs. You couldnt remember what you had been fighting about. Your mind was now only focused on the feeling of Spencer's hands on you.

"Such a dumb girl for me, hey?" He whispered, pressing kisses across your shoulders, "just begging for me to touch you. What happened to the girl that was just screaming at me? Only takes my hands on you and you fall apart... isn't that right?" You let out a whine, rubbing your thighs together for some friction. "You need me to help you, baby? Want me to wreck you?" The way Spencer would talk to you had you melting in a puddle. "Yeah I bet you do..."

It didn't take long for Spencer to turn you around, leading you back to his bedroom. You barely could think as the man you love pushed you back onto the bed, your head hitting his pillows with a thump. The smell of him surrounded you and you let out a soft moan. You can hear his chuckle beside you as he strips himself down to match you.

His cock, thicker and longer than you had had before, was hard and upright, pressing to his lower stomach. The tip was red and leaking already. You wanted it so badly you could only whine again, "please Spence... please..."

"You've got to be patient, my girl." He chides, climbing onto the bed with you. Spencer was enjoying himself too much to waste the opportunity to have you writhing beneath him. He loved the way you reacted to him, like you never had anyone better (which you had told him several times over).

You whined and moaned again, as he pulls apart your thighs, the cold air hitting the wetness pooling there, "Ah Spencer please..." He didn't make you wait any longer, pushing the tip of his cock in gently, letting you get used to the feeling as he guided himself in.

"Fuck, baby, so tight. So wet. All for me." He gritted his teeth as he held back. You had barely taken half of him and you were already cock-drunk under him. Your soft gasps and the way you tried to buck your hips to take more of him was addictive. "Slowly baby. I don't wanna hurt you." He says, his voice soothing and low.

Nodding, your hands went around his neck, trying to pull him closer as he pushed into you again. Bottoming out, Spencer hissed at the feeling of your walls fluttering around him. "Mm..ah!" You cried out, the stretch slightly painful but felt oh-so good. He gave you time to adjust to his size, like always, before he began to move, pulling out of you gently before pushing back into you fully. "Feels so good!"

Spencer chuckled at you, his forehead pressed to yours. Soft kisses caress your face as his hair falls like a curtain around you both. You push it back with one of your hands, keeping the other as an anchor at the nape of his neck. He builds up speed and you feel yourself tremble. His hands holding your waist keep you in position as he thrusts in and out of you, grunting as he kisses you.

It doesn't take long for you both to fall apart. You first then again when you feel Spence come undone and fill you with his cum. He pulls out, immediately cleaning you up with tissues on his bedside table, before pulling you into his arms, holding you close as you fall asleep together.

Just relaxing and laying in Spencer's arms was the best feeling. Just curling up on his sofa, your head in his lap and he read some book aloud to you. He said it was written by one of his co-workers and you were trying to stay awake. His soft, soothing voice was like a warm blanket, his hand playing with your hair, massaging your scalp softly.

Your phone went off and you groaned loudly as Spencer passed it to you. It was Reggie, obviously. He seemed pissed, you could tell just from the way he sent 4 messages at once.

Noah is sick. She's being useless.

Bring back some cough syrup for him.

Where are you?

Need you here.

Ah. Noah was sick, so Reg was upset that Callie wasn't dealing with it. You texted back an excuse about where you were and when you'd be back. He seemed to buy it.

You knew Spencer was trying not to read your texts, he respected your privacy. But this time you wanted his opinion. "Babe, should I go? I really don't want to... but I don't want him to chase me down either..."

"You should leave. Tell him you're done. You know I'd protect you." His words were sweet but they only heightened your anxiety. You were desperate to make Spencer understand. You couldn't leave. Not even if you wanted to. Which you did... didn't you?

"Spence..." You sighed, sitting up and turning to face him. You couldn't begin to explain why you couldn't leave. You couldn't think of words to explain the fear you would carry with you even if you did escape. "I can't. I can't have this argument again. Please let's not do this. You've been away all week. I just wanna be held by you." You pleaded, pulling him into your arms, and falling back onto the couch. You kissed his face over and over, trying to distract him. "Just hold me?"

He knew something was wrong. Everytime he suggested your freedom, you freaked out and changed the subject. He was desperate to get you out of this situation. But it was all you knew.

His arms wrapped around you, his head on your chest. "I love you." It was the first time either of you had said it. He felt you tense and heard the small gasp that came from you. What he didn't expect was to almost instantly hear:

"I love you too, Spence." You felt him smile against you and couldn't stop the grin spreading across your face. "Stop smiling. You know I do." You hear him softly chuckle and feel the need to repeat yourself, "Spencer, I love you."

He squeezes you tightly before kissing you once again. He hope he could one day finally take you far away from it all. But for now, he was glad he could jut hold you like this. You were his and he was yours. That's all that mattered.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Going off anon bc i wanna get notifs to be less paranoid idk DAMNIT I KNEW IT GOT EATEN IT ALWAYS HAPPENS ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´Д｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡ tumblr hates me ,,

Sooo my request was um . sfw headcanons for Angstrom x soft tboy reader (soft in both ,, physical and mental sense <33) . Preferably post-canon if you've read the comics, like after he actually starts getting his shit back together when he moves back to the og universe? Maybe having reader to help him through it, getting used to living a normal life again and helping him feel better about his body AND LIKE GENERALLY WITH HIS MENTAL HEALTH <//3 idk he just. Deserves a big tiddy boyfriend to lay on instead of getting kidnapped and tortured and killed -_-

Feel free to take your time with this ask!! Ik he's a very uhm. Unusual character to write for </3 btw ill send this twice just to make sure it goes through TwT

Angstrom levy x ftm reader 

Headcanons 

Love this man and his big ass fivehead. Im getting my T injection next week, and my body hurts at having to spend almost 200 dollars for my injection, being a boy is expensive,,, 

I've been tickling my Naruto interest again,,, I just like some of the funky guys in it, a bit too much,,, 

You guys have been partners for a long time. If Angstrom has his son this this verse, then its up to you if hes yours, or if you guys got together after Angstrom had his son. 

You two are kinda divorced at this point? Since he went pretty coocoo for cocoa puffs, and divorced you to act out his plans. A split mind like his doesn't really leave room for a partner and love. 

Some part of his mind did know that he didn't want you to be in danger though, so he pretty much just walks out on you with divorce papers drawn up and all that. 

You would obviously be crushed by this, but also know that Angstrom was hanging on by a single thread, and you would know him enough to see through his meaner words and erratic behavior. 

So yeah, it hurts a lot, but you also don't do anything with the papers, but its like, in the system and all that, ya know? 

I can see all of this making you spiral as well, being more vulnerable mentally and all that, but you try to stay positive. Keeping up with the news, and also for any signs of Angstrom. 

I believe it takes a while for him to come back, and to start coming back to himself. 

When Angstrom does gather himself again, he's so ashamed and crushed about his actions, and how he left you the way he did. He also doesn't want to go back, in fear of how you will react when you see him. 

Instead of being snatched up the way he is in the comics, Angstrom can't help himself and teleports to your shared home, just to see you, or so he tells himself. Angstrom's mind is still a mess, but seeing you makes his entire being warm up. 

I can see him hovering around for a while, just to “make sure you are safe” and all that, he cant get himself to leave, as Angstrom yearns to be with you again. 

You are still trying to live your life, even if you miss your husband so much, and there are times you swear you can feel his presence but when you look there is nothing, and it just makes you feel more down in the dumps. 

You sleep wearing his old clothes, or spray his deodorant on his pillow to cuddle it because you miss him so much. It feels pathetic, even to you, but you can't help it, and when Angstrom realizes this, he feels himself start melting. 

I don't think anything specific happens that is what makes him finally come home. One night Angstrom just can't take it anymore, and can't keep telling himself that he has to stay away. 

So, when you are asleep, Angstrom teleports into your room, and slides into the bed on his side. He is too scared to touch you for a good while, just lying there and looking at you. 

But at some point, he finds himself lulled in by your warmth and the love he has for you. 

Angstrom ends up spooning you, arms wrapped around you and face resting against your shoulder as he half sleeps. Hes still too cautious and wound up to really sleep, but this is the closest he's been in who knows how long. 

When you wake up you almost think you are dreaming when you smell and feel him. You immediately want to turn around and kiss him, tears gathering in your eyes and lip wobbling. 

But Angstrom is too scared of what you will think when you see him. He looks so different and feels so different, what if you wont love him or even like him anymore?  

But you two talk, and you let out little hiccups from happy tears at him being back. Angstrom starts to crack and melt when you pick up his hands and start kissing them, just happy to have him back.

 

When you finally convince him to let you turn around, Angstrom tenses and looks off at the wall. He knows what he looks like, and he knows what others think when they see him. 

But imagine his surprise when you just let out a watery little giggle and crawl into his arms, starting to pepper kisses all over his face. 

Angstrom is tense for a few moments before he just sighs loudly and slumps against you, his kisses clumsy in ways they werent before, but still as loving and hungry. 

You can only snicker and laugh when Angstrom rolls you guys over so he can cuddle against you, burying his face in your chest and letting you hold him, his hands grabbing onto your softer parts, as he sighs and melts against you. 

Angstrom doesn't like talking about it, what happened and what he had planned, but he does let you know of a few things, and he's excited to show you his powers. 

But most of the time is spent cuddling and kissing, and just being near each other after so long.  

Perhaps you died in most universes, killed by evil versions of Invincible, which is what fueled Angstrom as much as it did, but its also what makes him cling to you more now, than he did before. 

Your softness, both physically and mentally also helps keep him above water, and pull him back to the surface when he starts floating out too far. You help soften all his new sharp edges. 

It does result in you guys being under watch... pretty much all the time now. Well, Angstrom can warp away anyone and thing that does, when you guys want to be alone, so there's that. 

But yeah... somebody, and we all know who, will want to keep an eye on your husband from now on. 

[d1nkyduck]

The Shadow's Resolve

The Shadow’s Resolve. - Neglect. Verb. … To give little attention or respect to; to disregard. To leave undone or unattended to, especially through carelessness. To fail to do something due to thoughtlessness or carelessness. Lack of due care or attention; negligence. Introduction/Synopsis: In which instead of raising just yourself you have to raise Bruce’s “charity case”. Now look where it’s gotten you, stuck trying to get your “family” out your hair, multiverse shenanigans, and having to Scooby-Doo this shit. Oh Wait! Time travel too!? A/n- English is my first language so this writing and grammar is going to be ass. This is beta read and has been beta read so much it is now burned into my skull. Enjoy! (Please let me know if you see any mistakes, all will be updated and fixed as soon as possible.)

Your Reading: Prologue 4/7 Though she says these things she looks just as happy and unfazed. She may be an air head. The teen who has been identified as Kenji huffs and comes back into the conversation. “Don’t sound so worried, Aveline.” Kenji says sarcastically, nudging her lightly with her elbow. He then turns to you with a questioning look. “Did you collect the rest of the information for the project?” You pause and think. Shit what project!? “Uh-” Before you can make up some half assed excuse a female teacher sternly calls for the three of you. “You three come along now. The buses are leaving now.” Kenji picks up what apparently is your school bag while Aveline hooks her arm with yours and rushes off with you to the bus. Kenji annoyedly calls after but follows. After an annoyed stare from the teacher, you three boarded the bus. Quickly you three slide into a seat and the teacher completes the roll call. Once the bus gets moving Kenji opens the bag, which is claimed to be yours, and takes out a set of notes. “Woah, these look great. We're sure to pass the project with this. Nice work dude.” Kenji comments with a hopeful smile. “Aw, they look super cute! I love the little doodles beside some of the notes” Aveline says pointing to some of the floral doodles. Based on your analysis of the two you have come to assume: Kenji is an athlete characterized by his spiky, somewhat unkempt brown hair and blue eyes. He adorns a red baseball cap worn backwards. Though he is of mixed ethnicity, he currently possesses a tan complexion. In terms of attire, he is dressed in a red track jacket featuring a theme inspired by The Flash. Beneath the jacket, he has on a plain shirt in white and black, complemented by matching shorts. He sports knee braces themed after Green Lantern and white socks, paired with a set of well-used sneakers. Aveline was this super popular and cheerful transfer student. She's got super brown hair styled in two pigtails at the back and two braids in the front. Outfits-wise, she's rocking a loose Green Arrow themed jacket paired with a black skirt and a white button-up shirt. She's even got a little Plastic-man tie to match! For her legs, she's got on some thin leg warmers that go with her Black Canary theme, plus black socks and chunky heeled Mary Jane pumps. Sneakily you slipped in some questions about the project into the conversation and the two gave you helpful information so you could better piece it all together. In a simple and short summary, it was a biology project about the floral mutations caused by pollution in Gotham. Respectfully, the teacher was tree hugger and wanted kids to study how the pollution has caused both equally good and bad mutations around Gotham. After the numerous times you fought Poison Ivy you could get an A+ and then some bonus points. When you finally get your hand on the notes you supposedly took, they are surprisingly good and well written. It was like all of your knowledge on the subject was put into words and then on paper. Based on what Kenji and Aveline said, the last thing to do was to make a poster of sorts and make it all pretty and presentable. No slides, teachers want creativity and photos. Bonus points for models. Deciding to play your new character, you all split the work in three. Kenji would get the photos since his mother was a reporter and photographer. Aveline would write the information down and make it all fancy and cute. All you had to do Was make a 3d model on your assigned plants. The Naked Man Orchid (Orchis Italica), The Shame Plant (Mimosa Pudica) It is also referred to as the sensitive plant, shy plant, touch-me-not, and sleepy plant, and finally The Flying Dick Orchid (Caleena Major). Masterlist

[coyoteclan]

I'm a little late to the party but man. What a cool cat huh

@fallenclan's Lee as a (not so quick) warm-up :)

[skxrbrand]

[chastiefoul]

how they'd react when you wanted to sleep on the couch... just because.

fluff. light-hearted ft. gojo, nanami, sukuna, suguru, toji, choso

satoru

“baby scooch over.” a whispered voice along with a gentle nudge on the shoulder woke you from your dozed off state. “hmm?” you mumbled out, blinking your terribly heavy lids open although to no avail they’re begging to keep themselves shut. satoru glanced at you with a frown on his eyes with a pillow held close to his body. “scooch over baby,” he pleaded, kneeling beside the couch you’re currently lying on.

“go back to bed toru,” you said softly, tugging your blanket closer. “but you’re not there,” he whined, intertwining his hand with yours as he attacked it with kisses, not letting you go back to sleep, especially if it’s without him. “i thought you said you’re going to be fine?” you asked, jogging the memory of him being all smug while saying you could do whatever you wanted. “that was not me, i would never say that,” he said promptly and goodness you didn’t know before someone’s lips could turned that much downward. you chuckled breathily, knowing this will happen sooner or later.

you scooted over on the big couch, leaving him the space he’d been begging for. you could have sworn you heard a squeal before you’re wrapped in satoru’s warm hold, his head resting snugly atop of yours. “no sleeping on here anymore. not without me,” he said into your hair, kissing it softly.

❀

nanami

“but why, love?” he asked, having a hard time comprehending your wish to sleep alone on the living room only because... you randomly wanted to? you chuckled looking at his bewildered face, an expression of someone who’s probably racking his brain upside down thinking that he’s done something wrong. “ken, i promise it’s just because i feel like it and no reason other than that.” you cupped his face, planting a soft kiss on his nose.

nanami looked a little relieved, albeit sullen, hesitant in asking whether he could invite himself in or you wanted a little time for yourself. and when it’s finally time to sleep it’s becoming more obvious that your lover wasn’t going to make it easy for you.

“need any more blanket honey?” he asked tapping the head of the couch as he stood there a tad nervous, knowing full well you got everything you needed since he insisted to be the one to prepare it. pillows, blanket, a hot drink, he’s got it all for you. “i’m perfect here, ken. you can go to bed,” you said with a reassuring smile, yet it did the opposite effect to the man.

“can i be here until you sleep, my love? it’s just that i feel like i wouldn’t be able to rest properly until i see you do the same.” he stroke your cheek softly with his thumb, and when you leaned into his touch he knew he’s gone for you. that there’s no way he could be asleep if he went back to the bedroom in that moment—unless you’re with him, of course. though, he didn’t say this, he just continued combing through your strands of hair, loving the peaceful expression on your face.

and unfortunately for the blond man, when it comes to these things his thoughts were written all over his face. you already caught on the fact that he wanted to lie down with you there yet his wish in prioritizing your wants refrained him from speaking his. you laughed a little, feeling a burst of fondness towards the tall man.

“on a second thought, can you sleep here with me ken?” he moved as quick as the sentence ended, already making his way under the blanket. he sneaked a hand around your waist, pressing your body closer against him. “i was kind of hoping you’d ask,” he mumbled, slightly embarrassed. you snuggled closer to his chest, feeling utmost comfort as he rubbed your back gently.

“i know.”

❀

sukuna

not even ten minutes in trying to sleep on the said couch, sukuna had already carried you back towards your shared bedroom.

“but-“

“no.”

he put you on the bed gently, then he draped a blanket over as he tucked you in. sukuna has that look of a man who’s determined in keeping you there, and you already knew it’s a fight you could not win thus, you turned for another plan instead: pouting.

even until he got beside you as he rested his big hand on your stomach, you refused to look at him, crossing your hands in front of your chest. he sighed, “give me one good reason i should let you sleep out there,” he said exasperatedly. “cause i want some me time?” you claimed. even you weren’t sure why you’re battling him so hard on this.

“then have it here in this bed with me. you’ll get all cold later and cling to me later anyways. i’m just speeding up the process.” he replied, already closing his eyes.

“what a strange way of saying you couldn’t sleep without me,” you said, with a grin on your face. the feeling of his thumb moving against your skin brought you immense comfort, your impulsive plan long forgotten.

“if you already knew that then quit making it harder for me, brat.”

❀

toji

he stared at you who’s already making yourself comfortable on the couch, amused. “looking cozy there,” he said with a grin, a face of someone who’s up to no good. “yeah, it’s actually not ba-“ the sentence was cut off was your own squeal, toji had picked you up as he took your lying down position and put you top of him.

“you could’ve just asked first!” you fumed, hitting his bicep—which did more to you and it did him, how could one even get their muscle to be as hard as that? he just chuckled in response, putting a hand around your waist. “sorry doll, got too excited,” he said lazily, already seemed all happy, like he had all he needed.

and he did, with you close to him resting your head on his chest, knowing that you loved counting his heartbeat. the man was truly content.

“we really should get a bigger couch,” you mumbled. we should get everything you wanted, toji thought. but it’d be a bit much to say in the moment so instead he just continued rubbing your sides until you dozed off, plunging into the dream land.

“sleep.”

❀

suguru

“whatcha got there baby?” he asked, an easy smile on his face. there’s really no day with you where you didn’t make him tilt his head questioningly. “’m going to sleep here tonight,” you said, fluffing the pillow before lying down on it comfortably.

“okay, where’s mine then?”

“your what?”

“my pillow. you didn’t bring mine along yours?”

“oh well i just thought you’d want to sleep in the bed anyway?” you replied, and suguru looked like you just insulted him deeply. the couch dipped, he then lied down beside you on the same pillow, making him extra close as he embraced you. “i sleep where you sleep baby, you make me this way. i can no longer rest when i don’t get to hold you close like this,” he said softly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

you have a big smile on your face as he said this, inhaling his familiar scent as you put your arms around him. “that better not be a complaint,” you said, cuddling closer to the man.

“never.” he kissed your temple.

❀

choso

it seriously look like it killed him when he had to walk away from the room, leaving you to sleep by yourself on the couch. his steps were excruciatingly slow, taking as much time as he could in case you changed your mind.

“cho?” you almost laughed looking at the way he perked up, a hopeful expression on his face. “can you turn off the light on your way?” and it almost felt too cruel the way the sparkle on his eyes dimmed, his shoulders beyond slumped. he then practically had to drag his own feet before letting out a small nod.

you chuckled, couldn’t keep up with the teasing anymore. “i’m kidding baby, do you wanna get in here?” you lifted up the blanket, patting the empty space next to you. it was the fastest you’ve ever seen him, as he’s beside you in no time.

he clinged to you tightly, like he’s making sure as much of his skin made contact with yours, a satisfied smile on his face. his hair tickled your neck nicely, as you traced the area below his eye with back of your finger.

“next time you want something just ask, cho.”

[op1umeyes]

Firefighter!Simon who meets you when your apartment goes up in flames, breaking down the crumbling excuse of a door to make sure that everyone had been evacuated from the building. Gaz was having a laugh about how someone ‘could sleep through that shit’ as Simon had to wake up this poor girl who just wanted to sleep after her stressful day. Firefighter!Simon who answers all your questions with a gruff tone, navigating through the burning building. On one hand, he’s glad you aren’t screaming and crying about the building but on the other hand he wasn’t used to people asking him questions. You ask him things like his favorite color, his favorite food, how many times he had punched people in the face, and about his opinion on everything under the sun. He was on his seventh ‘you need to stop talkin’, ma’am, yer wastin’ air’ when you started coughing.

When you got to the ambulance, Firefighter!Simon didn’t say no when you asked him to go with you to the hospital. Johnny raised an eyebrow at Simon as he maneauvered his hulking body onto the seat next to you. For some unknown reason, Firefighter!Simon didn’t want you- nosy and kind and pretty you- to be hacking up a lung by yourself in the presence of someone like Johnny. And when your breathing started slowing and you weren’t looking around with bright eyes, Simon let you slide your hand into his gloved one.

Firefighter!Simon who, miraculously, has the night off. He decides to stay in the hospital until you wake: thinking it would be the gentlemanly thing to do to make sure your friends or family were made aware of the devastating fire. But when you finally blink awake and Simon asks all his questions, he’s stumped when you hit him with a ‘I don’t have any family’. Simon can’t stop himself from blurting out ‘You c’n stay with me. If you want.’

It takes a full day for you to be cleared before Firefighter!Simon picks you up from the hospital to take you to his (more than) humble abode. He finds that you quickly find happiness in the kitchen, but are more than disappointed to see he has barely anything to cook or bake with. “A damn shame” you say. With the remaining daylight hours, Simon finds himself driving you to a little supermarket in the corner of the city he hadn’t had the time to be explore. You insist on buying everything, telling Simon (a man who you really knew nothing about) it was the least you could do since he saved you from homelessness. And dying.

The rest of your first day in your temporary home with Firefighter!Simon is spent cooking. You whip up a marvelous pasta dish with hearty meatballs that almost make drool seep from Simon’s lips. He sits at the island watching you move around his space like you’d been there millions of times, an unfamiliar feeling blooming in his gut similar to fondness. Since picking you up some new clothes, Simon had learned a little bit more about you than Simon thought healthy. It was unfortunate enough for him to have been unable to get laid in over three months, but it was even more unfortunate that he had such a pretty bird in his apartment making him food and insisting on being near him when he sure as hell couldn’t make a move on her.

Firefighter!Simon who gets comfortable in his routine with you. On the days he’s not at work at assfuck 0200, he’s up making a simple breakfast for you and him before rhe day starts. You’ll eat and concerse a little awkwardly but that wont stop you from asking all about how he slept and if his buddies wanted more of those monster cookies you’d made to thank them for saving you and your fellow tenants. Simon had to relay many praises of your work in the kitchen, only ommiting the details and sly jokes about how ‘Simon’s girl’ was already taking care of the family. You’d go to work by bus or train- depending on how you felt- and then come home and make dinner or reheat leftovers. If Simon was at work, you’d laze on the couch in the main room and watch television and read. If Simon wasn’t at work, you’d bring the softest blanket from the room Simon had placed you in and watch a movie. More often than not, you would scoot closer and closer to Simon before falling asleep against him. When you woke up, you were in your bed- undoubtedly carried by Simon. Oh well. Its what friends do.

Firefighter!Simon who sees you as a friend. It’s basing your third week in his home and he feel comfortable around you. You’re good at reading his silence- the set of his shoulders and the future of his brow say enough- and he can’t be more thankful of that. For someone so new to his life, you seem to know exactly when to let a comfortable silence fall between you and when to start chattering about them things that come to your mind. But when you are the silent, short-tempered, and fatigued one, Simon is more than scared to get in your way. “Needa talk?” He offers, sliding you a cup of steaming coffee when you level a glare at the mug that had irritated you at such an inconveniently early hour. You heave a sigh and your head crumbles down into your arms. “I’m a mess, Si,” you tell him. Though your voice is muffled, Simon hears the shakiness in your throat trying to escape. He rounds the corner of island and places a large palm on your back in his attempt to comfort you. You are wrapping your arms around his neck and buring your face into the frail fabric of Simon’s shirt before he even knows what’s happening. And- as avoidant as Simon is to physical touch that doesn’t occur during work hours or when you fall asleep on him or when you slid your hand in his gloved hand during The Ambulance Ride- Simon didn’t mind your arms and warmth around him. When you started shaking in his arms was when Simon had to clench his jaw. It pained him that it pained you- and he didn’t even know what was ailing you! Simon tried to soothe himself with the knowledge that he was giving you the best comfort he could offer.

A day later you wake up to a crime scene in your underwear in the middle of the night so you decide to take a midnight trip to the convenience store a literal block away without letting Firefighter!Simon know. I mean, hey, he needs sleep and you were not going to wake him up to let him know you would be gone for a total of five minutes! But when you were on your way back to his house, you noticed someone following you. As you turned right for the third consecutive block, you finally fumbled for your phone.

Hearing you say ‘hey baby’ at 0146 had Firefighter!Simon’s head spinning. He was a little dazed because of the abrupt awakening but your casual greeting was wnough to jolt him awake. “Y/n? Whadda ya- what-?” He couldn’t finish his question before you interrupt him. “Hey do you think you could pick me up? I think I got a little lost.” Simon shoots out of bed, hitting the speaker button as he goes to slip a shirt on. “Where are you? Do I need a knife? Are you okay, dove?” He slips his shoes on and is out of the door faster than he is when he gets a work call. “Yeah, I’d bring the knife, babe,” you answer on the other line, more than loud enough for the man who is following you to hear. “I’m about four blocks away, by the Casey’s. You have my location.” Simon peels out of his driveway and immediately clicks on your profile to find the map with your smiling face. “Talk to me, y/n. I’m almost there.” Your breath is shaking on the other end and Simon doesn’t want you to be scared. “I think I could go for some Italian, Simon,” you say truthfully. “A minute away” Simon tells you, tires squealing as he turns down the streets you were hightailing down. Simon steps out of the truck after shifting it to park and the guy scatters. You’re running into Simon’s open arms before he could take a third step toward you. “I’m sorry,” you murmur “I kinda… started my period and didn’t want to wake you but then-“ Simon just shushes you, running a large hand down your back. “Let’s go home, love.” Simon scooped you up easily, tucking the obnoxiously loud crinkling plastic bag into your lap as he easily carried you to the passenger seat. Home. Yeah, Simon and his place had become your home.

[sai-int]

IN CONTEMPT | simon riley

You tried to move on, but no one quite measures up; not to the way he touched you, not to the way he ruined you. But when he reappears, you can feel him even before you see him. The past has a way of punishing disobedience, and now, it’s here to settle the score.

✉️ SEQUEL TO: ‘ RETURN TO SENDER ’ | AO3 . MLIST

18+ AU, fem!reader, takes place in the UK, porn with plot, pathetic!reader, harddom!simon, soft!simon, cuckolding, stalking, dirty talk, implied voyeurism, extreme exhibitionism, praise, rough sex w aftercare!, breeding kink if you squint, smidge of degradation, unprotected sex, cream-pie, oral sex (f!recieving) fingering, squirting [ 16.6k words ]

Fuck Simon for vanishing, for leaving you with nothing but a £21.90-shaped hole in your wallet.

It’s humiliating, really—how twenty quid can leave such a deep dent in your otherwise empty pockets. But the alternative? A fate you couldn't afford to entertain—sleepless nights, baby-screeching, endless tears, and a lifetime tethered to a man who couldn't even be bothered to stick around longer than 5 minutes after fucking your brains out, taking your favorite pair of oversized sweatpants on his way out, too. So, you swallowed the morning-after pill and kept it moving.

The immediate days after he disappeared blur together in a heavy, sluggish haze. You still show up to work, still plaster on a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes—though it never did, even before Simon. Every shift is the same bullshit but somehow worse—customers testing your patience, coworkers draining the last bit of energy you’ve got, and a boss who somehow manages to be more insufferable than the rest combined, multiplied by ten, then squared.

Your life was shit before, but that’s all been exacerbated. Nothing feels right anymore. You don’t remember who you were before him, how you managed without his touch. Everything’s off-kilter, like the world shifted just enough to make moving through it a little harder.

You try to shove him out of your mind, slam the door, bolt it shut—for your sake. But when one door closes, a window inevitably opens—and he is the draft that seeps through, whistling through the gaps, curling around you and filling your lungs, regardless of how hard you try to shut him out.

The rational part of your brain tries, with dire urgency, to tell you that it was just sex; that it wasn’t supposed to mean anything. You made an offer—arguably reckless, maybe even stupid, but not regrettable—and he accepted. Weird, but simple. Clean. Done.

But even as you rationalize and deny his effect on your life, your body betrays you. It still remembers whether you want it to or not—the phantom heat of his massive hands branding your skin, the weight of him pressing you down into your creaky mattress, the primality of being wrecked, ripped apart, and haphazardly stitched back together.

It’s hard to fight the way your body craves—the pang buried deep in your bones, in your cunt, gnawing at you like a plague. It wears you down, sanding away every hard edge you put up against the hunger for him. Eventually, you stop trying. Stop pretending.

After a week, you begin to cling to the news channels like they hold your salvation, listening like their reports are scriptures to damned ears. You sit on the scratchy, cheap carpet in your living room, bathed in the cold, artificial glow of the screen nearly every night, waiting like a dog at the door for an owner who isn’t coming home.  You watch until your eyes dry, stinging as you blink, your fingers twitching around a carton of pad thai, stomach a tangled knot as you swallow each bite. Every time that breaking news banner slashes across the screen, your pulse spikes, breath snags—thinking: this is it. This is the moment his name finally breaks through the LEDs.

But it never comes. You envy how they can swallow it all down and forget him.

He’s gone. Not only from your life, but seemingly from existence itself. No reports. No shitty CCTV footage of him. No murmured speculations from tight-lipped officials. The world moved on within a couple of days as if they were paid to not to speak his name. As if speaking his name would plague them with the shadow of him as well. 

Days turn into a week, a week turns to two.

A fortnight, two weeks on the day since it all happened, and still, you can’t let go. The less you hear, the more you need him. The obsession burrows deeper, twisting its roots around your ribs like weeds, pulling tighter with every breath—suffocating, consuming.

Then come the dreams.

The first time you see his eyes in your sleep, you wake in disarray—your sheets tangled, your hair tousled and your skin sweaty. The imprint of him lingers, burned into the backs of your eyelids, in the goosebumps on your neck.

You can't deal with it anymore. 

You can’t cope with the way he haunts you. It’s cruel, really, how he lives up to his name. How he’s gone, yet has never truly left.

You download the BBC app and turn on notifications. Each alert is a spark, a fleeting moment where your breath catches in your throat, where your heart stutters against your ribs. You cling to the possibility, to the thought that maybe this time, there will be something—some sliver of information, some sign that he still exists in the world beyond your memories.

Every vibration, every chime sets you on edge. Your fingers twitch, your stomach knots. You find yourself unlocking your phone without thinking, scanning headlines with eagerness that borders on despondency. You tell yourself it’s just curiosity. Playing detective. But deep down, you know better.

You need him.

It’s pathetic, really, the way your mind latches onto every news clip, every report, dissecting vague mentions of overseas conflicts, covert operations, missing operatives. You read between the lines, searching for something—anything—that could be him. A shadow of a man. A ghost in the margins.

You probably look like an addict going through withdrawals—waiting, itching, restless. 

In a way, you are. You couldn’t get enough.

The second you feel the faint buzz in your pocket, your breath hitches, your pulse kicks up. Your fingers twitch before you even register the movement, scrambling for your back pocket, ripping your phone out like it’ll tell you exactly where he is, what he’s doing, when he’s coming back. But it never does.

You keep watching. Waiting. Because something must surface eventually. Because if you stop—if you let the remnants of him settle—it makes him real in the past tense. And you can’t stomach that. Not yet.

Notifications pile up as you go to work, then come home, go to work, then come home—rinse and repeat. War, corruption, scandal, catastrophe—but never him. Instead, you choke on the taste of useless knowledge, drowning in politics you couldn’t care less for, memorizing names of leaders who mean nothing to you right now.

How could they mean anything when the weight of it all feels so Orwellian? You constantly think back to a time when breathing was easier, when you weren’t so voracious—so infinitely, pathetically hungry. But now, Simon is the Thought Police, and you, like Winston, can feel something coming—stalking, circling, tightening the trap.

You tell yourself you won’t stoop to his level—that you wouldn’t degrade yourself, touching yourself to scraps like he did to your letter, your messy, faceless scribblings. But the truth is that you’re worse than he, because you don’t need a piece of paper. You’re already pent up, already had a hit of him, and that’s all you need. He’s there, beneath your skin, in your blood, indelible in every sense of the word.

You cave, slipping your fingers beneath your panties, knowing how futile it is. You can’t touch yourself like he can—can’t make yourself feel the way he does, the way his hands, his mouth, make everything feel alive. Make everything feel worth it. That hollow emptiness—the dark, insatiable void that is him; it will swallow you whole. But what else is there? What can you hold onto when nothing else has ever come close? It’s all you have.

Though, when the wind blows, when you're alone in your room, your legs trembling from the soft circles you trace on your clit, it doesn’t feel like you're alone at all. There’s something there, the faintest sense that someone’s eyes are on you—not intrusive, but there. Observing, spectating..

It’s that feeling—that feeling of being vulnerable, of being prey that gets you going. The final puzzle piece clicking into place, the last push before your back arches and you’re coming undone, gasping—no, howling his name, until it reverberates off the walls of your room.

You feel it all the time. A prickle down your spine when you lock your door at night, a sudden hitch in your breath when you pass by your bedroom windows after a shower. A pit in your stomach when you walk home from the railway station, some shadows out of place, some that stretch too long beneath the streetlights, like they’re reaching for something. Or reaching for you. 

There’s something that consistently lurks in the alley across from your flat. A narrow sliver between homes, shrouded in shadow—an odd, latent presence that doesn’t quite fit, too still, too tall to be a dumpster. You swear it’s there almost every night, the air thick with it, but whenever you try to get a closer look, from your front door or wherever, it’s always gone—vanished.

It could be a trick of the night, a cruel illusion it could be anything, anyone—but would you be this wet if it was? Would your breath falter, thighs pressing tight, when the curtains stir just enough to frame the shadow across the street?

You feel it, a slow creep along your spine. A presence you can never name, but know all the same. It feels like him, each goosebump shouting and hissing his name. It’s a connection that defies reason, something deeper than instinct, sharper than memory. A pull, a whisper in your blood, like an unspoken language only the two of you understand. You’ve never felt anything like it before, never known a presence so visceral, so consuming. If this is madness, if this is nothing more than a delusion stitched together by longing and desperation—so be it.

You’d welcome insanity if it meant he was really here.

The shadow lingers. Not moving, not retreating. Just watching. Waiting.

A whisper curls in the back of your mind, sultry and insistent—go to the window. Let him see.

You leave it open now. Always.

The only thing you’ve gained since losing your virginity to Simon is a strange, newfound confidence—like a secret only you know, a mark he’s left on you that no one else can see. The longing isn’t new anymore; it’s settled in, familiar, woven into the fabric of your days. It doesn’t sting like it used to, but it never really leaves either, just hums beneath the surface, constant and quiet.

But the irony isn’t lost on you. Because for all that confidence, you’ve never felt emptier.

You’re four hours deep into your shift. It’s a quarter past four in the afternoon and you’re standing in the detergent aisle, one hand gripping the pricing gun, the other peeling discount stickers off the roll and slapping “Clubcard Exclusive” onto bottles of Persil like a machine. Mindless. Repetitive. A perfect, numbing distraction.

Four lousy weeks since Simon. Four weeks of gaps where his presence used to be, of clawing at scraps just to feel something real. Now, all you’ve got is the fluorescent hum of the overhead lights and the sharp scent of artificial “Spring Fresh” assaulting your nose.

And then comes Keith.

Fucking Keith.

His footsteps are light, but not light enough. Like a predator who thinks he’s stealthy when, really, he’s stomping through the underbrush, scaring off anything with a pulse. You always know when he’s coming, when he’s about to invade your space. It starts as a shift in the atmosphere, an overwhelming surge of something cloying, thick, unwelcome. It seeps into your personal bubble like a scent you can’t scrub off, a presence you can’t ignore no matter how hard you try.

"Hey, love," he drawls, his northern accent grating the moment it reaches your ears. He sidles up to you with that same cocky ease, the kind that might almost be impressive if it weren’t so painfully unwarranted—like he truly believes he belongs at your side, like he’s convinced himself you want him there.

You don’t look at him. You keep your focus on the detergent, pressing the sticker against the plastic with a little too much force. Maybe if you ignore him, he’ll take the hint this time.

Though, he never does.

“Didn’t think I’d find you today,” Keith continues, leaning against the shelf with that stupid, self-satisfied smirk. As if you’ve been playing some kind of cat-and-mouse game rather than actively avoiding him. “Been hidin’ from me or somethin’?”

You exhale sharply through your nose, and internally count to three.

He’s not ugly. Not by any means. He’s tall-ish, broad-shouldered but lanky, with sharp green eyes that never seem to blink, like they’re waiting for something to happen. His jaw is set, strong, but there's an unsettling tightness to his smile—like he’s always hiding something just beneath the surface.

His confidence is anything but charming; it’s suffocating. It pours out of him in tides, clinging to you like obnoxious, over-sprayed cheap cologne, like the lingering stench of stale Lynx body spray that seems to follow him, no matter where he goes.

“I’m working, Keith.” Your voice is flat, clipped. Not an invitation.

“Oh, I see that.” He gestures to the bottles like he’s just now noticing them. “Riveting stuff. But, y’know… if you ever wanna take a break, I could keep you company. Maybe grab a drink after the shift?”

The same fucking offer, over and over. Like if he keeps throwing it at you, eventually, you’ll crack.

You sigh, setting the pricing gun down with a little more force than necessary. “I don’t drink.”

Keith chuckles, unconvinced. “Everyone drinks.”

Jesus Christ.

You finally turn to look at him—a mistake. His grin widens, taking your attention as a victory. His eyes rake over you, lingering a little too long in places that make your skin crawl.

“C’mon,” he says, voice dipping into something meant to be sultry but only makes your stomach twist. “I’d be good to you, y’know.”

There it is. That undertone, that expectation—the same fucking entitlement you’ve seen on him a million times before.

Your fingers twitch, itching to whack him over the head with the pricing gun. Instead, you grab another sticker, slap it onto the next bottle, and pretend he doesn’t exist.

But he isn’t done.

“You’ve been different lately,” he muses, watching you too closely, eyes raking up your body, to your face, and back down. “Real quiet. Distracted. What’s up with that, honey?”

Your jaw tightens. You press another sticker down, smoothing out the edges.

“Nothing.”

Keith hums. “That right?”

You grit your teeth. You hate this. You hate that he’s noticed. Hate that he’s perceptive enough to see the cracks. Hate that some part of you, some stupid, pathetic part, is sort of enjoying the attention —even if it’s coming from him.

Because it’s something.

Because it’s not radio silence.

But it’s not him. It’s not him, and you fucking hate that. You hate Simon for leaving you ravaged without so much as a goodbye. He ruined you, twisted everything you thought you knew, and then just vanished like you were nothing. And that’s what cuts the deepest—that you were never even worth the closure.

You should've known better, back then. But you sure as hell know now.

Usually, you’d brush Keith off with a simple excuse—a friend you don’t have, a date that doesn’t exist. A lie. You’ve perfected the art of deflection, wrapping yourself in a comfortable mask that keeps him at arm's length. He’s persistent, but you’re sharper. Always have been.

But when he presses again, you hesitate.

“C’mon,” Keith says, his voice too casual, “Just one drink, on me. What do you say?”

You feel the old reflex kick in, the instinct to shoot him down. But you hesitate. The words hang there, suspended in the air, ready to be said.

Maybe it’s the loneliness gnawing at you, sinking its claws deeper into your skin with every passing day. Maybe at this point, you’re craving anything—the heat of another person, the touch, the distraction. Anything to fill the space Simon carved out and left behind, like a hole in your chest that nothing’s been able to fill.

Or maybe it’s just a fuck-you to Simon. A fuck-you to the way he still haunts you, weaving through your mind like wind through dead branches, whispering questions that will never be answered. To the ache burrowed deep, winding through your ribs like roots splitting through concrete, relentless in its hold. 

You suck in a breath, the tension fizzling and popping inside you, and before you even realize what’s happening, you hear yourself say, “Alright. Fine. One drink.” 

At least it was on him. 

Keith’s expression shifts, his eyes widening in shock, like the idea of you saying yes never even actually crossed his mind. The surprise on his face is almost comical. He stumbles over his words, trying to mask his confusion with a quick laugh.

“No way,” he says, shaking his head, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Really? I—uh, I thought you’d shut me down again.”

You don’t answer, just shrug. The words feel too heavy in your mouth like they don’t belong to you. But they’re out there now, hanging between you like a promise neither of you fully understands yet.

Keith’s smile widens, but there’s something gross behind it now. Something triumphant.

“Well, if you’re sure,” he says, stepping a little closer, the air thickening with the scent of his cologne and something darker, more insistent. “I know a place nearby. Not too far. We can grab a pint or two, talk... maybe get to know each other better.”

His gaze lingers on you, too long, too shallow. His eyes flicker down to your lips for just a fraction of a second, then back to your eyes, and you feel a shiver run down your spine. Ugh.

It should make you step back, re-think what you’re jumping into. 

But you don’t. You can’t. You need Simon out of your head and gone. For good.

“Alright,” you say again, this time with a little more force as if you’re trying to convince yourself just as much as you are him. “One drink.”

Keith grins like the Cheshire Cat, the satisfaction in his eyes clear as day. “I’ll pick you up at 9,” he says, voice low and assured. “Plenty of time to get home and change, right?” He lets out a small chuckle, his confidence oozing from every word like he already knows the night is his to win.

You nod mechanically, a brief pause before you speak again. “Yeah… I’ll uh—I’ll text you my address.” The words come out flat, detached. It’s no big deal. Totally.

His smile widens, smug in a way that makes your stomach churn. “Good. I’ll see you then.” He turns to head back toward the break room, giddily gliding down the aisle, like he's walking on air.

You just stand there, frozen for a second, watching him go. The store hums around you—distant chatter, the clinking of metal shopping carts, the soft shuffle of customers weaving through the aisles. It all feels like a blur, the noise distant and muffled, as though you're submerged in water. Your mind is far away, caught in the thick fog of uncertainty.

You don’t even know what you’re doing, but maybe this is what you need.

Simon lingers in the back of your mind like a shadow you’re always reaching for without thinking—an instinct, a reflex you can’t unlearn. And the thought of replacing that longing with something so fleeting, so hollow—something so… Keith, feels like a betrayal. Like carving out a piece of yourself and handing it to someone who will never understand its weight.

A sigh escapes you. You pull out your phone, thumb hovering over the screen as you look at the glowing numbers. Your heart flutters, unease building with each second that passes. But you don’t stop yourself. 

You type out your address slowly, each letter feeling like a weight added to your chest. It shouldn’t be a big deal, right? It couldn’t be that bad. You’ll just go out and try to make the best of it.

You hit ‘send.’

So much for getting to know each other. 

Keith hardly bothered to ask anything about you; the conversation is dominated by the insufferable droning on about his crypto investments. You aren’t really listening.. Your mind keeps drifting, thinking of his absence.

Simon’s absence. 

God, it bothers you how deeply he’s imprinted on your mind. Was it the fact that he took your virginity? There’s no way it could have been that chemically altering. Yes the sex was amazing, but how could he haunt your thoughts so extensively after barely saying a word to you, only ever muttering filthy things while fucking your brain numb?

Stop thinking about him fucking you. This is a problem. 

You pull yourself back to the present. The date’s going... fine. Nothing special. You’d pulled on a simple pair of jeans, a black top. Nothing too flashy, nothing that screamed you were trying—because you weren’t. What did it matter? Not like you had anywhere to go, or anyone to impress anymore. Clothes didn’t mean much when your world had narrowed down to this: a quick escape.

The pub is crowded for a Thursday night, an odd mix of tired regulars and middle-aged men—DILFs you’d much rather be accompanying. They laugh loudly, their voices thick with the warmth of too much liquor; they’re the ones you should be with, the ones who seem to care, to be alive in a way that doesn’t feel so desperate.

But instead, you’re stuck with Keith. His voice drones on in the background, talking about Bitcoin and intermittent fasting like he’s just discovered the secrets of the universe. His words are empty, meaningless in the moment, but you smile and nod, letting the noise of the pub drown out whatever nonsense he’s spewing. The drinks are good—strong, surprisingly so—and it burns its way down your throat, a welcome distraction. The alcohol settles into your chest like an old friend, warm and familiar, a little dangerous, but comforting all the same.

You’re a pint and a half deep, just enough for a pleasant buzz, for the edges of your thoughts to soften. Keith, on his third, is looser, expressive, leaning into your space a bit too much, his knee brushing against yours beneath the table. The alcohol makes it easier to stay present, to focus more on the moment instead of the static in your head.

He cleans up decently. The dim lights of the pub soften the harsh hazel-green of his eyes, take the tension out of the lines around his mouth. After a pint, he’s not as awful to look at. As you near the end of your second, he’s not too hard to listen to. His presence in the booth next to you isn’t suffocating anymore. The uncomfortable tightness has faded, replaced by something more manageable—a comfortable numbness that lets you go through the motions without feeling every single heartbeat. The kind of numbness you can live with for a while if you don’t think too hard about it.

You welcome it, more than you welcome the shit storm you’ve been for the past month.

You let the minutes pass, letting yourself be carried by the momentum of it all. You finish the pint, your focus drifting to the sensation of his hand brushing against yours, to the faint, gnawing in your heart as it cries for affection. It was all so simple. So much easier than you’d expected, this little dance, this surface-level distraction.

Then, a few minutes later, it happens. Keith leans in, his lips parting, the space between you closing like a slow, inevitable collision. His conviction wraps around him like a cloak, thick and heavy, as if he knows exactly how this will unfold. The warmth of his breath grazes your cheek, his scent faint but persistent, a mix of cologne and something stale, like the night’s beer. His eyes flicker with implicit expectation before they flit shut, his lips a mere centimeter from yours.

You don’t pull away.

You don’t have the energy for that anymore. Not for the back-and-forth, the push and pull of deciding what’s right and what’s not. You’ve been worn down, layer by pitiful layer until all that’s left is this: the heat, the need, the emptiness that drives you to reach out and accept whatever is offered. You let it happen, your lips parting to meet his, the kiss tentative at first, but growing more insistent as the seconds pass.

It’s not good. His lips are too stiff, too small against yours, moving with a clumsy eagerness that reeks of desperation—like he’s been waiting for this and has no idea what to do now that it’s happening. But it’s something.

Something to dull the ache, to quiet the static in your mind long enough to pretend you’re not suffocating. Something to ground you, to remind you that you’re still flesh and bone, not just longing and regret. Something to forget in the morning.

Because why not?

Maybe if you drown yourself in something else—something that isn’t honey-brown eyes and a mask that hides too much—you can finally erase the impression Simon left behind. Finally silence the ache, the apparition of his touch that you still feel under your clothes, even within the pub. Even with Keith by your side. 

Maybe if you let yourself unravel into someone else, scatter the pieces of what Simon broke and stitch together the fragments of what came before him, you’ll be able to move on. Maybe if you swallow it all, stretch yourself wide, dislocate your jaw just to fit it all in and swallow—you’ll get by. You’ll manage. Even if it never digests. Even if it all bleeds through the cracks anyway.

So, you push further. Let your fingers ghost over his knee, lean in close—just enough that your breath brushes his skin. You whisper, low and saccharine, asking if he wants to get out of here—head back to your place. A distraction. A mistake in the making.

Keith practically yanks you from the bar, his grip firm—too firm—as he steers you toward his car with single-minded determination. His fingers dig into your wrist like he’s afraid you’ll slip away, like he needs to keep you tethered. The street lights flicker overhead, casting fleeting shadows across his face, sharpening the hunger in his eyes.

The drive is a blur of speed and silence, the tension between you both is thick enough to choke on. His knuckles are white around the steering wheel, foot heavy on the gas, cutting the fifteen-minute trip to your flat down to five. He doesn’t speak. Neither do you. There’s nothing to say. Just expectation hanging in the air, dense and stifling, laced with something desperate, something thoughtless. You let it wrap around you, pull you under.

Then you’re at your door, and he’s on you. His chest flush against your back, hands already gripping your hips, body pressing close, his breath hot and uneven against your neck. His teeth graze your skin, just barely, like he’s tasting his kill—like he already knows he’s won.

God, you feel like a slut.

The world keeps spinning. Traffic hums in the distance, the wind howls through the alleyways, life presses ever forward, indifferent to the choices you make. But here, as your hands tremble against the cold metal of the lock—it all shrinks to this. The frantic thrum of your pulse. The too-firm grip of his hands, insistent and wandering, pressing into places they have no right to be.

Because you don’t belong to Keith.

You don’t look back at him. You can’t. Because if you do, if you meet his lustful, haughty gaze, you might stop.

And you can’t afford to stop. Not yet.

When you both make it inside, you shut the door and Keith tries to kiss you, to make this something it’s not—some messy, desperate collision of lips and teeth, a lustful explosion—but you’re not down for that. You tilt your head and give him your neck, dodging his lips like it’s second nature. He doesn’t notice as you guide him to your room, too lost in the idea of getting his dick wet to realize you’re steering this whole thing.

And wet, he gets it.

He fucks you on your bed, and it’s got to be the most boring experience of your life. He’s got you prone, on your stomach, and you don’t look at him. You can’t look at him—because that would make it real. That would solidify the fact that you’re here, in your own bed, fucking Keith of all people.

You keep your gaze fixed ahead, on the dim sliver of moonlight seeping through your window’s curtain, as he ruts into you. The pace is off, mechanical like he’s following some half-baked porn script in his head. You have to fight the urge to ask if it’s even in, if he’s just finger blasting you. With Simon, you didn’t have to wonder. The stretch, the burn of him splitting you open, the way he had you trembling, leaking down your thighs before he even properly fucked you—that was something else entirely.

Keith leans over you occasionally, breath hot and panting against your ear, his attempt at dirty talk making you cringe.

“You like that, love?”

No, Keith. You’re jackhammering my cunt with your pencil dick.

You don’t answer out loud. You just lay there, belly pressed against the mattress, and try to conjure the feeling of someone else—someone bigger, rougher, someone who knows what to do with you. But even in the dark, even facing away, you can’t bring yourself to lie. This isn’t Simon. It’s not even close.

You wait. You endure.

Finally, he shudders and spills into the condom you made him wear, and you silently thank the universe that the miserable ten minutes are over. Simon had you writhing for at least thirty. After eating you out, too.

You continue staring ahead as Keith collapses beside you with a satisfied groan, murmuring something, pressing a kiss to your forehead like this meant anything. You don’t react. You barely register his voice.

Because out the window, across the street, there’s that shadow again.

Still. Watching. Waiting.

And for the first time all night, you feel something genuine.

You definitely could’ve found better than Keith. But God, he’s easy—easier than a prostitute in the back of a bar, and just as desperate.

It’s been a month since you first fucked him—two since Simon—and he’s like a goddamn pest, lingering, clinging, always there. But you don’t push him away, either. Not completely. Because if you’re being honest with yourself, it is nice to have someone in your bed, someone to text, someone to pick you up when you don’t feel like taking the train. He’s convenient. Reliable, even.

But his affections are only tolerable in small doses before they become suffocating. He’s a lovesick puppy, always trailing after you, those hopeful, stupid green eyes searching for something you’ll never give him. And God, you feel horrible for using him—horrible, but not enough to stop.

Each time he’s between your legs, each time his name pops up on your phone with a good morning, love, each time you toss him a scrap of attention—a lazy smile, a half-hearted hug, a peck on the cheek if he’s especially lucky—you see it. That flicker in his eyes, that glimmer of something warm and delusional, like he thinks this is leading somewhere. Like he thinks you’ll wake up one day and want him the way he wants you.

And maybe that’s the worst part. The way he clings to every half-truth, every unspoken maybe, every quiet moment that isn’t outright rejection. He’s a fool for it. And maybe you’re cruel for letting him believe in something that doesn’t exist.

But you did warn him. Laid it out in blunt, undeniable terms—this isn’t love, Keith. Just sex. No strings, no expectations.

But you suppose, for someone like him, being something to you—no matter how small, how insignificant—is still better than being nothing at all.

Simon doesn’t linger in your mind the way he used to. Not as much. Not as sharp. You shut off notifications for BBC, but couldn’t bring yourself to delete the app. Just in case. 

But every time Keith is on top of you—grunting, sweating, trying—you’re reminded of what you had. What it felt like to be wanted in a way that left bruises, but you’ve accepted the fact that Simon is gone. Gone with the wind; traceless, like he was never here to begin with.

Keith stays over some nights, always making sure to slip out in the morning. Per your request.

At first, he obeys. But then the edges start to smudge. Morning lingers too long, bleeding into midday, stretching into afternoon like melted wax. Before you know it, he’s still there. Still there when you’re making coffee, still there when you just want to be alone in your dingy flat.

You wake up one morning to an empty bed and the smell of eggs sizzling, the sound of your cabinets opening and closing. You drag yourself out of bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and there he is, standing in your kitchen, bare-chested and humming some god-awful tune as he tends to eggs and flips pancakes with a spatula that hasn't been used since you bought it.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he says, flashing you a grin like this is normal, like he’s your boyfriend.

You blink at him, groggy, disoriented. “Where’d you even get pancake mix?”

“Had some at my place,” he says, as if that’s a completely reasonable explanation.

You texted him last night for him to come over and fuck you, and he brought food—from his own flat—to cook in the morning. Was this supposed to be romantic? Jesus, fuck. You turn back to your room, ignoring the smell of breakfast permeating your walls, and throw yourself back under the covers.

It only gets worse from there, though.

He starts using your shower, stepping out smelling like your shampoo, like your soap, like your space isn’t your own anymore. 

Even when he’s not here, he finds ways to insert himself into your day. You’re halfway out the door, ready to catch the train to work, when your phone vibrates in your pocket.

Keith: Hey, on my way to pick you up

Your stomach sinks. You didn’t ask him to do that.

You sigh, rubbing your temple as you type out a quick, You really don’t have to, I can take the train.

Keith: Nah, babe, I’m gonna.

And that’s the problem. It doesn’t matter what you say. He just does it anyway.

You’re on your lunch break one day, tucked away in the breakroom, enjoying a moment of peace with a granola bar you snagged from the petrol station days ago. The store is busy, but back here, it’s quiet—just the faint hum of the coffee machine and the distant chatter of coworkers.

Then, something tugs at a strand of your hair, pulled tight in your ponytail, making your head jerk back just a little.

Your throat tightens before you even turn.

Sure enough—Keith.

He plops down in the chair next to you, all smug, too close, legs spread wide as he leans back like he owns the place.

“How’s my lovely girlfriend?” he asks, tone playful.

Your fingers tighten around the granola bar, the wrapper crinkling. “I’m not your girlfriend, Keith,” you say, feigning a small, polite smile. “But I’m okay, thanks for asking.”

Keith just chuckles like you’ve made some kind of joke. “Yeah, totally. Y’know, we’ve been at this for a while, lovey. Think you’ll let me meet your parents soon?”

You freeze mid-bite.

There’s a slow, nauseating churn in your gut, a deep unease that coils tight around your ribs, squeezing, festering.

“You can’t—” you pinch your nose bridge, “You’re not meeting my parents,” you say, firmer this time, staring at him, hoping—praying—that maybe this time, he’ll get it.

Keith just shakes his head, still grinning. “Awh, that’s alright. You’re just scared, dolly. I can wait for you.”

Your mouth goes dry. You don’t even bother dignifying that with a response. You just shove the last of your granola bar into your mouth, chew like you’re forcing down something bitter, and push back from the table.

“Gotta get back,” you mumble, standing, already heading for the door.

Keith doesn’t follow, but you can feel his eyes on you as you leave.

The more he smothers you, the more you wish you never started this shit in the first place. What were you thinking? You should’ve just put on your big girl panties, pushed the memory of Simon as far down as you could, and moved on. But each time you think of Simon, it’s like a knife twisting in your gut, because God, just the thought of being able to moan his name makes you want him all over again. You crave the way he fit, the way he understood you without all the effort. You want him to give you what you need—what you crave, even though you know deep down that it’s a fool’s wish.

With Keith, the cracks are starting to show. In bed, he starts trying too hard, like he’s desperately trying to prove something to you. He’s fishing for praise, waiting for some kind of validation. He’ll ask, “That was better than last time, right?” as though the answer matters to you. As if you’ve been keeping score.

You aren’t. You never were.

Your room smells like him now—like cheap cologne and sweat. He just gave you the most disappointing dicking yet, and he’s already passed out. The light is off and you’re lying there, forced into a state of calm that’s not really calm at all. You can feel him beside you, his breath steady as he sleeps, completely oblivious to the storm inside you. You turn away from him, laying on your side, staring blankly at the wall in front of you, your heart hammering in your chest.

Fuck, what the fuck are you doing? Why the are you doing this to yourself? It feels like punishment. Like you've shattered some unspoken rule, a silent code, and now you're paying the price. You just wanted an escape, a moment to breathe. Not to be someone’s charity case. The questions spin around you, but there are no answers. No clarity. Just endless doubt.

You let out a soft sigh and toss back onto your back, the weight of everything pressing down on your chest as your head rests on the pillows. Your eyes catch the sight of Keith's hoodie, thrown carelessly over the desk chair.

As you stare at the hoodie, lying there where you first saw Simon, you truly feel it—he’s really gone. No longer in the fragments of your room, no longer in your bed, slouched in your desk chair, lingering on your dresser.

The room is suffocating, thick with heat that presses down on your chest, suffocating you with every breath. It’s heavier than it should be, the air stale and still, clinging to your skin like a second layer. Keith insists on keeping the windows shut. He hates the drafts. You hate him for it.

You sit up, your skin sticking to the sheets. The weight of the night lingers like a fog, clouding your thoughts. You sigh, lethargic, your body sluggish as you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the coolness of the floor greeting your bare feet. Your panties are discarded somewhere in the mess. You find them and pull them on absently, the fabric sliding over your skin

You round the bed quietly, your footsteps muffled against the worn carpet as you approach the bedside table next to his sleeping form. Keith’s pack of cigarettes sits there, unassuming, but it calls to you. You tug one out, the familiar crinkle of the cardboard grounding you for a moment. You take his lighter next, the flick of the flame a cruel reminder of how the nasty, expensive habit has settled into your bones. You never meant to start smoking. You swore you wouldn’t. But now, it’s just another part of the routine, a pointless comfort you’ve grown too used to, another reason you should’ve never gotten with Keith.

You walk to the shut window and lift it open with one hand. The cool night air rushes in immediately, cooling your skin. You lift the cigarette to your lips, sparking it, and watch as the tip ignites. The glow is soft against the dark, the only light in the room for a brief moment before the flame dies and the smoke curls up, wrapping around you like a secret. You take a drag, inhaling deep, the burn of the nicotine settling in your chest, grounding you, if only for a second.

You lean against the window frame, half-sitting on the bottom portion as you lean to let the smoke escape outside. The night is unnervingly quiet. You guess it’s just about midnight, but you don’t bother checking your phone. You take in the sight of the street, the houses on your block, There's nothing across the way tonight, just the empty stretch of alley, and you find your gaze drawn to it, unable to look away. The stillness wraps around you, and the faint echoes of your own thoughts seem too loud in the silence.

Something coils sharp and tenacious in your chest as you stare into the emptiness. You let Keith in, let him slither into the cracks of your life, and now it’s rotting you from the inside out. You’ve been shoving anything you can into the hollow space he left—distractions, vices, fleeting touches—but it only stretches wider, gaping and endless..

A part of you aches for that shadow to appear, if only once, just to feel something. Because  another part of you knows what it is—who it is. Knows that he’s gone.

And that, more than anything, stings.

The cigarette is nearly burned down to the filter, the last embers glowing weakly in the dark, a pale orange against the quiet night. A gust of cold wind bites at your skin, snapping you back to reality with a sharp chill. You turn to look over your shoulder, and Keith is sprawled across the bed, mouth hanging open in that obnoxious, ungodly way he sleeps. A snore rattles through the silence and your eyes instinctively roll.

You take a final drag, the smoke bitter on your tongue, and then snuff it out against the window sill and toss it, watching it smolder into the dirt below. You stand up, stretching your stiff limbs, and close the window, leaving just a small crack for the night air to filter in. 

Fuck Keith and whatever it is he wants. This is your house. You’re not his mom, his girlfriend, or whatever the hell else he thinks you are. If you want the window open, then so be it 

You turn back to the bed, your body aching for the solitude of your own sheets. You crawl under the covers, pulling them tight around your shoulders. The warmth is a small comfort, but it’s enough. Sleep tugs at your eyelids, beckoning you into the quiet. Your hands cover your ears, trying to block out the guttural snoring coming from Keith’s side of the bed. It’s like a fucking chainsaw cutting through the peace you crave. But you hold on to the stillness, the promise of escape—if only for a few hours.

You’re dead asleep when the sound cuts through the thick haze of unconsciousness—a soft, broken whimper. Barely a sound at all, more like a breath hitching in a throat, swallowed before it can fully form. It weaves itself into your dreams, threading through whatever meaningless fragments your mind had pieced together, distorting them into something unsettling.

Your body is heavy, limbs weighed down by exhaustion, but the noise needles at you, persistent in its quiet agony. You groan, eyes still shut, rolling onto your side as you mumble something incoherent—something about Keith shutting the fuck up, that you have work in the morning. Whatever it is he’s doing, you don’t want to hear it.

For a moment, silence settles over the room like a thin sheet, barely there but present enough to lull you back into the pull of sleep. Then the bed shifts. A slow, deliberate movement, like someone rising carefully, trying not to wake you. A footstep follows, then another, the faint creak of floorboards. You breathe a little easier, thinking maybe he’s leaving—maybe he’s finally getting the hint.

But then it comes again. This time, distant, muffled. A cry, higher-pitched, threaded with something frantic. It makes your skin prickle, not with concern, but with irritation.

You frown, eyes still shut, brain too fogged with sleep to process much beyond vague annoyance. He’s either having a nightmare or, worse, a wank in the corner. Neither interests you. You don’t even want him here, in your bed, taking up your space.

You sigh, pressing your face deeper into the pillow, trying to will yourself back into unconsciousness. Whatever it is, it’s not your problem.

Seconds later, you hear it again, more desperate this time, like a wounded animal with its throat ripped out, struggling to breathe. It grates against your nerves, pulling you further from sleep, until frustration bubbles up in your chest.

With a groggy grumble, you push yourself up, your movements sluggish and heavy with exhaustion. Your right arm props behind you for support as you rub at your face, knuckles pressing into your tired, shut eyes.

“Keith, will you shut the fu—”

Your voice cuts off mid-sentence, throat tightening as you finally blink the sleep from your vision. The dim light from the streetlamp outside casts long shadows across the room, bathing everything in sickly, pale yellow streaks.

Keith isn’t in bed with you.

He’s in the chair—your desk chair—against the wall and facing your bed, bound with ropes that are wrapped so tight they cut into his arms, legs, wrists, chest. A rag from your kitchen, dark with spit, is stuffed into his mouth, held in place by a strip of fabric wrapped around the back of his head. His chest heaves, his nostrils flaring with panicked breath as he stares at you with wide, frantic eyes, veins bulging against his skin.

Your body locks up, breath snagging in your throat.

“What the f—”

You barely get the words out before Keith starts thrashing against his restraints, his muffled cries breaking through the stagnant air of your bedroom. His whole body shakes with the force of it, the chair rocking slightly under his weight, but it doesn’t budge. The ropes hold firm.

You start to move, heart hammering, the slow creep of realization curling up your spine like a cold finger tracing each vertebra.

Then you feel it.

A large, cold, calloused hand slowly traces the curve of your upper back, dragging upward, a ghost of a touch against your spine. It lingers at the nape of your neck, fingers threading through the back of your scalp, tightening just enough to make your breath hitch.

Every muscle in your body locks up, your breath shuddering out in uneven bursts. The room shrinks, walls closing in around you. The grip on your hair tightens—not a yank, not yet, just a firm hold that makes your scalp prickle.

Then, a shift. A press of something solid and warm against the crown of your head. The unmistakable drag of breath as whoever inhales deeply, like he’s committing you to memory. A low, gravelly hum rumbles from his chest, thick with something unreadable. Satisfaction. Possession. Maybe both.

He's right beside you. Close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off of him, that his presence warps the air around you, suffocating, intoxicating.

You don’t dare move.

Because you know exactly who it is.

The scent of him just like you remember—gunpowder, sweat, something faintly woody—clashes with the lingering staleness of your room. It seeps into your lungs, an old ghost resurrected, clawing its way back to the surface.

Then, finally, a voice—rough, undeniably Mancunian, curling at the edges with something almost amused.

“Been busy, huh, pet?”

The words slither into your ear, smooth and deliberate, sinking their hooks into you like they never left.

You swallow hard, the heat pooling low in your stomach at the deep, deliberate pull of his voice. It scrapes against something raw inside you, something that never healed right. Your heartbeat stutters, then picks up, but not from fear. 

Still, you don’t move. You don’t look.

If this is a dream, you don’t want to wake up—wake up and risk him being gone again.

Your eyes stay locked onto Keith’s, wide and frantic in the dark, his chest rising and falling in shallow, panicked breaths. He looks at you like you’re supposed to do something, like you’re supposed to save him.

But before you can, Simon makes the choice for you.

The grip in your hair tightens—no longer just a hold, but a command. He tugs, slow and controlled, and your head tilts back whether you want it to or not. Your breath hitches, your fingers twitch at your sides, but you let him. You’ll always let him.

And there he is.

Maskless.

Your breath snags in your throat, brain stalling, tripping over itself. You need a second—one long, aching second—to make sense of it, to stitch together the face you only ever caught in fragments. A shadowed jaw, a flicker of his mouth, the barest glimpse of his nose when he was buried between your thighs all those weeks ago.

But his eyes, his eyes don’t lie.

They’re the same eyes that have haunted you for weeks—dark, relentless, burning into you even in sleep. The same ones that linger behind your eyelids, that you’ve conjured in the dead of night, that you’ve chased with trembling hands and gasping breaths, desperate for something that feels like him.

And right now, they’re burning into you, unreadable as ever.

He’s here, in the flesh.

His bone structure is cut from marble—sharp cheekbones, a strong brow, a subtly clefted chin that adds to the undeniable masculinity of his face. Soft blond stubble shadows his jaw, catching the dim light as he tilts his head, studying you with those dangerous, all-consuming brown eyes.

Scars carve their history into his skin, some thin and white, others pink and freshly healed. One splits through his eyebrow, another drags across his cheek, and two more pull faintly at his lips. They settle among the freckles dusting his nose, a contradiction of softness and violence, of things that should never coexist but somehow do.

He’s devastating.

His other hand has found your throat, palm rough and massive against your skin. He could snap your neck with half a thought, with an eighth of his strength, and yet, all he does is trace along your jugular, feeling the rapid thrum of your pulse beneath his fingertips. It’s possessive. Calculated.

His grip shifts, sliding up to cradle your jaw, just before his thumb drags across your bottom lip. He presses forward, slow, deliberate, until his thumb slips past your teeth, resting heavy on your flat pad of your tongue.

You don’t think. You just react.

Your lips wrap around the digit without a second’s hesitation, without him even needing to ask.

And the look in his eyes?

Like he never expected anything else.

With his thumb hooked in your mouth, saliva pools at the corners of your lips, threatening to spill. You can’t swallow, can’t do anything but sit there, pliant and open for him, while he holds you in place like some helpless, caught fish.

His grip in your hair loosens, but only so he can guide your head forward, tilting your chin with the hand still in your mouth until your gaze lands back on Keith.

He’s wide-eyed, panic threading through every inch of him. His breaths are ragged, desperate, as he tries to piece it all together—his wrists bound tight, the ropes cutting into his skin, the oppressive weight of the man looming behind you, and the sight of you. Sitting there, silent, pliant, unresisting.

Keith’s mind races, but there’s nothing he can do. No words, no pleas that will untangle this mess. You can see it in his eyes—the confusion, the fear, the realization that he’s powerless. He’s looking at you like he doesn’t even recognize you anymore.

Simon hums, low and contemplative, a deep rumble that vibrates through your very bones.

“This y’plaything, baby? What you’ve been fillin’ y’time with?”

You try to move your head, to make some kind of response, but his thumb presses down, firm, stopping you before you even begin.

His tongue clicks, a disappointed tut that rolls through your ears like a warning. Like he already knows the answer and doesn’t like it.

“Know I left you... Wasn’t very nice of me, now, was it?”

His voice is thick, rich with something unreadable, but his grip tells you enough, a warning and a promise all at once. He tilts your chin back up, forcing you to meet his eyes again.

You want to tell him no, it wasn’t nice, that he ripped something out of you when he left. That you’ve spent every goddamn second since trying to fill the void he carved. But all that escapes is a strangled, pitiful “mm-mm,” your lips parting helplessly as spit slicks your chin.

His smirk deepens, eyes darkening as they flick down to your mouth, to the mess you’re making of yourself.

“Wasn’t very nice of you, though, was it? Goin’ ‘round openin’ your legs for the first man y’see, hmm? First one willin’ to put his cock in what ain’t his…”

The words strike something deep, hot, and ugly inside you. His? If you were his, then why the hell did he leave? Why did he disappear like smoke, slipping through your fingers, leaving you clawing at the air, grasping at nothing? What is he doing here now, after all this time—after breaking into your home, tearing through your life like a storm and vanishing just as quickly, leaving you to sift through the wreckage alone?

Anger surges, reckless and unthinking, and you bite down on his thumb—hard.

He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t even flinch. Just smirks at the pain like you’re some unruly little puppy testing its limits. His eyes gleam, a slow, predatory amusement playing across his features as he finally, finally pulls his thumb from your mouth.

You wipe the drool from your chin with the back of your hand, straightening as much as you can under his hold. “I’m not yours,” you say, low and firm, but your voice lacks the conviction you wish it had. “If I was yours, you wouldn’t have left so suddenly, you dick.”

His expression shifts—less amused now, more exasperated, like you’re missing something so glaringly obvious it physically pains him. He pops the same thumb into his mouth, licking the taste of you off like it’s second nature, like he’s reclaiming something.

"‘Course I left, love. Was on the run.”

You blink.

Oh.

He watches the realization flood your face, that sudden shift in your gaze that’s almost embarrassing to witness. You can feel the heat of his stare, the sharpness of it, cutting through the tension in the room. Simon leans down toward you, dropping to one knee to be at your eye level, his movements slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring every second of your discomfort. His hands rest casually on his thighs, but there’s nothing casual about the weight in his voice.

“But,” he says, a playful edge in his tone, but the undertone is sharp, cutting through the soft hum of the room like a knife. “I guess if y’not mine, then I guess I should go, huh?”

The words hang between you like a challenge, testing your resolve, pushing at the walls you’ve built so carefully. You feel your heart pound in your chest, your throat tightening. You open your mouth, but the words catch before they can form. You shake your head, but it’s not enough to make him stop.

He stands up then, straightening to his full height, and it’s almost like the air shifts around him, “Fine then,” he says, his voice low, almost amused. “No problem. I’ll leave. Y’can stay here with Keith, yeah? Let ‘em keep y’ company.”

The words hit like a gut punch, a shock to your system as you realize you’ve completely forgotten about Keith. He’s still there, bound and helpless, and a grimace pulls at your face as you glance over at him. Sure, he was annoying, but this? This isn’t what he deserved.

How Simon knows his name is a mystery, but somehow, it doesn’t surprise you. It never does with him. Keith’s name slipping from Simon’s lips is an ugly reminder of something you’d rather keep buried. Something you regret.

Simon starts to turn, heading toward the door, and the world tilts on its axis.

You can’t let him go, can’t let him walk out like that—again—like it’s nothing, like you can just let him leave and keep pretending that none of this matters.

Your legs feel weak, like they might give out from underneath you, but you manage to stand. Slowly at first, then with more urgency, your hands reaching out toward him without thinking. They land on his forearms—massive, firm, like steel wrapped in skin—and you grip him hard, pulling him back just a little, just enough to make him stop.

Simon’s body tenses under your touch, but he doesn’t say anything right away. He simply turns back to face you, his expression unreadable. The quiet between you two stretches.

He lets you stop him. He knew you would, he wanted you to. 

You glance at Keith, who’s dumbfounded as he struggles to comprehend what’s unfolding. Then you look up at Simon, where that insufferable, knowing smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t,” you say, voice tight.

He cocks his head, brows furrowing slightly, though amusement lingers in his dark eyes. “Don’t what?”

You swallow, feel the words stick in your throat before forcing them out. “Don’t go.”

Something in his expression flickers, shifts just slightly before settling into something heavier. He doesn’t waste time. He steps toward Keith, bending at the waist until he’s face-to-face with him, a lion looming over an antelope with its throat already torn open, arterial spray painting the dirt, limbs twitching in useless protest as the last dregs of life seep out.

“Hear that, lad?” Simon drawls, voice thick with condescension. “She doesn’t want me to go. Wants me t’stay right here—stuff her full o’ my cock, yeah? Bet she doesn’t want that from you.”

Your mouth falls open, lips parting in shock. Not because he’s wrong—Jesus, he’s not wrong—but because he says it like it’s the simplest fact in the world, like he’s reading it straight from the book of universal truths.

Keith is trembling now, his whole body shaking like a leaf caught in a storm. His chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths. He looks so small, so pathetic compared to Simon’s hulking figure.

Simon doesn’t look away. He watches him, studies him, his gaze slow and calculating before he hums, almost thoughtful. His voice is deceptively quiet, laced with something deceptively soft. “Think that pencil dick does ‘er wonders, eh?”

Keith whimpers, eyes wide, body rigid, already feeling the metaphorical teeth at his throat. Simon just reveles in it, feeding off the fear like it’s sustenance. And you’re dumbfounded. 

And aroused.

You shouldn’t react to this the way you are. You shouldn’t feel your cunt growing wetter than it's been in months. shouldn’t feel your breath hitch at the way he’s openly claiming you without hesitation, without shame. But you do.

Because even if Simon doesn’t have the right to stake his claim on you, doesn’t have the right to act as if you still belong to him—doesn’t he?

You signed your name at the bottom of that letter all those weeks ago.

And to Simon, that was the dotted line. The confirmation.

You swallow, the sound too loud in the thick silence, your body frozen as you watch Simon’s one-man pissing contest unfold. It gets his attention, though. His head turns sharply, eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that pins you in place, cutting through the tension in the room like a knife.

Despite the draft floating through, the air is thick in the room; it presses against your chest as you stand frozen, caught between two men—one holding you hostage with his eyes, the other trembling with frustration and fear. Simon’s smirk doesn’t falter as he straightens up, glancing over his shoulder at you with that same cold gleam in his eyes. He’s toying with you. You know that. He has been. But there's something different now. Something sharp and jagged in the way he’s looking at you, like he’s definitively claiming the space between your hearts, drawing lines you can’t ignore.

Keith’s eyes flicker between you and Simon, darting like he’s searching for an escape. You imagine he thinks Simon is some crazy ex, some jealous, unhinged thing from your past. But that couldn’t be farther from the truth. He whines through the make-shift gag like he wants to say something, to demand an explanation, to plead. But he’s frozen, paralyzed, locked in place as it all crumbles right in front of him, powerless to do a damn thing about it.

Simon, however, is unfazed. Barely even interested. His eyes flick back to Keith, sharp and dismissive, like he’s looking at a stale loaf of bread.

“You, lad… are just a stopgap. Temporary. Got that?”

Simon’s voice is steady, calm—like he’s explaining something simple, something Keith should’ve already known. Then, without warning, he grips Keith’s hair, yanking his head up from the scalp and forcing him to look into those cold, unrelenting eyes.

Keith lets out a sharp, choked noise as he makes Keith’s head bob in a mockery of a nod.

“Yeah,” Simon murmurs, voice laced with amusement. “That’s right. Now you’re gettin’ it.”

Simon releases Keith’s head with a sharp flick of his wrist, sending it snapping backward. Keith groans, but Simon doesn’t spare him another glance.

Instead, he turns back to you. Fully. His gaze is heavy, piercing—digging beneath your skin like he’s peeling back layers, searching for the fight in you, daring you to contradict him.

But you don’t. You can’t.

And he knows it.

You want to scream at him, to remind him that you’re not a prize to be fought over or a possession to be claimed. But the words die in your throat, stifled by the raw, undeniable tension curling in the pit of your stomach. Because he’s right.

He stalks toward you, closer and closer until you’re forced to crane your neck to meet his gaze. The room feels smaller, quieter, as if the world around you has paused in reverence of him. You can’t escape his eyes, those brown depths that see right through you. They peel back the layers of your mind.

His lips curl into a dangerous, knowing smirk that sends a shiver down your spine. “Thought y’could just disobey, sweet thing?” he murmurs, his voice soft but dripping with venom. “Thought y’could just fuck off and be so… disrespectful?”

His words slice through the air, every syllable hitting you like a lash against your skin, the sting burrowing under your flesh. His eyes darken, becoming something primal, like he’s waiting for the moment you finally realize just how much he controls you. “Thought I wouldn’t know?” His voice drops lower, almost a growl. “Thought I wouldn’t do somethin’ about it?”

You try to hold your ground, to summon the will to look away, but the weight of his gaze pins you in place. His eyes bore into yours, unblinking, unrelenting. There’s a coldness there that you never thought you’d see from him.

It’s unmistakable now. The contempt he feels for you—disrespecting him, breaking his trust—it’s palpable in the furrow of his brown and the frown lines on his lips.

Your throat tightens, a mix of shame and anger swirling inside you. You want to argue, but how could you? After everything? He’s right, isn’t he? You did disrespect him. You did go to someone else, let another man touch you.

You didn’t think he’d come back, but deep, deep down you knew he would. You knew he was still there, always watching, you just didn’t want to accept it. And now, as you stand in front of him, feeling the weight of his gaze, you realize the kind of power he has over you. Not just physical, but mental. Emotional. And that power isn’t something you can run from, no matter how much you want to.

His hand reaches up, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, the touch soft, almost affectionate, but you can feel the danger lurking just beneath the surface. 

His breath skates along your ear, scorching in its proximity, his lips barely touching but still branding you like a slow drag of a candle stick on paper. His other hand settles on your throat—not choking, just securing, owning. Like he’s collaring you, like he’s locking you back in place where you should’ve been all along.

His voice is low, every syllable laced with quiet fury. “Gotta show y’little plaything who y’really belong to, huh?”

Your breath stutters, your pulse hammering beneath his fingertips, but you nod, eyes wide, body betraying you in how quickly you submit. His heat rolls off him in waves, seeping through your flimsy shirt, wrapping around you like a smothering embrace. It’s too much and not enough all at once.

“Words,” he murmurs, his grip flexing—just a tease of pressure, just enough to make your stomach drop.

“Yes,” you rasp, the word trembling as it falls from your lips.

And then you’re moving—you don’t know how, don’t know if he shoved, pulled, or if you just folded for him, but suddenly you’re laid back on the bed, looking up at him.

He towers over you, broad shoulders blotting out everything else, his presence suffocating in the way that makes your lungs tighten and your blood rush south. You stare up at him, and he stares right back, gaze heavy and dark, like he’s been waiting for this.

Like he’s already decided what he’s going to do with you.

Simon’s voice, a low, guttural growl, fills the room. “Look at him,” he commands, his fingers snapping the buckle of his belt. The metallic click echoes, a sharp, ominous sound.

You turn your head to the side, gaze locking onto Keith's. His eyes, wide and terrified, dart between you and Simon's hulking frame. His hands twitch against the restraints, his legs kicking feebly, a desperate, futile struggle.

The leather of Simon's belt snakes through the loops and he tosses it aside, metal clanking on the floor. Then, a sharp tug on your ankles yanks your hips towards the edge of the bed. You gasp, your head whipping back towards Simon, shock and fear battling for dominance in your expression.

But his hand clamps down on your chin, his grip like iron, forcing your gaze back to Keith. He leans over, his lips brushing your ear. “Look at him,” he repeats, his grip tightening. “If y’so much as blink, if y’look away, this stops. And we're done.”

The threat hangs in the air. A whimper escapes your lips, a small, broken sound of surrender. “‘kay,” you whisper, your voice trembling, your eyes glued to Keith's terrified face. “... Okay…”

The fabric of your panties rasps as he yanks them down, a swift, decisive motion that leaves your pussy bared to his hungry eyes. A gasp escapes your lips, a mix of surprise and a sudden, unwelcome heat blooming between your legs. Without warning, he’s on his knees and his mouth is on you, hot and wet, his tongue a relentless, insistent invasion. He licks and sucks, his ministrations both brutal and exquisitely precise. 

Instinctively, your eyes flick downwards, seeking his own. His gaze, dark and intense, is already locked on yours, a silent, predatory command. He pauses, his tongue hovering just above your swollen clit, the unspoken threat hanging heavy in the air.

You wrench your gaze back to Keith, your body trembling with a mixture of fear, embarrassment, and arousal. You fight the involuntary arch of your back, the way your face wants to contort in pleasure, the sounds that threaten to spill from your lips—sounds Keith has never heard, expressions he's never earned. The shame burns, a hot, corrosive acid, mixing with the raw, undeniable pleasure that pulses through you, a traitorous betrayal of your own body.

Simon senses your restraint, the tension that coils within you, the silent battle raging in your soul. It only fuels his desire, a cruel, possessive hunger. He slips his fingers inside you, two, then three, crooking them in a teasing rhythm, stretching you wider and wider.His lips tighten, nearly swallowing your clit, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity through your core. A loud, involuntary whine spills from your lips, a desperate, animalistic sound you can't suppress. Your back arches and you can’t help but look at him, your hips lifting off the bed, as he holds your thighs hostage against his shoulders, his mouth and fingers working in tandem, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

Keith’s panting, his chest heaving, still fighting against the restraints. But something’s shifted. His struggles are less frantic, less desperate. His eyes are half-lidded, glazed with a sheen of arousal. A flush creeps up his neck, his breath coming in short, rapid bursts. The sight of him, both terrified and aroused, is a brutal contradiction, a twisted reflection of the conflicting emotions tearing you apart.

Simon’s fingers move inside you, stroking your g-spot while his tongue continues its work on your clit, slurping and sucking so lewdly. “Missed this fuckin’ pussy, God,” he murmurs, his voice heady with lust. “Needy girl, y’taste so good,” he groans as he makes out with your folds. He thrusts his fingers deeper, his tongue swirling and teasing. 

“Look at him” he commands, releasing your clit with a pop, his voice a low growl. “Look at how hard y’makin’ him, girl. He wants you, don’t he? He wants t’be the one doin’ this t’you.”

You feel your peak building, the pressure mounting, a wave of sensation threatening to overwhelm you. 

Your hand instinctively clutches at Simon's cropped hair, your fingers digging into his scalp as the pleasure intensifies. You drag your gaze back to Keith, his body a twisted tableau of arousal and restraint. His hips buck against the chair, a frantic, rhythmic movement, and he gnaws at the rag gagging him, a desperate, muffled sound. His eyes, glazed and dilated, are locked on yours.

You can’t handle it—you tear your gaze away, the weight of his shame, his helplessness, too much to bear. It’s unbearable, looking at him when the only man you’ve ever truly wanted is the one between your legs.

You hate that Keith is watching. Hate the way his eyes track every movement, every shift of your body. But fuck—if it doesn’t send a pulse of heat through you, knowing someone is.

You try to look away, to break the connection, but Simon's eyes hold you captive. They're dark, intense, burning. This time, he doesn't force your gaze away. Instead, his eyes silently beckon you, Come, they say, Come in my mouth, baby.

Your orgasm coils low in your belly, winding tighter and tighter, heat licking up your spine like a flame searching for air. It swirls, thick and consuming, a molten ache that makes you want to cry. You arch your back, your body convulsing as you call out his name, a desperate, raw plea that fills the room. A wave of pure pleasure washes over you, and you unravel, gushing into his mouth.

Simon groans, a low, guttural sound of satisfaction, as he savors the taste of your release. Unbeknownst to you, he'd been rhythmically grinding his hips against the edge of the bed throughout your orgasm, his own arousal building each time you clenched around his fingers. He takes his time, meticulously licking you clean, his tongue lingering on your swollen flesh. 

Eventually, he pulls away from your pussy, but not before slapping your sensitive clit, the sound echoing in the room. The force of the impact sends a jolt of overstimulation through you, a lingering tremor that makes you twitch and gasp. He chuckles at the reaction. Asshole. 

You instinctively clutch at your shirt, pulling it off, the cool air a stark contrast to the heat still radiating from your core. Your senses are reeling, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

He moves to straddle your hips, his large, powerful thighs rooted on either side of your hips, anchoring you beneath him. He leans over you, planting his forearms on either side of your head, effectively caging you. His eyes bore into yours.

The space between you is barely a breath, just the warmth of his exhale mingling with yours. His lips are still slick, shining with the remnants of you, his cheeks streaked with evidence of just how deep he went—messy eater. You watch as his gaze flickers down, lingering on your mouth like he’s thinking about it, like he wants it, but he doesn’t move.

You mirror him, flicking your gaze from his lips back to his eyes, searching for something—an answer, an intention, a reason why he’s hesitating. Your brows pull together, your voice soft, uncertain. “Simon?”

A grunt. That’s all he gives you. A quiet, low vibration in his chest, but his eyes stay locked on yours, unreadable, unreadable, unreadable.

Your fingers creep up, threading into the short, soft hair at the base of his skull, anchoring him in place. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t stop you, just breathes. His eyes keep flicking down, but he still doesn’t close the distance. It’s unlike him. Unbecoming of him. A man who takes what he wants without hesitation—why now, when you're right here, does he stall?

“Won't you kiss me?” The words are barely above a whisper, but they break something in him.

He nods slowly, like it’s unpracticed. Like he’s never done something so intimate before.

He nudges his nose against yours first, like he’s testing the waters, feeling out the moment before he lets himself sink. And then—his lips press to yours.

Soft. Gentle. Everything you didn’t expect from a man who just slapped your overstimulated cunt.

Your eyes flutter shut as the kiss deepens, slow and unsure. His lips are dewy from where he’s been, the taste of you lingering, and for once, you have to guide him—slowly, patiently molding your lips to his, showing how to do something other than take.

And he lets you.

The kisses start slow, tentative, like he’s learning you. But it doesn’t last. Hesitation melts into something more primal, more insatiable, and you can’t help but reciprocate. His lips part against yours, and when your tongue brushes against his, he groans low in his throat—deep, guttural, vibrating against your lips.

It sets something off between you, a chain reaction of need. His hands start to wander, dragging over the curves of your bare skin, rough palms mapping the places he’s missed. His fingers press into your waist, then skate down to your hips, your thighs, then back up again, as if he can’t decide where he wants to touch you most.

You arch into him, your body betraying you, craving the heat, the weight of him. His touch grows firmer, his grip tightening like he needs to feel you under his hands to prove that you’re real, that this isn’t just a fever dream.

Somewhere between gasps and swallowed moans, he pulls back just enough to yank his shirt over his head, revealing broad shoulders and a torso carved from marble. He’s still in just his boxers now, and it’s almost unfair—the contrast between his near-nakedness and your own, how he’s still clothed while you have nothing left to hide.

But then his eyes rake over you, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips, gaze dark and full of intent. He reaches out, slow, reverent, fingers tracing the dip between your collarbones before sliding lower, down the valley of your ribs, spreading warmth everywhere he touches.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmurs, voice rough, eyes locked onto yours like you’re the only thing in the world worth looking at.

You smile bashfully before your eyes flick to the corner, catching movement—or rather, the absence of it. Keith.

You’d once again forgotten he was still here.

He’s unnaturally silent, his breath shallow, his body frozen. But even in the dim glow of the room, you see it—the damp patch spreading across the front of his sleep shorts, dark and unmistakable.

He came in his pants.

Something cold prickles down your spine, a mix of disgust and something else, something twisted. The shame on his face is unbearable, carved into every trembling breath, every flicker of his glassy eyes. His face is utterly wrecked, drained of any fight, any defiance. Like he already knows he’s lost. Like he knew it the second tied him up. 

Simon follows your gaze as he gets off of you and leans back against the headboard, legs spread, arms resting lazily at his sides. His gaze flicks between you and Keith, amusement curling at the edges of his lips. He scoffs, shaking his head as he watches the pathetic, trembling mess still tied up in the corner.

“Jizzed his pants? Christ.” His voice is dripping with disgust, but there’s something else there too—something utterly pleased. Like Keith’s shame only serves to highlight his own triumph.

Your breath is still uneven as you turn back to Simon, watching the way his fingers stroke absentmindedly over his own stomach, dangerously close to the waistband of his boxers. He exhales slowly through his nose, then lifts his hand, trailing fingers up into your hair, brushing over your cheek in one slow, deliberate stroke.

The touch is gentle. And maybe it’s that contrast, the tenderness hidden beneath all that violence, that makes you instinctively lean into his palm, nuzzling against it like you belong there.

Something flickers in his expression—something unreadable, something deep. But it’s gone just as quick as it came, masked behind an air of satisfaction. He stretches, cracks his neck, and then settles back against the pillows, arms behind his head, looking up at you with expectation.

“Go on then,” he murmurs,  patting his upper thigh. “Give the bloke a reason t’cry.”

You glance at Keith again, slumped against the chair in the corner, his face burning with ignominy, his breaths uneven. His teary eyes are flicking between you and Simon, his hands twitching in his restraints like he doesn't know whether to cover himself or reach out for something that will never belong to him.

Simon watches you, tracking every flicker of emotion across your face. He tilts your chin toward him. His grip is firm, but not forceful—just enough to remind you of what he expects.

“C’mon, pet,” he drawls, his thumb tracing slow circles at the hinge of your jaw. “Let ‘em see what he was never gonna have.”

 You don't hesitate, your body moving eagerly. Simon reclines, his fingers already toying with the elastic waistband of his briefs, a silent invitation. You crawl over him, straddling his hips, the rough fabric of his briefs a stark contrast to the slick heat between your legs. You settle your bare, slick cunt onto his clothed cock, a kaleidoscope of butterflies shooting through your core as you feel the girth of him beneath you.

Now, your back is to Keith. You can't see his face, but you can imagine the look that must be twisting his features. Simon’s enjoying the spectacle, reveling in the power he holds as he cucks him.

And, you admit to yourself, a dark, shameful part of you enjoys it too. The knowledge that Keith is forced to watch, to witness it all, fuels a perverse excitement, a thrill that makes you slicker than Simon’s touch alone does. The realization is sickening, but exhilarating.

Simon’s hands grip your hips, guiding your movements, urging you to grind against the clothed length of his erection. The fabric of his boxers, rough against your swollen clit, sends a jolt of pleasure through you, eliciting a soft mewl from your throat. His cock twitches beneath you, a hard, insistent pulse, and he hisses at the rhythm of your grinding, a low, guttural sound of barely contained desire.

You meet his gaze, your eyes wide and seemingly innocent, your hands resting lightly on his chest. “Can I fuck you now? P… please?” you ask, your voice soft, almost pleading.

“Fuck, sweets,” he growls, his voice thick with lust. “Take it—it's yours.” He pushes his boxers down to his knees, and with your eager assistance, reveals the full, throbbing length of him. He cups his cock in his hands, pumping it lazily, his eyes fixed on the way it reaches just below your belly button. A low groan rumbles in his chest. “Fuckin’ hell,” he breathes, his voice ragged.

He reaches for your hips, helping you lift them, guiding you as you position yourself above him. The anticipation is a tangible thing, a thick, heavy tension that fills the room as you slowly lower yourself onto him.

You hesitate, hovering above him, the anticipation a sharp, almost painful thrum in your core. Then you lower yourself onto him. The initial stretch is intense, a sharp, almost burning sensation that elicits a low moan from your throat. You bite your lip, bracing yourself, as you take him inch by agonizing inch, savoring the feeling of his thick length filling you, stretching you wide. A whimper escapes your lips, a sound that's both a cry of discomfort and a raw expression of pleasure.

He feels impossibly large, impossibly full, as if he's somehow grown even bigger since the last time. It's an overwhelming sensation, a raw, visceral fullness that borders on pain, yet is laced with an undeniable, addictive pleasure. It's the ultimate release, the scratching of an itch you didn't know you had.

When you finally take him all, a guttural groan erupts from Simon’s throat. His hands grip your hips, his fingers digging into your ass, kneading and urging you on. His eyes, dark and possessive, are fixed on you, watching every movement, every subtle shift of your body. “Look at that,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “Look how you take me. So fucking tight.” His gaze lingers on the way his cock distends your abdomen, stretching your skin to its limit, a visible testament to his size.

Too lost in the pleasure, you barely register Simon's occasional, smug glances towards Keith, the subtle shifts in his expression as he watches. 

You begin to ride him, slowly at first, savoring the feeling of him filling you, stretching you, the friction building with each rise and fall of your hips. The rhythm quickens, escalating as your body adjusts to his impressive girth, the pace becoming more frantic, more desperate.

The room fills with a cacophony of sounds: the slick slap of skin against skin, the wet, gasping moans that escape your lips, Simon’s rough whispers, a torrent of the dirtiest words imaginable, painting the air with sex. And beneath it all, Keith's muffled whines, the rhythmic bucking of his hips against the restraints, a constant, jarring counterpoint to your pleasure, a stark reminder of how he’s watching. 

The muscles in your thighs begin to tremble, a burning ache that spreads with each thrust. The sensory overload, a chaotic mix of the lingering aftershocks of your previous orgasm, the constant, invasive feel of Keith’s eyes on you, Simon’s roaming hands, and the insistent, stretching pressure of his cock, begins to push you past your limits. His pubes, coarse and rough, scrapes against your swollen clit, sending jolts of raw, almost painful pleasure through you. It's too much, a tidal wave threatening to drown you.

Simon senses it all, the subtle shift in your rhythm, the way your breath hitches and catches the way the sodden walls of your cunt clench around him. His hands grip your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh, and he stills your movements, halting your grinding just as you teeter on the edge. He holds you suspended, your bodies locked together, the tension building to an almost unbearable degree.

Simon pulls you close, your foreheads touching, your breaths mingling in the humid air. Both of you are slick with sweat, your bodies still thrumming with the aftershocks of your shared climax. He murmurs, his voice surprisingly gentle, “Do you trust me?”

You nod, the affirmation barely a twitch of your head, your trust in him a strange, almost instinctive thing.

With a sudden, almost effortless movement, he lifts you off his cock, setting you aside on the bed as if you weigh nothing. He rises to his knees, his eyes dark and intense, and grabs you again, manhandling you onto your stomach. Your chest presses flat against the mattress, your ass raised high in the air, and your’re directly in sight of Keith

You clutch at the bed sheets beneath you, your knuckles white, as you brace yourself. You feel Simon's hand smooth over your ass, the touch both possessive and caring. Then, two sharp, stinging slaps land on either ass cheek, making you jolt. A gasp escapes your lips, but beneath the sting, a traitorous heat blooms between your legs, your cunt leaking.

He leans over you, his cock pressing flush against your ass, hard chest against your back, the heat radiating from him. He rasps in your ear, “He’s gonna watch, sweetheart. He’s gonna watch as I fuck y’till y’brains leak out y’ears, ain’t that right?” He continues. You whimper, a small, broken sound of acceptance, your body trembling.

Keith looks utterly defeated, his face a mask of exhaustion and a strange, twisted arousal. The dark stain on his shorts has grown exponentially. A flicker of guilt pierces through the haze of your cock-drunk stupor. A pang of remorse, a whisper of conscience, tries to surface, but it’s quickly swallowed by the need that simmers within you. The shame is there, but it’s overshadowed by the throbbing between your legs.

You're repulsed by the situation, by the violation of Keith, by the way Simon is using him to make a point—as a pawn in this twisted game. Yet a shameful part of you revels in the power, in the dominance that Simon exudes. 

Simon leans back, his eyes dark and predatory, and grabs his cock, circling your entrance with the slick, glistening tip. He teases you, the anticipation stretching the moment into an unbearable eternity. “What do we say, hmm?” he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous purr. “When we want something?”

Your face is half-smushed against the bed, the rough fabric digging into your cheek, and a muffled plea escapes your lips. “Please,” you whisper, the word barely audible.

He continues to torment you, the tip of his cock dipping in and out of your swollen entrance, each teasing touch sending a jolt of desperate need through your body. A string of pleas spills from your lips, “Please, Si—” you beg, your voice thick with desire. “Please—I need it— I need you—”

Simon’s eyes gleam with cruel amusement as he watches your desperation. “Awh, baby,” he drawls, his voice dripping with mockery. “Don't ask me. I’m not the one y’need to convince.” He hums.

He reaches out, his hand weaving through your scalp wrapping around your hair, and he yanks it back sharply, forcing your head into an unnatural, painful angle. Your neck strains, and your eyes are forced upwards, locking directly with Keith’s.

“Ask him,” Simon commands, his voice a low, menacing growl.

Your eyes meet Keith's, and you whisper, your voice thick with shame and desperation, a string of broken pleas.

Simon's grip tightens on your hair. “Say it proper, pet,” he instructs, his voice hard. “Say, ‘Please let Simon fuck me, Keith.’”

You instantly repeat the words, verbatim, the phrase a humiliating echo of his command. Unshed tears prick at your eyes, threatening to spill if Simon so much as grazes your clit again.

Keith looks between you both, his gaze shifting between your prettily arched body and Simon's monstrous, towering figure behind you. A flicker of something that might be resignation crosses his face. He nods lazily, a slow, almost imperceptible movement.

Simon smirks, a triumphant, possessive expression twisting his lips. He releases your hair, the sudden freedom making your head loll forward. “See what happens when you ask nicely?” he murmurs, his voice laced with a dark satisfaction.

And then, without further delay, he inches in, the head of his cock pressing against your swollen entrance.

He slides into you, the angle intensifying the stretch, filling you even deeper than before. The sheer size of him steals your breath, the slow, deliberate intrusion forcing the air from your lungs. You claw at the sheets beneath you, your knuckles white, tears wetting the fabric.

He grunts as he sheaths himself fully, then pulls back before plunging in again. He watches as your cunt clenches and drools around him, sucking him in with a desperate, hungry grip. “Greedy pussy,” he growls, his voice thick with lust. “She’s so fuckin’ greedy.”

You whine, a broken, helpless sound, your body trapped beneath him, forced to endure his thrusts. There's no escape, no reprieve, only the overwhelming sensation of him filling you, stretching you, dominating you.

Gradually, he picks up the pace, the rhythm becoming faster, more brutal. You howl, your drool soaking the sheets beneath your face. He’s hitting spots you didn't know existed, stretching you to the brim, the feeling bordering on unbearable. You can barely focus, your vision blurred by tears, the world reduced to the relentless pounding of his cock, the wet squelches from your pussy, and the raw, visceral sensations that rip through your body.

Each thrust forces a wheeze of air from your lungs, a sound that more closely resembles a death rattle than a moan. Your whole body is ablaze, and he’s the one who struck the match—watching as you burn, as the flames lick higher, consuming everything in their path.

Simon suddenly hauls you upward, his hand looping around your upper chest, pulling you flush against his sweat-slicked chest. His hips don’t falter as they continue to snap into you, your body arching involuntarily with each powerful stroke. His other hand grips your waist, anchoring you, while he leans into the crook of your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin there.

Your entire body, a raw, exposed spectacle, is laid bare before Keith. Your mouth hangs slack-jawed, your tits bouncing with each rapid, violent thrust that jolts through your frame. Even though he’s seen you naked before, he’s never witnessed you like this: so utterly debased, so completely at someone’s mercy.

He’s never seen anyone like this.

Simon licks a slow, deliberate stripe from your neck to your ear, his tongue tracing a path of fire across your skin, all while continuing to fuck you, his rhythm unwavering. You’re limp in his arms, your head lolling back, your eyes rolling towards the back of your head. The pleasure is so overwhelming, so intense, that you can barely even manage a sound, your vocal cords paralyzed by the raw sensation.

He harshly whispers in your ear, his voice a low, guttural growl, “Y’gonna cum,? Can feel y’clenchin’ ‘round me—fuck, y’so tight, baby—”

You manage a garbled, broken attempt at a “yes,” your voice thick with unspeakable pleasure.

“Good,” he murmurs. “‘M close too and y’gonna take it all— Gonna fill this cunny—fuck,” He pauses, his voice hardening, “And y’better not take a fucking’ Plan B this time.”

The words, a brutal reminder of your vulnerability, snap the last vestiges of your control. A wave of raw, unadulterated pleasure crashes over you, unlike anything you've ever experienced. You gush, your orgasm violent as you squirt, your release spraying across his cock and the sheets.

He continues to fuck you, his thrusts relentless as he chases his own high, his hands squeezing your tits, urging you on. “Atta girl,” he grunts, his voice thick with lust.

You go limp, your body leaning against him, your mind a blank canvas of pure sensation. Then, with a final, shuddering groan, he empties himself inside you, filling you to the brim, his cum a hot, pulsing tide that leaves you feeling utterly spent.

He stills, holding you close, his arms supporting you. He’s truly fucked you senseless, leaving you a shell of your former self.

Slowly, gently, he pulls out of you, the withdrawal leaving a strange, hollow ache. He lays you on your side, his touch surprisingly tender, and presses a soft kiss to your shoulder. You let him, your body and mind too exhausted to offer any resistance.

He rises, his movements fluid and predatory, and stalks towards Keith. From your position on the bed, you can see the hard planes of his naked form, a stark, imposing figure standing before the bound man. He speaks, his voice low and menacing, the words barely audible. Keith looks up at him, his eyes wide with fear.

Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, Simon retrieves a knife he’d apparently left on your desk, the blade glinting in the dim light. He swiftly cuts through the ropes binding Keith, freeing him from his restraints.

Within seconds, Keith scrambles to his feet, his movements frantic and desperate. He doesn't look back, doesn't offer a word of explanation or apology. He simply runs, fleeing the house as if pursued by demons.

You lie there, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks of Simon's brutal possession, your mind struggling to process the scene. You don't know what Simon said to Keith, but the fear in the other man's eyes, the sheer urgency of his escape, speaks volumes. It couldn't have been anything good.

The front door slams shut, the echo reverberating through the quiet house. The sound of hurried, stumbling footsteps fades into the night. Keith is gone.

Simon exhales through his nose, slow and deliberate, before setting the knife down exactly where he had left it earlier. The metal clinks against the wood, sharp and final.

You haven’t moved.

Your body still hums, every nerve alight, the aftershocks of everything that’s just happened still pulsing through you. Your heart slams against your ribs, beating an erratic rhythm you can’t quite slow down.

Then, warmth—solid, steady, unshakable.

Simon sidles in behind you, his presence swallowing yours whole. One thick arm loops around your waist, the other sliding up to your sternum, pulling you back into his chest, into his heat. You don’t resist. You don’t even think to.

He presses his chin to your shoulder, his breath warm as it fans across your skin. His grip is firm, possessive, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“Still with me, love?” he murmurs, voice rough, threaded with something unreadable.

You swallow hard, blinking yourself back into the present. Your fingers twitch at your sides, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer.

You choose the latter. Your hands settle over his arms, feeling the solid muscle beneath your palms, the way he holds you like you belong to him.

You hum in response, soft and instinctive, nuzzling just slightly deeper into the warmth of his chest. It’s comforting in a way you don’t fully understand—how you can feel so at ease wrapped up in the arms of a man who is anything but safe.

Your fingers trace idle patterns along the skin of his forearm, feeling the scars, the ridges, the history carved into him. You tilt your head slightly, voice still a little breathless as you ask, “What did you say to him?”

Simon chuckles. “Told ‘em if he so much as breathed a word about this, I’d track him down, carve his tongue out, and mail it t’his mother. After I made him swallow his teeth, o’ course.”

Your eyes widen. “Jesus Christ.”

“At least I didn’t go with my original plan.”

You hesitate, blinking, your heart skipping. “What plan?”

Simon leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmurs, completely unbothered, “Killin’ him. Tossin’ his sorry corpse into the Thames.”

A beat of silence.

“…Oh.”

Simon laughs—an actual laugh, deep and rumbling, like you just told the funniest joke in the world.

And it’s only now, sitting here, still bare against his heat, his arms caging you in, his scent thick in your lungs, that you remember he’s still a criminal.

Simon holds you close, his chin resting against the top of your head, arms locked around you like he has no intention of letting go. His body is warm, steady—like he belongs here, like you belong here.

Then, quietly, he murmurs, “Y’mine now.”

You let out a small chuckle. “Yeah, I got that part.”

His chest vibrates with a quiet laugh, one of his hands slowly dragging up and down your arm, fingertips tracing your skin like he’s memorizing you. It’s gentle—too much so for a man like him.

You shift just enough to glance at the analog clock on your nightstand. The dim glow of the numbers makes your stomach sink.

“Shit.”

Simon hums in question.

“Sun’s coming up,” you sigh, rubbing your face, “and I have work in three hours.”

He doesn’t even pause. “Nah, y’don’t.”

You let out a tired laugh. “That so?”

“Mhm.” He pulls back slightly, just enough to look down at you, his eyes dark and sure. “Told you. Y’mine. That means y’don’t have t’work.”

You blink up at him, frowning. “Simon, I have a life here. A job, a flat. I can’t just give it up.”

He shrugs, lips twitching. “I’ll get your lease terminated.”

 You turn to face him in his embrace. “Without penalties?”

His smirk is slow, lazy. “Don’t worry about it.”

You stare at him, not even bothering to ask what that means. You already know. You also know you’re too damn tired to fight about it.

With a long exhale, your fingers trace the pink scar just below his collarbone. “Where would we even go?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. 

“How do y’feel about Manchester?”

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THIS IS THE FINAL INSTALLMENT OF THE RETURN TO SENDER UNIVERSE. I WILL NOT BE WRITING ANOTHER PART.