#woven memories | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eupheme · 1 month

Text

— honey, honey

[part ii of sugar, sugar] | [part iii] | [masterlist]

wolverine/logan howlett x neighbor!f!reader

rated e - 5.2k

tags: asshole friend!wade, (sorta soft) roommate!logan, baker!neighbor!reader, flirting, mutual yearning, miscommunication, immature humor, wingman!wade, light angst, oral sex, spitting, fingering, unprotected PiV, begging, floor sex

Even after you wake up alone, and almost late for work, it doesn’t deter your interest in your neighbor - especially after the night you shared.

(Or - a miscommunication, and the following through of two late-night promises.)

You awake to the blare of Dolly Parton's '9 to 5'.

A time you wish your work schedule followed. Groggy with sleep as you reach for your phone, hitting snooze on your way-the-fuck-too-early alarm.

Collapsing back on your pillows, as the night before comes rushing back to you.

The party. Meeting Logan. Coming back to your apartment after.

An ache between your thighs that you definitely didn't have the morning before. Sitting up with a start, heart racing as your hand stretches out on the right side of the bed.

The sheets are cool, in-between the deep rips in the fabric.

You don't remember him leaving.

Had drifted off with an arm slung around your waist, one of the hardest sleeps of your life. Something inside you twists, leaving behind the sharp tang of disappointment.

It's not unusual, you suppose. You'd had your fair share of fuck-and-go's, and had even committed a few yourselves. But you thought last night had felt different.

There had been a connection, you were sure of it. The way he had touched you, kissed you-

You had just hoped...

The snoozed alarm goes off, and you catch the time. Forty-five minutes before than your usual alarm - the numbers shocking you into action.

Set earlier to accommodate a last minute change for a wedding - all of the cupcakes needing to be repackaged before the mother of the bride came at seven.

And you had volunteered, do-gooder that you were.

"Shit!” You hiss, scrambling out of bed. A whirlwind as you throw clothes on, banging into the bathroom to get ready.

Still muttering as you blow through the kitchen, snatching up your bag and keys.

"Why the fuck did I do that?" You grouse to yourself, skipping your usual morning coffee - you'll have to grab it on the way, "God, I'm fucking dumb, I always regret it."

The door slams behind you - as you rush down the steps, and out into the streets.

His claws unsheath with the bang of the door. Awakened from a dead sleep, his heartbeat jolting as he's thrown back into another life, in another world.

It takes him a full minute to come back down. His surroundings unfamiliar, the room still bathed in darkness.

A groan, when he remembers. The claws slipping back beneath, a sharp twinge as his skin knits back together.

It's too early for the late night he shared with you. Should have thought about you working in the morning, might have held back from the extra round the night before.

Had meant to wake up before you, slip back into bed as you dozed. You had dropped off in his arms the night before, lulled to sleep after he had coaxed two more orgasms from you, with the slow pump of his hips and circle of his fingers.

Dragging himself out to the couch once your breathing had gone steady. Tugging the homemade afghan off a nearby armchair, wrapping it around him as his eyes fixed on the door. Keeping watch, as he did next door.

Lulled to sleep, thinking about you. His eyes flutter shut for a moment now, the slightest pull of his lips at the memory.

Flinching again, when you barrel out of the bathroom. The light makes him squint - you haven’t seen him yet, as he pushes himself up on an elbow. Your name soft hush on his lips, until he hears your angry muttering.

"Why the fuck did I do that?"

"God I'm fucking dumb, I always regret it."

Your tone laced with anger, woven in with the sharp tang of remorse.

The realization is a douse of ice-cold water, rising away the last dregs of sleep. Leaving him staring at the door as you yank it shut behind you.

Scowling, as he pushes himself up.

Nearly ripping the denim as he tugs his jeans back on. Finding his white tank and discarded flannel in your room, right where he had stripped them off the night before.

His jaw works, replaying your words.

He should have known. Shouldn’t have listened to Wade. Shouldn’t have listened to you. Shouldn’t have let himself hope.

And for the second time, your door slams shut.

You think about Logan all morning, even as you put out fires at work.

The boxes exchanged - two-hundred and fifty rustic, individual cardboard carriers exchanged for sleek and shiny white ones, tied with a bow. The memory that runs through your mind even staves off your irritation at the last-minute work, a peppy smile and wave as you hand the boxes off.

The 'tied-up-in-knots' is a feeling that echoes in your belly. Your fondness for Wade is starting to come back, after the way you were ready to write him off for that absolute debacle of an introduction.

You'd been expecting something a little more... natural. Normal. A "hey, have you met my neighbor?" not one of the most embarrassing things you've had to live through with a near-stranger.

Maybe you should have known better.

But with the way the night ended, you can't bring yourself to be mad. Letting yourself get distracted as you replay the night, again - almost grabbing the wrong tube of icing as your mind wanders back.

Not only thinking about the way he felt - those wandering hands and how perfectly he fit inside you, how he had completely fucked your brains out - but him as well.

The conversations. The tiny crack you had made in his armor, the way he had shown you his claws. The drift of his fingers against your skin, when he had asked why you had gone to Wade.

You’re thankful you’re working in the back today, with the way your skin heats from chest to ears. Quiet mutterings to get it to together.

And as the afternoon finally starts to lull, you find yourself gathering ingredients.

It wouldn't take long to make something small. The recipe is one you know by heart.

Maybe you can drop it off tonight. Maybe it will erase whatever you did to drive him from your bed and back to his apartment in the middle of the night. Maybe it will be a nice way to let him know you’re thinking of him.

Vanilla, flour, powdered sugar. Fresh, sliced strawberries.

Maybe you have it bad.

The box is tucked under your arm when you knock on Wade’s door. It’s still early in the afternoon - the hallways bright, traffic buzzing outside.

You fidget with the strap of your dress - something breezy, but still a little cute. An attempt to look like you have it together with looking like you tried too hard - something easier said than done.

There’s a fluttering twitch behind your ribs when the door opens. That curl of hope squashed when it’s not Logan that answers, but Wade.

You’re quick to fix your expression, offering him a smile, “Morning! Late night?”

“Is it a late night if it’s still going?” A yawn, as he scratches at his ribs - fingers digging into the fabric of his cropped tee, “We’re four seasons deep into a Supermarket Sweep marathon. If I could go back in time again…”

The tv blares in the background, Al sitting in an armchair. The couch from the night before still sits empty, no sign of Logan.

Not that you’re checking.

“You’d… want to host?” You offer, eyebrows raising.

“God no. Can you imagine me in those sweaters? Way too much polyester.” He chuckles, “No, Blind Al and I would sweep. Pun intended.”

Your head tilts, nose scrunching.

“I see you make that face, but that woman knows every goddamn aisle.” Wade sighs fondly, before he’s jolting - eyes fixing on you, “But enough about the biggest regret in my life, how was your night?”

“Oh,” You manage, “It’s was good-”

“Just good?” He scoffs, “He gave you the greatest show and you’re saying it’s just good?”

A huff, muttered under his breath, ”Can’t remember the last time I took the skin boat to tuna town like that. Surprised you’re still walking.”

The noise you make is ugly - a broken groan. Embarrassment flooding with your nerves, cheeks heating, “If you must know, it was great. Lots of wholesome, adult conversation.”

“Uh huh. And a good, old-fashioned railing.” His tongue tucks against his teeth, “I get it! I’ve had him inside me too, it was quite the experience.”

That has you pausing. A beat, as curiosity wells in you, “You mean…?”

“Well, it was his claws,” Wade sighs wistfully, “But how different can it be?”

You huff.

“I don’t think that’s the same thing.”

His brow lifts, “It is, according to the internet.”

“Sure, Wade. The Internet.” Your eyes roll, as you shift - adjusting the box as it rests against your hip, “Speaking of though, is he, uh, home?”

Wade doesn’t hear you. His eyes have already dropped, just noticing what you’re carrying. A tilt of his head as he peers through the transparent film on top.

“What is that?” His finger pokes the box, and your eyes dip down

“It’s nothing,” You start - but you know he won’t let it drop, “Well, actually, it’s - I uh, made him a-”

The words peter out lamely, as you hold up the box. Wade’s teeth sink into the side of his lip, as he bites back a cackle.

“Did you seriously bake him a ‘thanks-for-the-sex’ cake?”

You blink, “No!”

A pause, as mortification wells in you.

“Oh my god,” It’s a whisper, as your hand drags across your face, “Oh my god, Wade. I baked him a sex cake.”

You shove at him as he laughs - his hands sneaking beneath your arm to wrestle the box away from you, “Mm, you’ve got it bad, girlfriend. This is pretty embarrassing, real hard to come back from.”

“There was context!” You insist, reaching for it, “Give that to me.”

Wade twists - pivoting away from you, “Oh ho, not a chance, Sugarplum.”

Your forearm presses into his chest as you lunge at him, but it’s all too easy for him to set the box on the cluttered end-table, barring you as he closes the door - trapping you both out in the hallway.

“He earned it, from what I heard,” He chuckles, “And are you really gonna take it away from him?”

You’re still mentally, and possibly physically, cringing. Leaning against the wall, while he blocks the door.

Wade is still grinning, a sigh as his arms cross,“God, I wish he was here.”

And for the first time all day, you’re glad he’s not. It had seemed like a sweet idea but you’re left feeling like an idiot now - already planning on trying to sneak back in and grab it when Wade isn’t looking.

“He’s not?” You’re fishing. Hook and bobber, a flick as you cast out your heart, fingers on the reel. Pathetic, perhaps, but you can’t resist, “You think he’ll be back tonight?”

“Ooh, the real reason you stopped by. I see how it is.” He sniffs, “But no, I’ve got no idea. Left this morning with Laura, something about a job.”

A beat, before he adds, “Which about time, bee tee dubs. Great face card, but Old Wadey here is about to go into overdraft.”

“Laura?” You parrot, without thinking. A frown creasing your brow, the slightest downturn of your lips.

He catches the expression immediately.

Wade smirks, “Ooh, you are looking so green, Sugar. Never took you for the jealous type.”

An inhale of air between his teeth, head tilting as his hands brace on his hips, “God I could make this so complicated right now. Drag this whole thing out to another chapter, but I won’t, because I just so happen to like you.”

A beat, before he puts you out of your misery, “Laura’s his daughter. Well, this world’s Logan’s daughter. Well, he’s the baby daddy, but there’s no mom. Well, it’s complicated.”

“Oh.” You manage. Another detail to keep up with, something you tuck away with the rest. To ask Logan about later, when you see him - a feeling that he might be a little more coherent in his explanation.

“I’m sure you’ll meet her.” Wade smiles, “Good kid, I mean, as good as you can be with that as a father figure. So much trauma.”

You hum. He had hinted at that. You couldn’t believe that his world didn’t want him. Not sure what could have happened to have him all but warn you the night before.

As if it would make you not want him.

There’s a beat, before his hands are resting on his hips, “Okay. I need to go back to the apparently-contextual-sex-cake.”

You groan, slumping against the wall - the heels of your palms digging into your closed eyes.

“I thought it was embarrassing but I gotta admit that I’m jealous. It’s really bothering me that no one’s ever baked me a cake, because I’m a very tender and generous lover.”

“That wasn’t why. He seemed interested in trying a non-phallic version of the cake I made for you,” You try to keep it professional, but he’s already smirking, “Which thank you for bringing up by the way, really broke the ice.”

“Without me you’d still be at ‘favorite colors’,” Wade’s smile widens, before he sighs longingly, “And god, that cake was good. Best dick I’ve ever had in my mouth.”

You snort, “So far, right?”

His eyes widen.

“You little slut, are you shopping for a third already?” Wade twists the doorknob - opening it a crack with his yell, “Al, it’s happening!”

“No,” You laugh, “I just meant-, I meant I might get better.”

“Can’t beat perfection. And I would know, with a face like this.”

There’s a high-pitched yap then, the sound of nails scratching at the wooden door.

“Ooh, duty calls. Pun intended. Again.” He thumbs over his shoulder, “I’ll tell him you stopped, by if-”

You give him a look, but a grin still tugs at your lips, “If I do that other thing you’re always asking me to do.”

His hand presses against his chest, in mock-offense.

“I can’t believe you’d say that! I was going to say if you don’t see him first.”

It makes you smile. Fondly, even.

“Thanks, Wade.”

His hand pats your shoulder.

“Any time, Sugar. My holes are always open.”

You sigh.

You don’t see him until late in the evening.

The afternoon ticking by. Telling yourself you don’t care - to play it cool - only to turn around and try to convince yourself that open communication is the way to go.

Vegging out in front of the television for a while - trying to figure out what to order for dinner. Narrowing it down to two takeout locations when there’s a series of bangs in the hallway.

Layered voices.

You can’t help but look. Half-nosy and half-worried for Wade, even if he did have mutant powers. Even if you can’t offer much for backup, it doesn’t stop you from cracking open the door.

“-open the goddamn door right now, I’ll break it down.”

The growling voice is one you’ve come to know, even if it’s angrier than you’ve ever heard.

The side of Logan’s fist colliding with the door frame, his shoulder pressed up against the wooden door.

“Not a chance, Jack Torrance.” Wade’s voice is muffled, “Always wanted to be an uncle and you are not ruining this for me-”

The doorknob rattles under his grip, as he snarls, “You roped me into this, shithead. All that talk about getting to know-“

“New York’s Cupid is never wrong! Don’t you dare ruin my streak!”

It’s then that Logan sees you - the snarl on his face flickering. Expression going flat.

A final filthy glare shot at the door before he steps away. The calculated look he throws your way makes you think he’s considering making for the end-of-the-hall staircase instead.

What is happening?

A beat, before his jaw grits. Hand shoving into the pocket of his jeans. Closing the gap between you only to thrust out a rolled-up bundle of bills, secured with a rubber band.

“For the mattress.”

There’s a frustrated rumble in his throat when you don’t take it - too busy frowning, your eyes flicking from the bills to his face.

“I don’t want that?” It comes out like a question, as you try to put the pieces together.

“Just take it.” He grits. Eyes dropping, “You can replace your mattress and we can forget last night happened, if you regret it so much.”

You blink.

“I don’t regret last night, Logan.” Your hands brace on your hips, “You were the one that left. Which is fine, if that’s how you like things to go, but don’t you dare point your finger-”

Logan scoffs, interrupting you.

“I didn’t leave.” His tongue licks against his teeth, as his head shakes, “I slept on the couch. Perfect place to hear your rant this morning.”

Your hands brace on your hips, “My rant?”

“Yeah, Sugar.” He’s stepping into your space - and it shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but something about how you’re bumping up against the door has your heart racing, “Heard everything you said. How ‘fucking dumb you are’, how you regret it.”

A beat, as you process - a thunk, as you head tips back against the door. Everything becoming clear, and you almost laugh.

He hadn’t left.

“I wasn’t talking about you.”

His frown deepens.

Your face softens, “How could I think that? I spent all day thinking about you. I was mad at myself for taking an early shift, instead of getting that extra time with you.”

There’s still a jut to his jaw. Defenses and hackles raised - your words as useless as his fist against the door.

Your hands spread wide, “I even baked you a cake, which is apparently something I do when I like someone.”

He goes still at that, eyes dark. A lithe roll of his shoulders as he steps closer - voice dropping, “Say that again.”

“I baked you a cake?” You repeat, distracted by his proximity.

“Mm,” Logan hums, “Not the beginning. The last part.”

Your cheeks heat, as you realize what you said, “When… when I like someone.”

There’s the touch of his fingers against your chin. Tipping your face towards his, even as your eyes drift to somewhere over his shoulder. Too embarrassed to meet his gaze just yet.

“Is that right?” Logan husks.

The word slips from you, “Maybe.”

“I like maybe.”

That emboldens you to look. He’s close now, a mimicry of the night before - just on the other side.

The hand still hovers, in that narrow gap between you. Fingers flexing around the bundle of bills, “I still want you to take this.”

“Well, I don’t want it.” Your head shakes, “Maybe just for some new sheets, but I thought-“

There’s a different intent in the way he crowds you, now. A softer slope of his shoulders, the sweep of his thumb against your skin.

“Thought what?”

The low husk makes you squirm. His eyes half-lidded when you glance at him. The heat of his anger morphing into a much different kind of fire.

“Thought that if it was already ruined…” You trail off, as you smile.

As you hope.

“….maybe you’d want to ruin it a little more with me, sometime?”

There’s the slightest pull of his lips, as he smirks.

You make it inside, but no further than the couch. It’s familiar, the way his hand cradles the base of your neck. The muted sigh, when your lips part at the sweep of his tongue.

Laid down against the cushions, legs spread to fit him between them. Hips that dip down, the meat of his thigh nudging against your core, sending your heart racing.

How he chases after you, when you forget to breathe. Leaning in you as your fingers twist in his hair, tugging him closer.

Need pounds in your vein, matching the pulse in your throat when his lips press against it. Wandering hands, one that palms the curve of your breast. A throaty hum when he can feel the tight peak through the fabric, pinching it between thumb and forefinger.

The other skating up your bare thigh, raising goosebumps. Slipping beneath the hem of your dress, his leg shifting to make room. Fingertips stroking against your inner thigh - the soft crease as you whine into his mouth, feeling how his lips curve as he kisses you.

You’re wet already. You know you are - since that spark of realization, then the moment when his mouth pressed against yours. Fueled by the heavy weight of him as he guided you beneath him, smelling like smoke and wood and the sharp bite of leather.

Wound up by this teasing, and it’s enough that your hand is catching his wrist, pulling his palm flush with your core.

The moan it pulls from you is ragged. Logan’s hand is warm where he cups you, curling fingers against the curve of your ass, heel pressing against your seam.

Another rock of his hand, until there’s a soft “please” slipping from your lips. Fingers slip beneath then - a ragged curse muttered against your lips as they part you.

Slipping against where you’re wet and warm. The tips of two pressing against your opening, feeling how you give for him.

“Should let me make it up to you.” Logan’s voice is ragged, as he sinks to the knuckle. A slow pump as you clench down around them, a lift of your hips as you try to take more.

It’s on the tip of your tongue to protest.

Remind him it was just a misunderstanding, but then your eyes are fluttering open, seeing how his dark gaze is fixed on you.

Your answer is quiet, “Okay. S’long as you don’t stop.”

There’s the flash of sharp teeth. You mourn the weight of him as he eases off of you, fingers slipping free. But it’s only to catch your thighs - smearing slick across your skin as he moves to the floor. Tugging you until legs spread wide for him, hips at the edge of the couch.

There’s a hitch of your breath, as you hold it. His lips pressing against your knee, as his hand bundle up the fabric. A slow reveal as he fists it around his fingers, bringing it up to rest against your abdomen.

His kisses follow the path his fingers took. Open-mouthed against your thigh, until his tongue dips out to taste the soft skin where your leg meets hip.

“Logan,” You huff - needy, “Don’t tease.”

His eyes lift from where they lingered - the darkened patch of fabric between your thighs.

“Been teasing me since I left. Couldn’t stop thinking about this.” It comes out rough, his eyes flicking back down.

“But I thought-,” You start. It’s hard to think when he’s this close, the press of his thumb into the joint of your knee - keeping your legs spread, “Thought you were mad.”

Logan huffs. Lips ghosting against your skin, as he inhales, “At the thought of never having you again.”

It’s like being struck by an arrow, piercing clean through. The little gasp turning long, as his hand slips up your thigh. Catching at the waistband of your panties - tugging them down so he can get his mouth on you.

The tip of his tongue meets you before his lips do. A low groan as it flattens against your slit, tasting your arousal. His nose pressing against your mound as he teases at your clit. Slipping down to dip inside you, as your nails scrape against the cushions.

Slicking you up with his tongue. The buzzing groan of his lips against your skin as he eats you - open-mouthed kisses against your core. Tight licks against your clit, before his lips close around and suck.

It leaves you a mess. Short panting breath, as he gives you what you need. His name melding in with your gasps, as that string inside you winds tighter and tighter.

The pressure eases and you whimper as he leans back, jaw working. Lips shiny where he’s smeared with you - watching how you clench for him as he lets spit pool on his tongue, before it’s dropping against your folds.

It’s filthy, the way he rubs it into your skin. Coating his fingers before the two are notching again, before sinking deep into you.

A moan is pulled from you, with the stretch. Stealing your breath, even with how eager you are. Giving you more. That dull ache easing as his mouth returns to you. Hungry in the way he groans against your skin, as if he was getting off to your pleasure.

The time before doesn’t compare to now. The full focus of his fingers, buried deep and crooking. Pointed flicks of his tongue - the way his eyes are so fixed on your face.

Catching the pull of your brow and the way your teeth sink into your lip. Keeping the pounding pace steady when he sees how you gasp, your fingers fisting in his flannel. Relentless in the way they stroke against the spot that makes you see stars.

It sends you higher and higher. A groan against your skin when you buck into his mouth. Another one, louder, when your hand slips to his hair and tugs.

“Feels so fucking good, Logan,” You’re babbling now - desire slurring the syllables, “I’m so, I’m so close-”

Those dark eyes settle over you - his mouth busy but it’s not hard to imagine the way he’d encourage you. The husk of his voice, that tough timber as a low command melds with praise. The thought is enough to send you over - with the soft suck of his mouth, the way his fingers fill you.

Your knees dig into his shoulders as you curl inward - that hand at your belly pressing you flat against the cushions as you come. Making you take what he gives you - the flick of his tongue going lazy as the tight pulse around his fingers ebbs.

The tension leeches from you, turning to glitter in your veins. That tight knot of worry slowly unfurling - giving you something to grasp, hold onto, as you come back down. A sigh when his fingers slip from you. The hungry press of teeth against your inner thigh, a reminder that he’s there. Soothing it with the swipe of his tongue after.

Easing back as you push yourself up - his shoulder pressing into the edge of the couch as he sits on the floor. Your limbs are liquid as you slip down to join him - Logan’s broad hands gripping at your waist, your thighs splitting as you throw a leg across his lap.

“You’re too good at that.” You hum, as you settle in his lap bare, spit-slick against his jeans. Against where he strains, a breath hissed out as you tug at his belt. Reaching to help you - loosening the button, tugging at the zipper.

A lift of his hips to push his jeans down, his cock full and hard where it rests against your belly. His hands reaching for the hem of your dress, tugging it from you. Fingers slipping around to loosen your bra as your mouth meets his.

He tastes like you, as he licks into your mouth - a sweet tang that blends with him. His shaft pressing against your pussy as he lifts his hips, grinding himself into you. You push yourself up onto your knees - his lips parting with a groan as your fingers circle him, holding him steady.

It breaks off - a sharp hiss, when you sink down.

There’s no slow slide this time. Too eager, in the way you drop down. Taking half of him at once, with a breath that chokes you. His fingers pinching hard enough to bruise, as his brow knits.

“Easy, sweetheart.” He grits, “Not going anywhere, alright?”

It soothes you, as your nails bite into his shoulders. Pink marks that ebb away by the time you start moving - a slow bounce until you’re sitting flush on his lap, cock speared inside you.

It’s also different than last time. He’d been deep, then. Your faced pressed into the mattress as you had panted - but now -

Now, his mouth is at your shoulder. Lips pressed against the fading mark he had left. That tight grip of his hands loosening, as he guides you - letting your hips rock. A shallow drag of his cock inside you, feeling like he’s in your ribs.

Another press of his mouth against your sternum. Hands slipping down to wrap around your thighs, encouraging you to lift a little more. Enough that he can get his mouth on you - his tongue laving across a nipple. Groaning as you press your chest against him, leaning into the suck of his lips, the nip of teeth.

His thrusts like this are shallow, punctuated by the occasional deep thrust that has you panting. Has your fingers loosening to slip between your thighs, pressing against your clit.

You can feel the scrape of his facial hair. The ease of his hands as he lets you drop, until he’s buried in you again. Catching at your wrist, tugging your hand back to his shoulder.

“Uh-uh.” Logan tongue clicks, eyes dark, “Just keep riding, honey.”

His fingers replace yours. Slick circles, a pressure that makes you clench down hard around him.

A soft coo, as your breathing shortens - turning to whimpers.

“Lemme make you feel good.”

And this is new, too - how close he is. Those hazel eyes focused so singularly on you, it’s almost too much.

“You do make me feel good,” You breathe, letting your lips press against his cheek, ‘You’re, oh-”

His hips stutter, where he flexes into you. Your own pace sloppy - grinding instead of bouncing, chasing the building pleasure in your core. The soft sounds you make growing louder. His legs flexing beneath you, feet going flat against the floor so he can drive himself up.

There’s that tell-tale clench. The way your vision starts to go blurry, words slipping into sounds.

“Logan.” You, “I’m-,”

He can feel it - the way you tighten as he pounds into you. The glaze of your eyes, the throaty moan as you start to string stiff in his arm.

“That’s it,” Logan rasps, face tipped up to yours, “You gonna come for me?”

Your moan pitches high.

He grins.

“Then let me hear how pretty you sound. Come on, sweetheart.”

With the circle of his fingers, you’re shattering.

A soft cry as you come again, gushing against the cock that only pounds harder. Drawing out the flutter of your cunt as he grips your thighs, rocking into you. A ragged moan as he feels how you flutter around him, head tipped back. An arm wrapping around you back as he tips forward, bringing you down to the floor.

You head cushioned on the pile of discard clothes. His knees brace against the rug as the angle changes, sending him deeper. Lifting your hips, eyes fixed on where he drives into you. The gleam of his cock where he’s soaked with your release, how he slips between your puffy folds.

His teeth grit. Fingers flexing against your skin. A rough moan when your hips move to meet his thrusts.

“You want me to come in you again?” There’s an edge to his voice. Eyes fixed on your face, searching.

You nod, but it’s not enough.

His hips snap harder, breath ragged, “Ask me for it, Sugar.”

It makes your stomach clench. Something deep burning, liquid heat in your core. Your legs hitch around his waist, hooking around his back.

“Want you to come in me,” You beg, “Logan, please-”

His eyes flutter shut. The muscles in his neck flex, as he arcs over you - a hand braced on the floor, pricks of silver glinting between his knuckles.

A rough growl that turns into something soft as his hips snap forward - hilting himself as he comes. Hips pumping with each pulse of his cock, as he spills deep inside you. As you milk him dry, until the heavy throb of his cock fades.

He’s beautiful. It leaves you dizzy.

You really might just have to bake him another.

The golden sunset seeps through the windows, spilling across the floor.

“You wanna stay?”

It comes out drowsy. Your limbs are liquid, even more so than last time, “I know a great takeout place.”

You’ll need a little fuel, if tonight goes as it did before.

He hums - the brush of bare fingers down your spine. It’s cramped on the couch, entwined limbs. Sweat-dewed in the summer evening.

“You still wanna get to know me?”

Your nose brushes his throat. Cheek pressed up against the curl of his shoulder - where he can just feel you nod, “I would. If you’ll let me.”

“Yeah,” Logan rasps, quietly.

“Yeah. That sounds nice.”

I can't even express how just - grateful and thrilled and happy I am that so many of you liked sugar, sugar! thank you for the encouragement for this part 2, and I hope you liked it! 💖 I have one more part planned (though open for more!) that I've been working on, along with more for the wade x f!reader x logan fic as well!

#logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #logan howlett x you #wolverine smut #logan howlett #james logan howlett x reader #xmen x reader #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett x f!reader

7K notes · View notes

saveranafamily · 1 month

Text

This is a story of Rana's Akeela family just read the story and don't skip it.

In the heart of Gaza, amidst the chaos of conflict on Tilal al-Hawa Street, our family's journey of displacement began. Our humble home, where generations of memories were woven into its walls—laughter, tears, and dreams—is now a place overshadowed by fear and uncertainty.

As aggression escalated, the once familiar sound of bombs became relentless, shaking the ground beneath our feet and shattering the peace we cherished. Day by day, we clung together, finding strength in our unity amid the turmoil.

With each passing moment, the danger grew, and we faced an impossible decision: to stay and risk our lives, or to flee in search of safety. With heavy hearts, we chose to leave behind everything we held dear, carrying only the essentials as we embarked on a perilous journey through streets strewn with rubble and constant danger.

Now, stripped of our home and the security it provided, we find ourselves in the darkest days of our lives, lacking shelter, stability, and the basic necessities to survive. The reality of our situation is harsh, and we appeal to your kindness and generosity to help us escape the conflict zone, where hope for a decent living feels beyond reach.

Your support would mean the world to us, providing a chance to rebuild our lives away from the conflict's grip and to find a safe haven where we can begin anew. Every contribution, no matter the size, brings us closer to a future where we can once again know peace and stability.

Hence, I humbly appeal to you to help us leave the Gaza Strip. So that we can have a decent living.

@sar-soor @xinakwans @communistchilchuck @nabulsi @90-ghost @soon-palestine @ibtisams @marnota @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @i-am-aprl @northgazaupdates2

#gaza #free palestine #gofundme #palestinian genocide #free gaza #i stand with palestine #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #save palestine #palestine under attack #palestine news #please #war on gaza #please share #follow 👑 share ❤️ enjoy 🍑#gaza solidarity encampment #all eyes on palestine #gaza gofundme #pinned post #free 🍉

8K notes · View notes

slytherinslut0 · 11 months

Text

Mattheo Riddle. | We Are Done

Info: Mattheo calls things off during a nasty fight where you were only expressing your concern for his safety, putting an end to your months-long complicated fling. When he inevitably gets hurt and finds himself in the hospital wing as a result of his recklessness, you pay him a little visit, eager to get your revenge.

Word count: 5k

Tags: 18+, SMUT, Toxic Behaviours, Sadism, Masochism, Intense Bloodplay, Restraint, Dom!Reader, Sub!Mattheo, Begging, PIV, Sexual Punishment, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Humiliation.

A/N: went all the way to the depths of hell for this one☠️

The journey from the bustling opulence of the Great Hall to the clinical confines of the hospital wing unfolded like a protracted soul-search, nearly forty minutes of introspection that could have singlehandedly redefined the word regret.

A seething turmoil churned within, its intensity drawn solely from the arid kindling of memories involving your ex fling, Mattheo Riddle. Despite the passing week of newfound solitude, the inner maelstrom showed no fucking signs of abating.

The recollection of your fleeting intimate moments swarmed you, a ceaseless loop that played out in the theater of your mind--like an unresolved holodrama with seemingly no fucking end.

His imprint stained every fragment of your life; in the solitude of the shower, mental echoes followed the course of water, little rivers reminding you of the ones tracing intricate paths down his sculpted physique. Within the shared space of the common room, the mental tableau featured his fingers engaging in an intimate ballet, leaving the taste of his lips lingering in your mouth as they ever-so-dominantly stifled your lusty sounds.

And somehow, that wasn't even the worst of it. Oh, not even close. It was during the nocturnal realm that the memories unfolded their cruelest chapters.

In the shroud of night, it transcended beyond the mere visual replay of his figure dominating yours, or the sensory exploration of his hands traversing the curves of your body. It wasn't just the recollection of his teeth sinking into your neck that lingered. No, the intricacies of your mind wove a far, far more nuanced tapestry.

Nighttime summoned forth the vivid recollection of the encompassing warmth emanating from his broad chest, the haven discovered within the embrace of his strong arms, and the fragrant allure of his messy hair, intertwining with the visceral memories of each intimate encounter. His burning gaze that had seared into your consciousness was more than a mere look; it was an indelible mark, haunting the very core of your thoughts with the echoes of shared passion.

These were the nocturnal specters that besieged you behind closed lids, engaging in an unwelcome dance as you wrestled with the elusive embrace of sleep. These very memories, like a relentless blacksmith, stoked the inferno within, leaving behind the most acrid, bitter residue on your tongue--a taste of anguish and betrayal.

The haunting question echoed through the corridors of your thoughts: why had he subjected you to this intimate claiming, an emotional prison woven with shared intensity, only to abruptly extinguish it with the cold finality of three, sad little words.

"We are done."

And thus, even after the amount of passing time, all it took was a single sideways glance exchanged between Pansy and Draco during their spirited debate over impending assignments to inspire the catalyst for your abrupt departure. With a forceful clatter, you slammed down your fork and pushed up from the table, commencing a determined march into the unknown.

Their speculative gazes undoubtedly trailed your abrupt exit, but you paid no heed. The entire school was privy to the fact that you and Mattheo were done, seemingly officially this time--terminated by a colossal spat prior to one of his ludicrous nighttime escapades in the forbidden forest. Mattheo's hospitalization, a testament to the recklessness that marked him and his band of fools, left him nursing scratches, cuts, bruises, and a sizable gash on his lower abdomen.

Pansy's calls faded into the periphery as you strode away, your indifference resonating louder than any response could convey. The world around you blurred into inconsequential background noise, drowned out by the burgeoning tangle of spite that commandeered your thoughts. Initially relegated to the forefront, this resentment had now metastasized, occupying every crevice of your headspace.

The recollection of his outburst haunted you, a violent reaction triggered by your attempt to dissuade him from venturing into the forbidden forest. Advising caution, you found yourself confronted with accusations of control and a stifling of his fucking freedom. Hurtful words cascaded from his lips during that argument, culminating before he recklessly endangered himself in the perilous forest. All the moments of vulnerability you shared with him, surrendering yourself without reservation, only to be met with his callousness when you were simply trying to safeguard him.

And as the embers of revenge blazed within, so did the deafening roar for closure. The need to settle the score and the yearning for resolution thrived in the wake of an emotional maelstrom.

‘We are done’ felt insufficient—it couldn't conclude there. You wouldn't fucking allow it.

Approaching the hospital wing doors, a surprising fortitude replaced any expectation of your confidence wilting under the imposing pressure. Strangely, a heightened anger welled within you, as though Mattheo Riddle were the sun, each step forward intensifying the scorching heat enveloping you. With a decisive gesture, you flung the door open, your breath held in suspense as your eyes canvassed the beds. Yet, he remained conspicuously absent, amplifying the frenetic flutter in your heart into an unrestrained whirlwind.

"Miss? May I help you with something?"

You pivoted sharply, eyes ablaze, as if embers sparked from your gaze. "Mr. Riddle. Mattheo. Where is he?"

The nurse swallowed, brows furrowed in confusion, but she cautiously gestured toward the hall, taking a step forward. "We moved him into a private room yesterday. His father requested it. Third door to the left."

Your eyes rolled involuntarily as you turned away, a silent commentary on the absurdity before you. Suppressing the impulse to scoff required a fucking Herculean effort--of course, his father would demand a private room for him. The bloody entitlement was as predictable as Mattheo's suffocating arrogance.

As your determined march neared its end, you found yourself standing before the designated door, caught in a tumult of fear and fury. Fingers trembled, folding in waves in a futile attempt to expel the excess energy coursing through your veins. This ritual had proved futile throughout the previous week, and it yielded no different results now. A frustrated exhale escaped through your nose as you charged through the doorway, propelled by a relentless surge of emotion.

Mattheo Riddle's vulnerability exceeded all expectations as he lay in his opulent private chamber. Shirtless, his body displayed a cruel artwork of black and blue hues, stretching beyond the healing gash on his abdomen. A chaotic tapestry of scratches adorned his shoulders, arms, neck, and the once flawless canvas of his face, now disrupted by a thin, blistering line over the bridge of his nose. A swallow lodged in your throat as you beheld him, a striking portrait of agony that rendered him almost unrecognizable.

"Why the hell are you here?" He stared at you, expression vacant. "Can't you comprehend simple instructions?"

With a cool, unwavering gaze, you shot back, "And miss the chance to witness your glorious downfall? Not a fucking chance, Riddle."

Mattheo clenched his jaw, exhaling sharply as he adjusted against the sheets. "You're insufferable."

You sneered, advancing with measured steps. "Coming from you, that's a compliment."

Advancing, you scrutinized his form, taking in the mosaic of fresh scars that adorned his skin. Arriving at the bedside, your gaze drifted downward, noting that beneath his waist, he was clad only in boxers. A scant, white sheet was the sole guardian of whatever remained of his dignity.

Mattheo's snarl reverberated in the room. "If you're here to extend your fucking pity, please, spare me."

A sharp retort escaped your lips, your eyes dancing with a hint of amusement. "Oh, I'm not offering pity...though you do present quite the pitiable fucking sight, I'll give you that."

"Then what the fuck do you want?" Mattheo's voice carried an edge, his eyes narrowing with impatience. “I told you, we are done.”

A pregnant pause filled the room as you let his question linger, a mental reel replaying the relentless week of torment he had unleashed upon you. Your gaze lingered on his tousled chocolate curls and once-enticing plush lips, forcing yourself to traverse the memories of months marked by a tumultuous dance between pain and pleasure. The realization hit like a sledgehammer--all those moments, the highs and lows, seemed to have led to an abyss of pure fucking nothingness.

A furrow etched your brow as you looked down at him. "It's unbelievable that I let myself get ensnared into feeling something for you."

"Your feelings were your own choice," he quipped, his head falling back with an air of indifference, eyes drifting to the ceiling. "Don't blame me for your poor judgment."

Your frown etched deeper lines on your face, the surge of anger unmistakable. "Regardless, you still manipulated me like a fucking puppet."

"Amusing how complaints disappeared when you were screaming for more every damn night," he retorted, lids fluttering with evident irritation. "Your anger's just a cover for the fact that you'll have to find a new playmate now...have fun chasing those highs, princess, but I promise you'll only end up disappointed."

Your jaw dropped in disbelief, gaze narrowing into a potent mix of anger and hurt. "You're a real fucking prick, you know that?"

Mattheo regarded you with eyes that seemed to hold nothing but emptiness. His silent response coaxed your hands to curl into tight fists, and your chin to tremble with the pressure of boiling blood. You hadn't come here for him to treat you like a mere specter, to act as if you were invisible, as if you were nothing--something you knew you had never been. And still weren't.

"Answer me," you hissed, your voice shaking with a blend of frustration and desperation.

He remained silent, his gaze an unyielding anchor in the stormy sea of your emotions. The void in his pupils became increasingly maddening, an inscrutable abyss that left you grappling with the uncertainty of what the fuck he was even thinking right now.

"Answer me, Riddle." Your demand sliced through the air, a fervent plea for any sign of acknowledgment.

But he remained stubbornly mute.

Your chest surged with frustration, the world momentarily blurring in your escalating anger. "Say something, damn it!"

It was only when the sting of his skin met the back of your hand, and red streaks of blood marked your knuckles, that you realized you had slapped him, reopening the scab on his cheek. Yet, that wasn't the shocking part--though it certainly played a role--what truly stunned you was the quiet, wanton moan that escaped Mattheo's lips, his lids fluttering while his body tensed against the bed. In awe, you gulped.

And then, a peculiar, wicked force stirred within, a voracious entity feeding on the months of torment he had subjected you to. Something that hungered for more.

So, succumbing to its dark allure, you withdrew your hand and unleashed another sharp, resounding slap across his cheek. Blood painted his face, and Mattheo groaned, fingers clutching at the sheets as his hips thrust into the air, his arousal blatantly revealed beneath the fabric. Spellbound, you observed as he collapsed back onto the mattress, his eyes fluttering open, holding a gaze that teetered between vulnerability and desperation.

Between the conflicted expression in his eyes and the pulsating bulge between his legs, the sinister impulse within you deepened, intertwining with a more primal sensation. One unmistakably identified as pure, unbridled lust.

"You fucking like that, don't you?" You breathed, your lips twisting into a sadistic grin.

"Are you trying to hurt me, princess?" Mattheo's intense gaze focused on you, alternating between his increasing arousal and your exasperated expressions. "You'll have to put in more fucking effort than that..."

"Hm." You hummed, grin widening. "If you insist."

You locked on to Mattheo's gaze, feeling empowered by the way his normally stoic expression was now clouded with a burning need. With a coy smile, you swung your knee onto the hospital bed, letting your skirt ride up around your hips and exposing your panties. His brown eyes lingered between your legs, and you could feel the heat of his gaze against your skin as you climbed over him, straddling his strong thighs. He tensed as his eager cock twitched beneath you, silently begging for more.

The power dynamic between you had shifted so drastically in this moment. Mattheo Riddle, famed for his cunning and ruthlessness, was now completely at your fucking mercy. It was an intoxicating feeling, knowing that you had the power to make him feel truly vulnerable.

"So weak," you spat, a wicked grin spreading across your face as you dipped your hips just enough to skim the head of his cock. The sight of his full-body convulsion was mesmerizing, and the shaky breath that left his lips told you everything you needed to know.

You could tell he was still in pain, but there was something else there too--desperation.

"Poor boy," you murmured, running your fingers down the curves of your own figure, taking pleasure in the sensation of your own heat as you slipped your hand between your thighs, caressing yourself. "This is what you want, isn't it?"

Mattheo's eyes fluttered closed, his mouth falling open in a low groan. It was clear he was entranced by the sight of you touching yourself, and the way your words dripped with sinful seduction only added to his lust.

"Yes," he gritted out through clenched teeth, his hips bucking up to meet yours. "This is what I want."

"Look at you...so fucking needy..." you clucked your tongue and chuckled, extending out your free hand and running it along the wounded flesh of his chest, digging in with a little more force than you'd intended, judging by the groan that left his lips and the blood that split through the scab. "You're such a pathetic mess, Matty...it's almost too easy to control you like this..."

"Go to hell." His jaw tightened, a vein throbbing in his temple as he recognized the truth in your words. "You don't control fuck all."

"Oh, is that right?" you snarled, leaning forward and pushing your hands into his stomach, pressing down on his wound with added force, now. His face twisted in pain, and he let out a strained grunt. "How about now?"

Your heart was thundering with adrenaline, and while you had undoubtedly expected him to be furious at you for causing him harm, as he met your gaze, you saw something else entirely. There was a desperate need in his eyes, a yearning for more of the pain and pleasure that only you could provide. His lips were parted, his breaths coming in short gasps as he struggled to contain the sensations coursing through him. Despite the pain, there was a sense of longing that tugged at your heartstrings, filling you with a powerful desire for more of this intoxicating mixture.

"More," he whispered, his voice low and husky with need, barely above a breath. "Do it again."

"Oh, I don't fucking think so..." you sneered, your cunt clenching involuntarily at his request. But you were determined to make this man suffer. To humiliate him just as bad as he'd humiliated you, time and time again. "If you want something, you’ll have to ask for it nicely…I want to hear you beg for me."

Mattheo grunted again, bucking his hips, trying to grind back despite the pain of his injuries. Finding that impossible, his hands went to your waist, gliding up and down your thighs as he attempted to move you faster along his member, craning his head forward to get a better view. You scowled and smacked him away.

"I don't recall extending an invitation for your touch," you asserted, a glacial edge to your voice. "Why would I want your hands on me? After everything you've fucking done?"

His fingers balled into fists, exhaling when his head fell back against the pillow. You could feel him aching below you, already entirely fucking anxious to get inside of you. But then, he was still, hungry eyes trained on yours as he waited for your prompt.

"That's better," you purred, and found the next words coming out before you'd even thought them. "Good boy."

Your hips moved sinuously against his, a deliberate motion that left him breathless, his fists tensing against the desire to seize hold of your flesh. The surge of power was intoxicating, a heady blend with the fervor of your overwhelming desire and simmering rage. More than ever, your yearning for him to suffer consumed you. With a wicked grin, you lifted your hand to your lips, sensually running your tongue along the length of your crimson-stained fingers, sucking off the remnants of his blood. The sharp note of copper lit up your palate, sending a delightful shiver through your being.

"Mmm...you taste so good." You met his gaze between the long licks of your digits, his taste coating your mouth. "Wanna try?"

Mattheo remained silent, his gaze tracing the movement of your tongue as he moistened his lower lip. You enveloped one of your fingers with your lips, emitting a soft hum as you sensually cleaned it, gliding it in and out with deliberate slowness. Finally, you withdrew it with a wet pop, eyes rolling in dramatic effect.

Mattheo's jaw constricted, the sinews in his forearms taut from the tension in his fists. "Please..."

But you, unfazed, dipped your fingers back into the trail of blood leaking from his gash, adorning your skin with a bold red hue before returning them to your mouth.

"Mm, not good enough, I’m afraid..." you murmured, eyes twinkling with sadistic satisfaction. "You'll have to do much better than that, big boy..."

A growl echoed in Mattheo's throat while he gripped your thighs, pushing you down onto his swollen cock. His own hips thrust up against you, seeking any friction, any pressure at all from your heat. Frowning, you slapped his hand--and to your amazement, he pulled back, averting his gaze.

"These hands of yours are growing quite fucking insolent," you observed with a sly smile. "It's high time we addressed their rude misbehaviour."

A sinister grin etched across your lips as you shifted, smoothly extracting your wand from its thigh strap. With a deft flick, you summoned restraints, securing Mattheo's wrists to the metal headboard. His lips parted, eyes smouldering with desire, pulsating beneath you as the tightness closed around his wrists. Once finished, another few flicks ensured the door was locked, and the room was cloaked in a silencing charm.

"Much better," you said, tossing your wand aside. The gleam in your eye was almost maniacal as you reveled in the exquisite agony you were causing him, feeling a sense of power and control that you had never experienced before. "How's that feel, hm? Ready to utter those pleas for me, Riddle?"

"You're going to regret this, little witch..." he spat out through gritted teeth, his gaze locked onto yours. "Nothing you could do to me is worse than the fate that awaits you when I get out of here…your days are fucking numbered."

Involuntarily, you clenched at his threat, a sly smirk playing on your lips as you dipped your fingers back into the pool of blood emanating from his wound--and with a decisive move, you seized his jaw with your free hand, thrusting your bloodied fingers past his teeth before he could voice a protest.

"Now isn't the time for your futile threats, Mattheo," you husked, tilting your head. Your fingers pushed forcefully into his throat, emphasizing your point. "Look how fucking pathetic you are...if only your friends could see you now...big tough guy, bound and gagged by his own bitch…it’s beautiful, really."

Abruptly, you withdrew your fingers, leaning back to assess your handiwork. His wrists were securely bound, a vivid red imprint gracing his skin, while his mouth shimmered with the subtle traces of his own blood. It was a tableau of perfection--humiliating yet exquisitely so. The image of him squirming against the taut restraints, his chest rising and falling with each desperate breath, compelled your hand between your legs. Sliding up your skirt, you explored through the delicate lace of your panties, skimming eagerly over your clit.

"Fuck," you murmured, glimpsing his mouth, “you look perfect like this."

This was retribution, and as you teased yourself while admiring the pathetic sight of him, thoughts buzzed with the torment he'd inflicted--the scalding intensity of his erratic behavior, the icy indifference he wielded, treating you with disdain, unfounded accusations of infidelity, and the frigid distance he maintained. The searing resentment flared as you recollected the havoc he'd wreaked upon your life.

It was months of emotional manipulation. A pattern that was impossible to acclimate to. His cycle of hot and cold, the relentless mistreatment, the baseless accusations, and the moments of aloofness, all preceding his inevitable return, pleading for your affection--this was the culmination of his deeds. More than anything, this was the reckoning he deserved.

"Come on, princess..." he muttered, eyes wide and pleading. "For Godrics sake, please...fucking please..."

A grin creeped across your lips, your heart leaping with excitement. You'd finally fucking broke him.

"There we go, Matty...that wasn't so hard, was it?" You purred, inching backwards along the length of his thighs, reaching out to pull the cover from his waist in an excruciatingly slow fashion, exposing his black briefs. "I love hearing you beg for me...you're being such a good boy..."

Mattheo's response came in the form of an exaggerated huff, and his eyes locked onto yours, silently pleading for your touch to alleviate the burning desire between his legs. Your grin expanded, reveling in the palpable tension.

"You want me to fuck you, Matty? Do you think you fucking deserve that?" You cooed as you caressed his erection through the fabric, glaring at him while he jerked and shook from your touch. It was incredible, watching him trying to thrust into your fist, whimpering, head lolling while you sped your ministrations. "Do you think you fucking deserve me?"

His groan reverberated, his body twitching beneath the firm clasp of your fingers. His lids fluttered, and his head arched back in a nearly imperceptible shake of denial.

"You never fucking deserved me, did you?" Your frustration at his silence echoed in the air as you delivered a sharp crack across his face, prompting a gasp from him. "Fucking answer me, Mattheo!"

"No!" he finally hissed, his knuckles whitening as his entire frame tensed. "Fuck! No! I didn’t…”

"That's right, you didn't…” you laughed, shaking your head. The sinful delight coursing through you at his torment was undeniable. "At least you can finally fucking admit it...a tiny step towards what might pass as progress, I suppose."

As Mattheo huffed, not daring to meet your eyes, you sighed, finally feeling as though some of your anger had dissipated. Not by much, but by enough. Granting him the smallest percentage of mercy, you wrapped your fingers around the waistband of his boxers, freeing his needy, throbbing cock--the length of his smooth heat springing back and slapping against his belly, a low groan leaving the depths of his throat as it did.

You clenched at the sight, the pool of heat in your abdomen expanding throughout your entire body now, your mouth practically watering at the mere vision of him. Just when you thought this whole thing couldn't get anymore perfect. Gods, he was undeniably fucking delicious.

"Tell me what you want, Mattheo..." you said, wrapping your fingers around his cock, slicking the bead of precum around the head, twisting your wrist as you stroked him. "Tell me what you need."

His eyelids pressed together in bliss as he panted, the rhythmic movement of his throat visible with each swallow. In the throes of pleasure, he surrendered himself to the intensity of your touch, the heat enveloping him in a cocoon of sensation.

"You..." was his only reply, head snapping back and forth, thighs tensing, cock twitching. "Please-fuck-"

"You like that?" you purred, biting your lip. "You like when I jerk your cock like this? Hm?"

Mattheo's jaw was slack with desire, his voice laced with breathy need, "yes..."

"Yeah?" You purred, tightening your grip, increasing your pace as you stroked him, leaning down slightly to spit on the tip, slicking your saliva along his shaft. "Who else could make you beg, huh? Who the fuck else can make you this fucking hard?"

"Fuck-" he choked, chest rising and falling in shallow bursts, you could tell he was close. "No one-princess-fucking no one..."

"Mhm...that's fucking right, Riddle..." smiling, you threw your head back, your other hand resuming its motion on your clit, teasing yourself as you continued stroking him. "You know you can't fucking live without this...I don't know why you have to make things so goddamn complicated..."

"Fuck," he hissed, sputtering your name, "please, fuck me, please. I fucking need you."

"Shit...you're just spoiling me now," you mewled, your pussy clenching undoubtedly at his words. "Such a good boy...so eager to please me, hm?"

Mattheo released a long, exasperated sigh as you released him, shifting yourself closer. With a swift motion, you shimmied your panties to the side before you aligned his cock with your dripping core--the moan that escaped your throat was deep and lengthy as you sank onto him, feeling every inch of his hard, aching cock stretching you wide, filling you up with ease. Mattheo's body lifted from the bed in response, a sound somewhere between a sob and a scream escaping his chest as you enveloped him to the hilt. Leaning forward, you placed your palms on his stomach, shifting your weight to the heels of your hands as you began to slide up and down his shaft.

"Fuck," you breathed, lids fluttering. "I missed this cock...shit, you feel so good..."

Mattheo's only response was a string of shameless, guttural moans, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he surrendered to the potent mix of pleasure and pain. His body writhed beneath yours, his abdominals tightening in response to your movements. You panted heavily, bouncing up and down on his cock, taking pleasure in every inch of him slamming deep into your wet, eager pussy.

With each movement, you drove Mattheo wild with desire, listening to his moans grow louder and more intense with each passing moment.

Having control was entirely different--you were able to drag him into you, squeeze him tight with your walls while you slowed your pace, slam down onto him and make him howl. You watched him struggle below you, realizing he was trapped at his peak--and you were happy about it. This. This was close to what he deserved.

"I fucking hate you," you growled, the depth of your emotion evident in every word. "You embedded yourself into every part of my life and now you want to just fucking end things? Just go back to being fucking strangers? Over nothing?" Your voice cracked, the words flowing from your lips without restraint as you continued to ride him, hips moving in an untamed rhythm. "Why do you always fucking do this to me? Fuck-why?..."

Between his deep groans, his shuddering gasps as his wrists fighting their resistance, he managed to shake his head, his noises only growing louder the harder your rode him.

"I...I'm..." the words were forced through barred teeth, his eyes pleading for mercy. "I'm fucking sorry."

"Are you mine, Mattheo?" Your voice was strained with exertion, sweat growing on your forehead. "Were you ever fucking mine? Or was it all just a big game to you?"

"No,” he stammered, almost wincing. "No!"

Unable to resist the intense sensations coursing through you any longer, you brought your fingers back to your clit, setting a frenzied pace as you massaged the stiff nub with the pads of your fingers. You could feel Mattheo pulsing inside you, could feel his overly urgent need to cum, but right now, all that mattered was your own pleasure. As you worked yourself toward climax, your breaths grew ragged, soft moans escaping your lips as your body responded to your own touch. The pressure inside of you was building with each passing moment, urgent and insistent, and you knew that you wouldn't be able to hold off for much longer.

"Say it," you panted, eyes rolling and body trembling as you slammed down on him again and again. "Tell me who you fucking belong to."

"Fuck-fuck..." he grunted, teeth bared, eyes squeezed shut in concentration. "Please, princess...you keep squeezing me like that and I'm going to fucking cum-"

"If you want to cum, you'll fucking say it, Mattheo-" you practically moaned, entire body quivering with excitement. "Fuck-say it..."

A string of whimpers slipped past Mattheo's lips, his fists balled so tight it looked almost painful. "Fuck--you! I'm yours, fuck..."

Every word leaving you was a curse, and between every word was a strangled moan, resonating through your throat as you worked your clit fasting, fucking yourself on his cock harder.

"Gods, Matty, I'm going to cum," you moaned. "I'm going to cum on this thick fucking cock-fuck..."

Without being able to hold off any longer, you shattered, your hips jerking and twitching in an erratic rhythm, free hand digging into the flesh of his chest as you clenched and pulsed around him, forcing another onslaught of pleasured whimpers to leave his throat before he too reached his high--the tight heat of your orgasm sending him over the edge, twitching and thrashing beneath you as you continued riding him through your collective highs, not beginning to slow until the aftershocks began to rumble through you.

And after you stalled, you allowed yourself a moment to regain composure before you wearily eased yourself off him, releasing a prolonged breath--with a cautious movement, you reached over and gathered a sampling of your intertwined cum on the pads of your fingers, briskly bringing them up to his lips.

"Taste what I did to you," you murmured with a smirk, relishing in his groan against your flesh. Methodically, you glided your fingers against his bottom teeth, leisurely pulling them from his mouth. "Tastes good, doesn't it?"

His breaths lingered in the air, an unspoken acknowledgment of his silence, his eyes seemingly unable to leave your form. With deliberate movements, you leaned over, deftly undoing the restraints that bound him. As you meticulously adjusted your appearance back to its usual state, a mask of calm control, your gaze shifted towards the door, a calculated glance.

"May your recovery be swift, Riddle," you uttered with a tone that held a hint of farewell. "Until next time."

7K notes · View notes

aeyumicore · 7 months

Text

your fragrance

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: rafayel x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with plot, porn with feelings

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 10.4k (how?????)

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, switch!raf (like he’s both sub and dom in this, if you don’t like that then this may not be for you), knee humping, standing sex, against the wall sex, sorta rough sex, references to rafayel’s lore (no more than what’s talked about the actual memory), dry humping, slightly aphrodisiac sex, dub con if you squint really really really hard, ejaculating in pants, panty ripping, pheromone kink, lots of teasing (calling raf a cat/kitty), cum play? kinda, nipple teasing, slight use of y/n, reader is mc, second person pov

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: video | ao3

━ ✧.˖ A/N: the raf fic is here!! based off the 5* rafayel memory ‘your fragrance.’ the build up is realllllllly long on this one since i wanted to stay as true to the memory as possible. you can def just skip to the smut if you’d like!

i struggled to write raf a lot but enjoyed it so much like he’s so fun to write. i’m def a sub girly so i love writing dom partners, thankfully i hc raf as a switch. if you do not like fics where raf is a switch, then this may not be for you!

i can’t believe this fic ended up being 10k words too, i was thinking it would be a quick lil smut lol. i don’t even know how my zayne fic ended up being my shortest fic. enjoy my loves!

also this is dedicated to my bestie who is actually rafayel’s number one slut. follow her on x @/myusuchaa for so much good raf and other purple haired boy content. she is the master of rafayel lore, truly his wifey. a queen to us all.

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

You let out an exasperated sigh as your foot taps irritably against the protective painting tarp Rafayel always has laid out on the ground of his makeshift art studio, stray paint brushes strewn about. Impatiently, you waited for Rafayel to finish changing on the couch behind you, careful not to peek.

Somehow, being Rafayel’s bodyguard also made you his keeper. And Rafayel was not easy to keep. Always dragging you with him on odd trips even if you had work, pestering you at all hours of the day and night, disappearing and unable to be contacted for days on end. This particular time it was the latter; Rafayel had gone mia three days before his important collab launch party with a high end perfume brand. Now, on the night of the party, Rafayel was still unable to be reached.

Thomas had called you, in a sheer panic, as he always did when he needed help wrangling Rafayel. He knew you were the only one in this world that could level with Rafayel. And he’d never told you this before, but you were also the only one who could bend Rafayel’s unbreakable stubbornness; a perfect match for the purple-haired obstinate artist. And thus, Thomas had personally designated you as Rafayel’s keeper.

And so, you found yourself at Rafayel’s massive house, in the most extravagant evening dress you owned, hauling him off to his own damn party.

His annoyingly alluring voice cuts into the silence of the studio, "You can turn around now and give me a hand with something else.” You snap around to be met with the sight of Rafayel, irritatingly and devilishly handsome in his expensive white dress shirt and designer cardigan, leaning lazily against the sofa with the tie you’d previously used to tie his hands with, woven in between his fingers. He grins and holds it up to you expectantly, "Put this on for me.”

"Don’t you have hands?” You snap, but your feet have a mind of their own, and you’re already approaching him on the sofa.

"My hands are numb from being tied up by you for so long.” You roll your eyes, knowing he’s being dramatic. While he waits deceptively patiently for you to give in, he leisurely takes a wristwatch out of his pocket to put on, as if he’s got all the time in the world. "Clock’s ticking, keep it up and we’ll be late at this rate.”

You gape at him. The sheer audacity of this man, as if you’re the reason he’d be late. He only smirks at you, and it just infuriates you all the more. How he could so easily annoy the hell out of you and look so beautiful doing it. But you keep your mouth shut, and exasperatedly lean down to put on his tie for him, doing your best not to strangle him with it. It feels strangely intimate, and the brief reprieve finally gives you an opportunity to speak to him.

"Thomas said you have to be present for all parts of the event. There will be reporters at the entrance taking photos, and…” you rattle off, before you realize Rafayel is being uncharacteristically silent, "Are you even listening?”

You look up from the tie in your fingers to glance at Rafayel’s face. He doesn’t look the least bit interested in your words, instead his eyes are fixated on your wrist. You tap his chest to get his attention but he remains still, eyes still on your hands atop his collarbones. You curiously wave your hand in front of his face, hoping to snap him out of his trance. Fortunately you do, but unfortunately Rafayel grabs your wrist suddenly and urgently.

“...what’s the matter?” The bewilderment is unmistakable in your voice. You’re used to Rafayel’s erratic and quirky behavior, but this was alarming, even to you.

Finally his gaze breaks away from your wrist and he speaks, "I heard you talking about the event…” but just as quickly as you’d diverted his attention, it's back on your wrist. His voice is unusually clouded, deeper than usual. His eyes are back on your wrist that’s enclosed in his fingers, as a strange expression crosses his face. It almost feels as if he’s trying to hold himself back, but you’re unsure from what.

"Your hand…” he trails off, inexplicable emotions caught in his hoarse voice. He suddenly tugs you towards him by your wrist, and you stumble forward.

"Rafayel?! Wait!” As you fall forward, your feet run out of space and hit the bottom of the sofa, causing you to tumble on top of him. He catches you easily, sitting you on top of his lap while he brings your captured wrist right up to the side of his face. The awkward position forces you to settle your legs on either side of his thighs, straddling him against the designer couch. The half knotted tie comes undone and you’re left clutching the smooth material in your hands. If it weren’t for the compromising position you found you and Rafayel in, you'd be slightly disappointed at seeing your hard work unraveled.

The grip on your wrist tightens impossibly, almost possessively, "Hold still.” His command is not totally unusual; Rafayel is always demanding things of you, his precious bodyguard. But his voice comes out in a strange and sensual husk, leaving you confused, nervous, and weirdly burning. His silky smooth dress pants shuffle under you, and you’re reminded of the expensive clothes you’re pressed up against, likely worth more than a month of your hunter salary.

"Your suit! It’ll get wrinkled.”

"I don’t care…let me smell this…” he trails off, his voice sounding impossibly far away. You can feel the tickle of his inhale against your wrist and it makes you shiver, goosebumps forming under his touch.

"What is that?” He asks, mostly to himself, lost in his own little world, "It smells good. And smells familiar…”

It wasn’t at all uncommon for Rafayel to be mysterious and even enigmatic, but this was a whole other level of confusion for you, "What…what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

His behavior is starting to worry you. He’s unusually breathless, and you can see a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. The last thing you needed was him getting sick! You could already hear his needy whines in your head at the mere thought. Demanding to be taken care of and waited on. You almost want to smile at the thought of it; you act constantly annoyed with Rafayel but deep down you know you can’t live without his antics.

"No, I'm fine. Very well, in fact,” but despite his words, Rafayel sounds anything but. His voice, normally a bright and charming, albeit annoying, timbre, is now a hoarse and needy rasp. His ticklish touch on the inside of your wrist reminds you of where you got the perfume that he was so intoxicated by.

"Come to think of it...I tried an unreleased fragrance in the back office of the exhibition hall. It was made with special ingredients,” you scratch your chin with your free hand, trying your best to recall the name of it.

"Perfume? You spritzed the perfume sample on your wrist?”

You glance at him, concern and confusion written all over your face. Isn’t that what you do with perfumes? Rafayel shifts his gaze to your eyes, but his breath remains on the inside of your wrist. It’s deafeningly silent and you realize the scent of the perfume gradually grows stronger as your body temperature rises at the proximity of your body to Rafayel’s. You’re suddenly reminded of the fact that you’re sitting on his lap, and his face is so very close to your own.

He’s still lost in his own thoughts as he murmurs, more to himself than you, "It’s a bit bitter like fermented plants…but very fragrant.”

"It could be a mixture of artificial chemical stuff. Now, unhand me please,” you’re desperate to detach yourself from him, unsure if you can trust your body when it’s pressed so readily upon Rafayel’s own hard and sturdy stature.

"No.”

Your jaw drops at his audacity. But before you can berate him, he’s reaching his free hand to undo the buttons of his collar, as if the clothing is restricting him and making it hard to breath. His purple eyes are glazed over, and a beautiful faint blush paints his cheeks. His exposed collar and chest have you biting back your words, completely losing your train of thought. You squirm at the sight, but Rafayel’s hand on your thighs grip you in place, not letting you move a single inch.

"I could’ve sworn I've smelled this fragrance before,” he presses your hand against his cheek as he continues to slowly inhale the scent by the mouthful. It wouldn’t be completely out of the question, the unreleased scent had been developed for his artworks for the collaboration, so it’s very likely he could’ve sampled it during production.

"We can worry about it later. Let’s go. Everyone is waiting” you urge, feeling yourself blush as he shifts slightly under you, brushing against your sensitive inner thighs. You pull your hand away from his cheek, only for Rafayel to yank it back, like a child unwilling to share his favorite toy.

"Let me smell it again,” his demand is meant to be gentle, but comes out rough and urgent. You sigh, letting him melt into your hand again. It’s almost endearing; you quite like being so intimate with Rafayel.

"You know, for someone who hates cats, you sure are acting like one,” you tease, "A kitty that found some catnip to be exact.

The mere mention of cats is usually enough to set Rafayel off, pouting like a little baby that’s been teased. But instead, he just distractedly responds, "So then are you a cat? I am not a cat. And also, you’re not allowed to say that. I just couldn’t resist…”

You roll your eyes but can’t help but grin at his adorableness, tempted to just give in to his touch, savoring every moment you possibly can before the bubble bursts.

"What is this weird perfume…” he’s talking to himself again, inspecting your hand carefully. His jumbled thoughts have you worried for him again. Although Rafayel did often have energy that bordered on adhd, this was much more intense than that.

"Are you alright?” You repeat, softly. He doesn’t respond, but leans his cheek into your touch, his lips turning so they’re practically kissing your palm. Like this, he inhales the scent with his parted lips. His adam's apple bobs as he gulps, almost feverishly. His hand reaches to further loosen his collared shirt, pulling it open to let the cool air soothe his burning skin.

"It must be an allergic reaction. This isn’t perfume. How dare they use such underhanded methods to trap me…” his words both confuse and scare you. You’re growing increasingly worried about his flushed and sweaty complexion, his collarbones shining under the faint glow of the city lights through the massive windows. His words fill you with a terror you do not understand.

Rafayel holds the area between the bridge of his nose and his forehead, like his head is pounding, before returning to grip the collar of his dress shirt. His hand that holds yours is shaky as he rocks slowly underneath you, inhaling as much of the perfume as he can. His lap brushes against yours and your brain short circuits at the feeling of him pressed against you.

"H-huh?” Is the only thing you’re capable of getting out.

"Who gave you the perfume? Who sent it?” His questions are increasingly alarming you, but you do your best to keep calm. You can tell he’s nervous as well, and the sight makes your chest squeeze. Wanting to comfort him, you cup his cheek in your palm and he leans into the touch so contentedly and groaning in satisfaction. Truly like a cat.

You blushed despite yourself. It was so difficult to not be aroused in this compromising position. You’d long since had a crush on Rafayel, always craving his silly antics and theatrics. Missing him intensely when he’d disappear for days at a time.

"No one. Um, why do you look like you’re drunk?” You try to deflect from the burning between your thighs, hoping he can’t notice how hot and bothered you’ve become.

"I’m not drunk. I just don’t like the scent,” he pouts, but nuzzles your hand against his cheek like a cat getting cheek scratches. He turns his lips back into your palm, opening his mouth until you can feel his teeth graze your skin. He groans as he continues to inhale the scent, making you bite back a moan of your own at his gentle nibbles.

"Rafayel…you…” but you find yourself at a loss for words as he continues to breathe in your scent like it's the oxygen he needs to survive. Your own breaths start to come out in shallow pants, and you squirm in his lap. Rafayel moans softly into your palm, biting down gently to get you to stop.

"Are you trying to run away again?” He asks, almost painfully, his eyes piercing into yours, so intense and searching. The glassy look in them reminds you of how much you’re worried about his current well being.

"Rafayel, you don’t look so good. Shouldnt you go to the doctor?” You use the hand Rafayel isn’t gripping to take his face between your free fingers and inspect his beautiful and flushed features.

Rafayel’s breath hitches at your touch, goose flesh littering the skin where your touch singes, "I’m not going anywhere.” And though he doesn’t say it, you can feel what’s left unsaid.

And neither are you.

But he continues, dazed, "You’re gonna lock me up again…you’re with them. I just know it. Don’t think I'm unaware of what you’re about to do.” He has both your wrists in his hands now, gripping them on either side of his neck. "Y/n, I won’t fall for it again. Not this time.”

Though his words scare the shit out of you, you’re unable to concentrate on anything but his eyes that are trained on your neck, where your pulse thrums erratically in anticipation. You’re suddenly hyper aware that your heart is beating so fast you can hardly hear him anymore, despite his face being mere inches from yours. Your breath is close enough to mingle with his. It seems he notices too, because he inhales deeply and throws his head back, gasping.

It's then you realize it's not just the scent of the perfume that's setting Rafayel off, but your own scent mingled with it.

"Rafayel, snap out of it!” You beg. But Rafayel can’t seem to hear you as his cold hand grips the side of your neck, where you’d also dabbed the perfume along. Your breath catches in your throat at the icy touch, unsure of what to do.

Rafayel senses your hesitation, "Don’t worry. I’m not gonna do anything to you.” His voice is a throaty groan, and you’re honestly unsure if that’s even what you want. His body is almost on top of yours now, his breath deafening in your ear. And all you can think about is how you’d wish he’d press into you harder, until you’re suffocating, only able to breathe him in.

But you go with your better judgment, pushing him gently, putting some distance between the two of you. He glances up from your neck, eyes unfocused, and says nothing. He finds himself staring at your lips that are parted slightly to let out the short pants of breath you’re wheezing out. He leans in slowly so he can breathe in as much of you as he possibly can, just nearly closing the proximity between your lips.

Suddenly, your phone buzzes, snapping you out of your little bubble with Rafayel, "Its Thomas! He probably wants to remind us of the time. Let's head out!” You shove your phone until Rafayel’s hands, forcing him to take Thomas’s call for you.

While he’s distracted, you slip out from beneath him and bolt to the nearest bathroom. As you move your legs, you’re made acutely aware of the slick that has formed in your panties. But you focus first on furiously washing off the scent from your wrists and neck. As you scrub, you glance up at the mirror in front of you. You swear at the site of yourself, unbelievably disheveled and undeniably aroused.

As you continue to adamantly scrub, you can faintly make out Rafayel on the phone with Thomas, just outside.

"No, we’re not going to make it. I need to take care of something urgent. Don’t call again please, bye.” When you turn off the faucet, you go to lean against the wall adjacent to the sink, trying to steady yourself and collect your thoughts. You turn around and gently rest your forehead against the wall, sighing into the cool surface against your burning skin, willing the arousal between your legs to go away. You try to remind yourself of poor Thomas all alone at the exhibition right now. Your guilt is short lived as you hear the patter of Rafayel’s feet approaching the bathroom.

"Where are you going?” Rafayel’s words are right behind you, and his hand presses against the bathroom wall that your forehead rests on. You whip around and find yourself trapped between Rafayel’s hard body and the solid wall behind you. You back up instinctively, but find yourself hitting the cold surface before you even take a single step back.

"Gotcha,” Rafayel smirks softly, and you tremble at his proximity to you. His other hand grips a towel bar to your left, while his other hand leans against the wall to your right, so you’re utterly trapped against him. He’s so close, close enough that you can feel his rapid breaths fanning across your parted lips. As Rafayel’s eyes roam all over you, from your lips to your heaving chest, you feel very much like a lamb caught in a lion’s den. Except you don’t want to escape.

"Rafayel…” you murmur using both your hands to gently push against his chest, unintentionally brushing against the exposed skin below his collar, under his unbuttoned dress shirt. You’re hoping he’ll have mercy and release you, afraid that the palpable sexual tension in the air would cloud your, and Rafayel’s, judgment.

He shivers as your wet hands brush against his chest, knuckles turning white as they grip the towel bar next to you. His breath comes out in shallow pants, chest heaving up and down, with a light sheen of sweat painting his pale skin. The sight snaps you out of the moment, reminding you that Rafayel seems like he might have a fever.

"Let’s go to the hospital...I’m worried about you,” your hands shift to grip his open shirt, bringing the fabric together to cover him up. Rafayel’s hand releases the towel bar to take both of your hands into his, trapping them against his chest.

"What will it take for you to believe that I'm okay? I’m exactly where I want to be,” his gruff voice invades all your senses while his eyes burn holes through your own. He presses himself further into you, until his forearm is resting against the wall above you, only your joined hands pressed against his chest separating the two of you. He leans down, his face now impossibly close to yours, and for a second you find yourself lost in his purple and blue cosmic eyes.

You take a deep breath, trying to ground yourself to reality, and remind yourself that Rafayel’s actions are only fueled by the strange effects the perfume has on him. He’s not in his right mind, and you need to think for him.

You whisper, craning your neck up to look into his eyes, "You’re not yourself right now. Let me help you, I can take you to the doctor.”

Rafayel leans down, resting his chin in the crook of your neck. He breathes you in, the smell of the perfume, still potent despite the scrubbing, mixed with your pheromones invading his very being. Slowly, almost like it pains him to do so, he lifts his head away from you. He releases your hands and uses that same hand that gripped them to lift your chin towards him.

"Do you know the only thing you could do that would help me?” His hooded eyes lock yours in. His voice is the soft purr you know and love, slightly tinged with a rough and carnal desire that shakes you to your core.

"Name it. I’ll do it for you.“ part of you knows that Rafayel isn’t going to ask you for anything regarding his health but you can’t stop the words from coming out of your mouth. You’re stepping into very dangerous territory and you can’t hold yourself back.

"Kiss me,” his voice is low, but the assertive demand in it is undeniable. His command makes you shift in between his legs against the wall, becoming hyper aware of how deeply your bodies pressed into each other. You know you want to, you’ve wanted to for some time now. But you can’t shake the idea that the strange effects of the perfume are clouding Rafayel’s judgment and inhibitions.

"R-Rafayel…” you stutter hesitantly. Trembling ever so slightly, you lean in to peck his flushed cheek. You watch, slightly amused, as Rafayel’s ears get even pinker.

"Why must you always make me beg?” He whines. His lips stick out in a signature Rafayel pout, one you’ve grown to absolutely adore, no matter how annoying it can be.

You can’t help but laugh breathlessly, your chin still in his grip, "I don’t make you. You just love to beg.“

With your face still in his grip, he sighs dramatically, "Then I won’t beg anymore.” He brings his face to yours and captures your lips with his. He swallows your surprised squeak, which is quickly replaced by a throaty moan of longing and anticipation. Rafayel absolutely devours your noises, his lips so commanding against your own, bending them to his every will. They’re so soft, and you can’t help but think they fit so perfectly slotted against your own.

Though you can taste the urgency on him, Rafayel takes his time with you, engraving the taste and feel of you in his mind forever. He takes it so tortuously and deliciously slow that you find yourself nibbling on his bottom lip, begging him to take you fully.

You can just feel his maddening smirk against your lips. Instead of indulging you, Rafayel laces his practiced fingers under your dress’s skirt and onto your thighs. Only when you yelp in surprise does he finally slip his tongue into your mouth, always intentionally doing things to take you by surprise.

The new sensation of your tongues on each other seems to have Rafayel equally feral, because you feel the unmistakable press of his erection into your stomach. Needing to do something with your hands, you trace the outlines of his chest muscles, enjoying the feel of them finally against your fingers.

Rafayel’s hands venture to your back, expertly undoing the zipper of your dress, and then your bra. Gasping into his open mouth as his fingers return to the pebbling skin of your nipples. He gives a harsh flick to each, and your knees buckle against the sensitivity. You sink down against the wall, lips still attached to his for dear life, but Rafayel shifts so that he catches you with his knee instead. The mid length black dress your wore rides up and serves as a sheer layer of protection between your dampening panties and his knee. The friction of his leg against your crotch is unbearable, forcing you to throw your head back in pleasure.

Your reaction only serves to spur Rafayel further, as he begins to knead his knee into your cunt slowly. Your body turns to mush at the ecstasy of his knee against your most sensitive region, but Rafayel holds you steady with his hands gripping you from the swell of your underboobs.

Burying his face into the crook of your neck, he inhales again. Unbeknownst to you, he practically comes undone at the smell of you alone, "You say I'm always whining but look at you.”

You whimper at his teasing words right against your ear, clutching the back of his neck for support as he continues to hump his knee into you.

Suddenly, Rafayel stops, letting his knee still against your increasingly damp cunt. You can’t help but whine as you look up into his amused eyes. There’s mischief in them as he grins, "I’m getting tired. You’re going to have to do the work.”

Despite your lust clouded brain, you can still think coherently enough to see through his brattiness. You narrow your eyes at him, "You’re tired? Let me take you to the hospital. I knew you weren’t feeling well.” You duck down to escape his arms that cage you in, but he only lowers them so that they now trap you at the waist instead.

"You’re so mean to me Y/N,” he huffs, "Can’t you tell how vulnerable I am right now?”

"Because of the perfume? Why does it affect you so much?” You murmur, squeezing his cheeks slightly.

From Rafayel’s expression you can tell he’s unwilling to share too much information. And as annoying as that was, you trusted him wholeheartedly and knew better than to prod him too much. You would take what you could get.

He rests his head on your shoulder, unwilling to meet your stare. Dusting your hair behind your ear, he sniffs you again, practically consuming the scent. You shiver at the slight breeze he creates at your exposed neck, "I-It’s not just the perfume. I’ve dealt with this scent before, and I've developed a tolerance to it.”

You hold his neck against your shoulder, and gently knead his damp skin, letting him inhale the smell like his life depended on it, "Then why?”

Rafayel sighs, releasing the wall behind you but instead trapping you by wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing your bodies together. You sigh in satisfaction as his erection presses warmly against you again, your pussy craving his touch

Finally he speaks, but his voice is low and almost feels dangerous, "The marine plant the perfume is extracted from…on its own no longer does anything to me. But when it’s exposed to another scent that I cannot control myself around…the reaction it causes can be extremely potent.”

The sensations of his body pressed tightly against yours makes your brain practically non-functional, so you’re not following his train of thought, so you ask dumbly, "Like the air?”

You can practically hear Rafayel rolling his eyes in his voice, "I need air to survive but do you think I can’t control myself at all times of the day?”

"Okay well I'm confused! And to be fair you do act like an idiot at all times of the day so how am I supposed to know?!” He ignores you, taking another lungfull of the scent on your skin into his body. This time, he growls through an intense shiver, his grip on your body tightening against him. As if the very smell of your skin drove him into a lust filled craze.

And that’s when you realize what he meant.

"O-oh,” is all you can squeak out. Strangely enough, the idea that your scent is what is driving Rafayel to madness makes you leak further into the puddle that had formed in your panties.

Rafayel groans again, one his fists releasing your body to gently pound into the wall behind you, "I-I can smell the arousal in your scent. It’s driving me insane.”

Knowing he can smell the dampness between your thighs is both utterly embarrassing and completely erotic. Your heart lurches, wanting nothing but to take his discomfort away and make him feel good, "H-how can I help you?”

Reluctantly, he removes his chin off your shoulder and turns to face you, gripping your biceps in his hands, almost to the point of pain, "Do you mean that? Because you can’t take it back.”

Shivering at the implications of his words, you nod slowly but more sure than ever, "Yes. Let me help you. I want to help you”

"I-If you want to help me…” Rafayel’s voice is doubtful, like he’s scared you will deny him before he’s even gotten the chance to put his request out. Between your thighs, you feel his knee creeping its way back against your leaking cunt. The shock to your recovering clit causes you to clutch Rafayel’s firm shoulders and throw your head back with a breathy moan. Rafayel feeds off your pleasure, imagining what you would sound like when you were actually stuffed to the brim with him.

"I want...I need to see you cum all over me,” Rafayels throaty plea makes you blush profusely. You almost want to smack him across the head for his shameless words, but the pout on his face reminds you that he’s absolutely serious that this will help him. That seeing you come undone for him will help take the edge off of the effect the perfume is having on him.

"O-okay.” You gulp, nodding. The relief on his face is mixed with unbridled excitement that makes you squirm in anticipation of what's to come. Your feet shift, which causes you to grind down on his knee once more. Unable to withstand the unintentional teasing any further, you languidly moan and grind your leaking cunt against him to relieve some of the pulsing tension in your gut.

Your broken groans grace Rafayel’s ears and you can actually see his eyes light up with pleasure while his ears burn an even deeper red. His breath is shaky as he dips his head back down, inhaling deeply and dusting a kiss to the pulse point on your neck. You shiver as he gently uses his tongue against your neck to soothe his raging desire.

His reaction intrigues you, and you can’t help but want to tease him further, just a little. Peering at him through your eyelashes, you tip toe upwards so you can fan your bated breath across his face, letting him bask in your scent. Your tongue reaches out to gently swipe across his bottom lip, all the while you continue to pleasure yourself using his thigh.

Rafayel is unable to contain his excitement as he watches you use his body for your own gratification. He pants desperately into the crook of your neck, high off your pheromones invading all his senses. Through both your whiny moans, you reach out to graze his cock through his dress pants.

Rafayel hisses at the slightest contact, and his reaction ignites your confidence, provoking you further. You grip him through the silky smooth trousers, holding his throbbing erection in your hand, using your thumb to tease where you think his slit would be.

"Fuck–hah, be gentle please baby. M’sensitive,” he whines through gritted teeth. Your cunt clenches at his words, so teasing yet so endearing from Rafayel’s lips. You can feel the coil in your gut tightening as you continue to hump into Rafayel’s knee, using his body to chase your own high. Your black dress has ridden up, and now the only barrier between Rafayel’s knee and your sopping pussy is your equally soaked panties. You bite your lip and pray that Rafayel doesn’t notice the moist streaks that are starting to appear on his expensive pants.

Through your hooded eyes, you can see Rafayel is enjoying this just as much, if not more, than you are. His eyes are thick with lust, and you can practically see the pulse of his neck pound against his delicate skin. He desperately gasps for air, or maybe he’s trying to breathe more of you in, as you near your earth shattering climax.

"Touch yourself for me,” you purr at him, purposely jutting your bottom lip out in a pout. He obliges obediently, one hand quickly undoing his belt and slipping in to grab his unbelievably hard cock into his hands.

As you watch his face contort in pleasure, you’re filled with the need to grab him into your own hands. "Can I touch you too?” You ask innocently with wide eyes, imagining just how smooth he will feel in your bare hands.

Rafayel whines, still obediently pumping his cock in his hands, "Yes please, I need you to touch me.” At his plea, you let your hands find their way to his hands, still diligently pumping up and down. You wrap your smaller hand over his and mimic his motions. You gasp at the sheer size of him, your fingers just barely able to wrap around his girth. You can feel his veins throbbing against your fingers, begging you to continue further. The sheer amount of pre cum that already coats his fingers, and now yours, makes you wonder how delicious his spend would feel inside you instead.

"You’re so dam beautiful when you – fuck – use me like this. Dreamed about this for s’long,” he bites out, his hands finding your nipples once more. His long artist fingers tease you expertly, taking the peaks and rolling them gently.

His skilled hands and filthy words accelerate the intensity of your body’s peak quickly approaching you. His entire body is flushed and burns under the pumps of your fist, likely exacerbated by the effects of your scent. You respond to his endless stream of gasps and swears with breathless mewls of your own, whispering sweet words into his ear.

"Let me cum Rafayel, please. Want to cum for you s’bad,” you beg against him, despite him having given you all the power already, knowing the begging will drive him insane.

Rafayel drives his knee further into you as your core grinds into him like second nature. Your wrists vigorously pump his leaking cock, the thick heat of it feeling absolutely unreal against your palm. With your free hand you thread your fingers through his long soft hair, gripping gently. With a strangled groan Rafayel sinks his teeth into your neck, sucking at your pulse point as if he’s trying to devour your scent. Reluctantly he pulls away, throwing his head back in pure pleasure once more.

"F-fuck you drive me fucking crazy Y/N,” he pants, his thick length throbbing at your vigorous pumps along his shaft, almost as if his heart was beating inside it. The endless precum that falls from the tip coats your fingers, making a wet mess in Rafayel’s pants and your palm.

He groans in disappointment when you release his erection, but his eyes are trained on your every movement. Overcome with your aching need for the gorgeous purple haired man before you, you bring your soaked fingers to your lips and slowly insert your index and middle finger into your parted mouth. You make a show of letting your tongue lap up his essence from your digits, never letting your eyes break contact with his as you devour him off your fingers. You can’t help but let out a muffled moan at the taste of him, sweeter than you could have ever fathomed, so deliciously Rafayel.

He nearly hyperventilates as you peer at him through the tears of pleasure that had beaded onto your eyelashes. "Look at you, hah, like a fucking masterpiece,” his thumb caresses your lip as his breathless praises make you squirm against his knee. The pre cum on his thumb swipes onto your tongue, and you itch to taste him again. You shift yourself so that you can take his thumb into your mouth, using your tongue to swipe all the slick off his slender fingers.

Rafayel shivers at your touch, his mind a mush of lust and adoration as he watches your eyes roll back at the taste of his cum on your lips.

"You’re going to be the death of me,” he murmurs, drunk off your pheromones invading his senses. You only smile at him and tip toe up to press your lips against his, wanting him to be able to taste himself on your tongue. He groans into your mouth at the odd sensation of being able to taste both himself and you all at once. Both his hands come up to thread in your hair, pulling you as deeply into him as he possibly can. You can feel his exposed chest against your own, his heart pounding rapidly against the swell of your dress covered breasts. The proximity lets him control every twitch of his quads against your cunt and you cry into his mouth at the stimulation.

As you continue to fuck yourself onto his knee, you find yourself on the cusp of your orgasm, nearly blinded by the ecstasy of his leg wedged between your thighs and the salty taste of his slick on your tongue, "Raf-Rafayel, m’gonna cum.”

Despite his furious blush, he smirks at you, as devilishly handsome as ever, "You gonna cum on my knee baby?”

If it weren’t for the cloud of pleasure fogging your every nerve you’d surely have a snarky retort to throw back at him, but the need to have him is so great you can’t think of a single thing. Without even needing to enter you, Rafayel has rendered you utterly fucked out.

So instead, you nod eagerly as your grinding against his knee becomes increasingly sloppy and erratic. Rafayel, entranced by the utterly fucked bliss in your eyes can’t stop himself from falling deeper into the abyss that is you: your voice, your eyes, your smell, your soul. He finds himself realizing that, though he’s seen millions of dollars in once in a lifetime artworks, even creating some of his own to add to this infinite world, the entire universe pales in comparison to you. The thick haze of emotions overwhelms him and he finds himself begging, once again.

"P-please cum for me, my love. I need to see it,” Rafayel begs into your ear, his breath hot against your skin. The sensation makes your entire body shiver, causing your cunt to quiver further into his soaked knee. You’re not used to his voice, normally teasing and bratty voice, being this needy and adoring. It’s all enough to shove you viciously into your orgasm. You cling onto Rafayel as you release all over your panties and his leg, still languidly grinding into you.

You can’t stop the screams that rip out of your mouth, pure ecstasy and satisfaction laced into your very breath. Rafayel holds you tightly against him, cooing into your ear, talking you through the waves of pleasure, as the excruciating ecstasy makes tears spill out of your eyes and onto your cheeks.

Rafayel eyes widen in pure awe as he watches every shiver and twitch of your orgasm against his leg. He throws his head back, swearing as your scent becomes exponentially more potent. The smell of your spend is thick in the air, mixing with your pheromones and the perfume until it overloads every nerve in his body. The throbbing in his cock grows unbearable even with nothing touching it, physically twitching uncontrollably as he explodes inside his slacks.

You cry out one last time when your thighs collapse from the intense climax, and Rafayel catches you by your waist, holding you steady against him and the wall behind you. The movements against your cunt slow as you ride out the final waves of your orgasm. With nothing separating his thigh from your cunt but your soaked panties, Rafayel can swear he feels your clit throb against him, the aftershocks of your climax wracking your body, just as the effects of his own orgasm sear through his.

You’re a panting and sobbing mess against his flushed chest. Your legs are completely useless, supported solely by Rafayel’s strong and safe arms around your waist and his knee still wedged between you. He rests his face in the mess of your hair, breathing you into him. Unbeknownst to you, Rafayel is reeling from his own climax as he holds you protectively against him, almost for dear life.

Through the comfortable silence that has blanketed the bathroom, Rafayel’s voice vibrates on the top of your head, "You smell so fucking good baby.”

You smile contentedly against Rafayel’s chest, your hands reaching up to smooth his curly hair away from his sweaty forehead, "Do you feel better?”

He smiles against your head, taking another deep breath of you into him. His voice is thick with satisfaction, but also unrelenting hunger, "Yes, but…” you wait for him to finish his thought, but there’s only silence.

"Rafayel?”

His reply comes out strangled and heavy against the top of your head, "I-I need more. I need you.”

You shift so you can look up at him. He doesn’t speak, but his hooded eyes tell you everything he’s thinking. Maybe it’s the post orgasm haze, but you find yourself being unable to deny Rafayel, wanting nothing more than to please him.

Getting on your toes so you can reach him, you let your bottom lip brush against his, relishing in the way his breath catches in his throat, and whisper, "Take me Rafayel.”

"Sh-shit,” he mumbles and presses his lips the rest of the short distance into yours. He tears into you with such torrid intensity that your knees buckle. As his palms hold your face in place, you cling onto his shoulders for support, the feeling of him enveloping you so overwhelmingly addicting. As your legs give out under the excruciating anticipation of what’s to come, you hook your knee into Rafayel’s waist. He grips your thigh, lifting it to hook around his back. His hand kneads into your bare skin as he reluctantly tears his lips from yours.

"You can’t stand anymore?” His cocky grin contrasts the deep blush on his cheeks. Before you can snap back at him, he hoists you up against the wall. Instinctively you yelp, wrapping your other leg against his waist as he holds you securely against the cool tiles behind you and his solid abdomen.

His lips simultaneously find yours again, locking deeply with an unrelenting passion that quite literally takes your breath away. As your breath becomes his, your thighs clench at the crushing intensity of his lips, wanting him deeper, harder. His tongue explores every inch of you, and you whimper into him at the pure need that was manifesting in your gut once more.

Feverishly, Rafayel breaks away, like he cannot possibly wait another second. He doesn’t even break a sweat as he balances your squirming body with one hand, his other hand reaching down to pull off his belt that he’d undone earlier.

You want to ask Rafayel if it’d be more comfortable to go to his bed or even the studio sofa, but you’re rendered speechless as he pulls his cock out of his slacks. You’d felt it in your hands earlier, but seeing it in all its glory under the light was a whole different story.

Rafayel definitely took pride in how he presented himself, his hair, his clothes; everything about him was pristine and curated just how he wanted others to see him. And his manhood was no different. He stood absolutely proud against his naval, his impressive length erect enough to touch just below his belly button, curving straight up. He’s unsurprisinglt well groomed, but with a dusting of pubic hair along his happy trail to his glorious cock. Like Rafayel himself, it was nothing short of art.

But then you noticed that he has trails of white cream smeared all over his delicious length, matted into the hair along his pelvis. Far too much to be just pre cum.

"D-did you cum earlier?” You can’t stop the grin that forms on your face as you realize Rafayel had finished earlier just watching you pleasure yourself against him. Literally came undone at the mere thought and sight of your pleasure.

Rafayel averts his eyes, hiding under his tousled bangs, his face tomato red, "Sh-shut up!” His reaction only makes you laugh and want to provoke him more.

"You’re such a bad boy Rafayel, cumming without me touching you,” you coo, using one hand to scratch his hair soothingly, "Just an eager little kitty for me.”

Rafayel’s eyes narrow as his lips form his signature pouty grimace, "I am not a cat.”

You open your mouth to tease him more, but Rafayel pushes you harder into the wall so he can free one hand to rub his thumb against your lips. You yelp at the feel of the stone cold wall being pressed further into your burning skin. With his finger on your mouth, his eyebrow raise at you pointedly. His eyes light up with an intense and burning warning, "I’m about to fucking ravage you. Are you sure you want to keep teasing me?”

His words shut you up instantly. You shake your head vehemently and obediently, your cunt aching at his promises, needing nothing more than to be filled with him.

"Good girl,” he murmurs, his hand moving off your lips to reach under your dress, hooking his finger into the waistband of your panties. You shiver at the feel of his palm on your waist, as he attempts to pull them off of you. But he quickly grows impatiently frustrated at the tangle of your bodies.

"I'll buy you another pair, ‘kay?” You’re about to protest but Rafayel wastes absolutely no time, bunching the delicate material in his fist and tearing it off you. You gape as the sound of fabric ripping sounds in the air and watch the lace material fall to the ground.

"R-Rafayel! I liked that pair!” You scold, hitting his shoulder in a mixture of disbelief but also arousal at his primal urge. You know you should be more upset but you find yourself just melting into a puddle at his unabashed behavior. I mean honestly you wore those in hopes that he might see them anyways.

"I'll buy you as many as you want, if you let me rip them off of you,” he grins in feigned apologeticness. At your expression he continues, this time earnestly, "M’sorry, just can’t wait anymore.” And with those words, Rafayel sheaths himself into you. You yelp at the alarming stretch, his girth much more than you’re used to. Even with the thick slick of your combined orgasms, it’s slightly painful to accommodate him.

Simultaneously, Rafayel cries out huskily as he enters you, your grip down there absolutely strangling his erection. The finish of your first climax thickly coats his cock, but it’s just barely enough to offset the stretch from how thick he is. His strong arms hold you securely in place as his pelvis slowly begins thrusting up into you, pushing you up the wall at every stroke.

The angle he has you in meant every single thrust hits your cervix, his cock unbelievably lengthy. The curvature causes every stroke to drag deliciously against your g spot which makes you cream uncontrollably at each thrust, a ring of white forming at the base of his cock that splashes into you with every vigorous stroke. Your clit rubs roughly against his pelvis, his coarse happy trail rubbing against it with every movement, stimulating your body beyond belief.

"Fuck you’re taking me so well baby,” Rafayel moans into your ear, swallowing another mouthful of your aroma. You whimper as you feel him getting unbelievably harder at your scent alone, his solid flesh brushing against every single corner of your gummy walls. His veins throb inside of you as he twitches in pleasure. "So fucking tight, all for me yeah?”

"Raf, s’big. Feel s’good,” you slur, the haze of ecstasy starting to cloud your consciousness. His thrusts go harder, deeper, at your praises, and you cry out, unable to stop your thighs, and simultaneously your cunt, from tightening around him.

A strangled moan leaves his lips at your movements, his damp forehead pressing against yours as one of his hands leave your thighs to grip the wall next to you. "Sh-shit are you always this tight or is this jus’ for me?”

Before you can respond, Rafayel is babbling huskily into your ear again, "Wish you could see yourself right now. You look so beautiful, so fucked out, all for me huh?”

Your eyes squeeze shut at his filthy words, and you can’t help but clench down on him again. Your profuse arousal coats the hair along his pelvis, creating the most filthy and lewd noises as Rafayel continues to bounce you onto his cock, his stamina absolutely unreal. Your lips chant his name, over and over, your brain only filled with him.

"Look at me Y/N, need to see you,” Rafayel begs into your neck, still absolutely inhaling your pheromones, getting harder at every intake, "Jesus you smell so fucking good.”

You force your eyes open, fighting the ecstasy from taking over completely. As he shifts to stare into your eyes, he gives you the most gorgeous Rafayel smile that threatens to short circuit your brain and stop your heart. There’s an overwhelming swirl of emotions in his purple-blue eyes: lust, mischief, adoration, respect, longing, and…so much love.

It’s all enough to make you want to confess the feelings you yourself had forced deep down, trying desperately to forget them for the sake of your friendship and working relationship. Rafayel keeps staring into your eyes, straight into your soul, and you finally open your mouth to try and find the words, "I–”

But instead, he cuts you off, bending down so your lips brush against each other again, "I know.” With those words, he presses himself needily into your waiting mouth

Grateful that he doesn’t need you to say the words, you return his kiss with equal fervor, doing your best to convey all the things you had wanted to say.

The bruisingly passionate kiss pushes you towards the edge as Rafayel continues to bounce you ruthlessly onto his cock. You’re forced to pull away from his lips to let out a strangled cry of pleasure. Through the overwhelming ecstasy, Rafayel takes the opportunity to shove his hand in between your bodies, easily finding your clit. The stimulation forces you to scream out uncontrollably, your eyes and head rolling back into the wall.

"Jesus look at how soaked you are Y/N,” he mumbles in awe, eyes glued to where your bodies connected, "Look, baby.”

At his urging, you force yourself to lift your head off the wall and glance down at his fervent ministrations. The sight you’re met is enough to make you finish all over him right then and there.

The veins in Rafayel’s thick forearm bulge as he paws at your clit furiously, the slick glistening on his thick length and splatters as the force of his thrusts rattle you deliciously against the cold wall. As he pulls out of you entirely with each thrust, you can see the throb of each vein of his cock, aching to be thrust back inside you.

"Raf-Rafayel,” you gasp out, "I–”

"I-I know baby, I can feel it. Squeezing the life out of me,” he groans, shifting your entire weight onto his right arm while his left forearm slams into the wall above your head, anchoring him and allowing him to fuck into you with a new mind numbing intensity.

His chin digs into your shoulder as he hammers into you relentlessly, "Ffuuck baby, gonna make me cum all – shit – over you huh?”

The force of the orgasm that chases you is utterly blinding, and against your better judgment you plead with him, "P-please cum inside Raf, I want to feel you.”

You can feel his panting breath hitch by your ear, and he whispers, "Are you sure? Don’t tease me Y/N. Y-you can’t take it back. Please.”

"Won’t take it b-back,” you wail as his thrusts bruise your walls, the painful pleasure edging you closer and closer to your undoing. "Please Rafayel, need you inside me s’badly.”

At your begging, Rafayel goes absolutely insane. He slams you so vigorously against the wall that you can practically feel the entire house shake. Every throbbing thrust pushes against your more sensitive spots, bullying right into your cervix. His breath becomes increasingly erratic and he sinks his teeth into your neck to contain his throaty moans.

The sudden sensation of his teeth against your pulse, so dangerously aggressive yet gently teasing, sends you barreling into your orgasm. "Cumming, cumming, m’cumming Raf,” you wail repeatedly, unable to form any other words as tears stream down your face and onto his ruined dress shirt.

Your hand roughly tears at Rafayel’s hair as he continues to ravage both your clit and your aching hole, finally sending your body into the mind numbing explosion of your climax. Your cunt grips onto him for dear life, throbbing uncontrollably to the sloppy rhythm of his thrusts. You ride the endless waves of your orgasm, vision blurring as tears continue to spill from your eyes.

"Raf, s’too much,” you whimper, fingers releasing his hair and reaching down to scratch at his back, trying to relieve any of the overwhelming pleasure that threatened to make you lose consciousness. You couldn’t bring yourself to care about how you were destroying Rafayel’s expensive shirt under your nails. Your legs tighten around his waist as he continues to pound you into the wall. You’re almost sure your body will be battered and bruise tomorrow, not that you’d complain.

"M’sorry,” he pants, but only thrusts harder and faster, "Jus’ hold onto me love. M’so – ffuuck – so fucking close.” You nod obediently, still riding the last receeding waves of your own orgasm, pussy quivering around every ridge and vein on his shaft.

"Jesus if you could feel how tight you’re squeezing me right now,” Rafayel grits through clenched teeth, "You want me to cum inside you that bad? That you’re gonna force it out of me?”

Your lids feel so heavy as the pleasure of your orgasm ebbs into exhausted satisfaction, and you murmur, "M’not doing anything Raf, you jus’ feel so good. So deep.”

At your praises, Rafayel lets out a strangled groan and comes undone inside of you. You cry out as the warmth of his spend fills you, soothing the ache from the ravaging your poor cunt just took. He shoots rope after rope of it into you, a never ending stream of him emptying inside of you.

Rafayel rests his forehead against yours, his forearm still using the wall above your head to support him. You both pant into each other as the quivering of your cunt squeezes every last drop of him inside you. He shivers at the feeling of your womanhood throbbing around his softening member, completely spent.

Rafayel does his best to keep himself, and you, upright. His arms shake slightly, the aftershocks of his own orgasm devastating every muscle in his body. You can feel his biceps trembling, you fight to keep your eyes open, "S’okay Raf I can stand.”

"Okay love,” he murmurs into your hair, taking in one last whiff of your scent, before pressing a gentle kiss onto your forehead. You whimper as he slips out of you, your sore hole still wanting nothing more to be filled by Rafayel. You do your best to ignore the thick streaks of your collective spend dripping down your legs. As you unhook your thighs and let your feet touch the floor, your body gives out.

Rafayel catches you before your knees can crash into the tiled bathroom floor. You don’t have to look at his face to know he’s smirking at you.

"Need me to carry you baby?”

As you hold yourself up clutching his arm, you narrow your eyes at him, "No. Shut up.”

Rafayel chuckles, the smile in his eyes glowing brightly at you, "Come on Y/N, let me take care of you.”

Your snappy refusal is cut off by your squeal as Rafayel scoops you into his arms, like a princess. You wince at the feeling of the smearing of dampness between your thighs as Rafayel hooks his arms under your thighs. You hadn't even noticed that he’d put his belt back on.

"Always with the theatrics Rafayel,” you grin, unable to stop yourself from burying your face into his chest. He smiles in response as he carries you through his home. You breathe in Rafayel’s scent, an intoxicating blend of sea salt, cardamom, and arousal.

"You love me.”

You sigh to yourself, love him you absolutely did. But that was a conversation you two would need to have another day.

Looking up, you find yourself in Rafayel’s room, his white curtains billowing as the night time breeze cascades through them. As Rafayel sets you down on his plush king sized bed, your phone rings from the inside of his pocket. You’d almost forgotten you’d given him your phone when Thomas had called earlier.

The phone keeps ringing as Rafayel sits besides where you lay, attention focused solely on you. You pat his thigh, "Raf? Can you pick up my phone?”

Rafayel grimaces as he grabs your cell phone from his slack pockets. "It’s just Thomas,” he grumbles like a child, "I told him not to call again.”

He takes one look at your unamused expression and sighs in defeat, "Fine fine.”

Rafayel picks up the phone, snapping, "What Thomas?”

"Speaker phone,” you mouth at him, only able to hear Thomas’s erratic mumbles through the phone. He rolls his eyes, but puts the call on speaker, holding it up between you two.

"You guys better be half dead in a ditch or actually dead,” he threatens sulkily, "How could you guys not show up?”

"Didn’t I say not to call again?” Rafayel fires back, but his tone is teasing. You know Rafayel cares about Thomas a lot, even if he makes the agent’s life hell.

"Thomas, I'm so sorry! I’ll make it up to you I swear,” you apologize, feeling horribly guilty. You could only imagine how many angry sponsors and reporters he had to deal with.

As Rafayel holds the phone with one hand for you to speak into, he notices your black dress had ridden up to reveal glistening streaks pooling down your legs. He uses the index finger of his free hand to scoop up the spend that continues to drip down your thighs. Your breath hitches as he smirks at you, his hand creeping up further, into your inner thigh.

"You owe me so many dinners,” Thomas grumbles, but you have a difficult time paying attention to the rest of his words as Rafayel’s hands venture further up, dangerously. You give him a warning look, but his fingers only trail up further to tease you, grazing against your bare slit.

"Are you guys even listening to me?” Thomas demands through the phone, his tone is as pouty as Rafayel normally is.

"Y-yes, I'm sorry,” you try to keep your voice as steady as possible, "I'll uh, I'll get you take out tomorrow!” You swat at Rafayel’s lingering hands but he doesn’t budge. His ears are pink and you notice his breaths are coming out in short pants as he quietly climbs onto the bed at your feet. You do your best to keep your own moans from bursting uncontrollably out of your lips as his fingers relentlessly tease you.

"Yes, and I want boba too. With extra – wait. What are you guys doing?” Rafayel and your eyes snap to each other and then to the phone. You’re about to speak when Thomas’s shrill voice cuts in again.

"You guys better not be doing what I think you’re doing! I swear to g–”

“‘Kay gotta go bye bye Thomas love you!” Rafayel interrupts sheepishly, ending the call with his thumb. There’s a brief moment of disbelief and silence before you both burst out into laughter.

You clutch your stomach, trying to catch your breath as the uncontrollable giggles keep coming. But the thought of Thomas makes you feel guilty again, "Rafayel maybe we can still make it to the party if we hurry. We can’t just leave Thomas –”

Rafayel shushes you with his finger, his hair falling into his eyes as he leans over you, "I just got an idea for a painting and I have to start right now.”

You’re no stranger to Rafayel’s spontaneous bouts of inspiration. In the past, he’d literally drag you to the oceanside and not ten minutes into the excursion, he’d race home needing to get started on an idea he had right then and there. And sometimes he’d forget you at the beach.

"Right now? But we’re not in the studio,” you squirm as Rafayel leans closer to your face, shifting his body so that he’s kneeling at your feet, in between your legs.

"Oh. I meant a different kind of painting. Maybe on your stomach,” your brows furrow in confusion at his words as he smirks mischievously at you. You squeak as he climbs to hover over you, his body pressed against your still sensitive areas. Your body heats up again as the feel of his hardening cock against you.

His thumb presses against your bottom lip, the salty taste of him invading your senses once more, "Or maybe…on your beautiful face.”

The implications of his words finally hits you all at once, and your face burns like a wildfire. You hit his shoulder weakly and unconvincingly, already succumbing to the arousal pooling back in your thighs as you watch the desperate need return to his eyes.

"R-Rafayel!”

"Then again you’re already a piece of art,” he murmurs, his voice groggy with desire. He presses a kiss to your parted lips, then to your exposed collarbone, and then to your covered breasts, "But you know me. I like to take my time with my art.” Oh you were utterly fucked.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

3K notes · View notes