it follows Rafe x AnxiousOverthinker!Reader, shes had a crush on him for years and fate (their teacher) pushes them together, paired up for an art project, they become closer than they ever could’ve imagined. a she fell first he fell harder series.
also this one is incredibly long, and includes a lot of smau! i added up all of the chapter WCs and its over 245k (as of chapter 32), and its still being continued ! i live for a super long fic ❤︎. explicit chapters! ❪ ➶ ❫
killing me softly
also this creator has an extremely detailed masterlist and page about this series so def check that out .☘︎ ݁˖here⋆.˚ ! i just edited it so it would fit my blog a little better
☘︎ part one
☘︎ part two
☘︎ part three
☘︎ part four
☘︎ part five
☘︎ part six
☘︎ part seven
☘︎ part eight
☘︎ part nine
☘︎ part ten
☘︎ part eleven
☘︎ part twelve
extra
⧽ rafe confronts topper
extra
⧽ wheezie teaching rafe reaction pics
☘︎ part thirteen
☘︎ part fourteen
☘︎ part fifteen
☘︎ part sixteen
☘︎ part seventeen
extra
⧽ rafe getting you a silly gift
☘︎ part eighteen
☘︎ part nineteen
☘︎ part twenty
extra ❪ ➶ ❫
⧽ rafe has a solo sesh
☘︎ part twenty one
☘︎ part twenty two
extra
⧽ rafe and wards talk about the deal
☘︎ part twenty three
extra ❪ ➶ ❫
⧽ the boys' group chat reaction
☘︎ part twenty four
alt. part twenty four / NOT CANON
⧽ the original version she wrote but reworked
☘︎ part twenty five
☘︎ part twenty six
☘︎ part twenty seven
☘︎ part twenty eight ❪ ➶ ❫
extra
⧽ post sleepover instagram
☘︎ part twenty nine
☘︎ part thirty
☘︎ part thirty one
☘︎ part thirty two ❪ ➶ ❫ new!
ps: i binge read this in a couple days and my screentime is actually an ungodly amount eek! safe to say you can really get lost in this one lol
ps p2: season one rafe is what the creator had in mind so i wanted to stick to that for the header but in my head s1 and s2 (my goat) are not even remotely connected 😭 so this was a tad hard for me loll. like thats not the dada i knowww, but that face card so good he can pull of that comb over
Warnings: NSFW, harassment, toy usage, nipple play, oral female receiving
Summary: You're supposed to meet up with Sukuna to finally write your midterm lab paper when he chooses to surprise you with his most devious plan yet.
Art Credit: @innaillus
Word Count: 4.3k
Chapter 6 I Chapter 8
Your phone buzzes in your pocket while you sit at the front desk of the business office. You're squeezing in some reading while fulfilling your work-study hours when you slide out your cell and see Sukuna's name on the screen.
C
What?
U coming over later?
After work study, yes
Good. I have a surprise for you. 😏
A surprise?
Yes
Ryo, I’m not writing the paper in exchange for sex. We’ve been over this.
No, it’s not that. But dress cute. Preferably something I bought you.
Why?
I like seeing you in pretty clothes. They match ur personality. 😉
That’s actually very sweet of you to say.
I can be nice sometimes.
Emphasis on ‘sometimes’
🙄
I’ll text you when I’m OMW
K, see u later
K
You set your phone down on the wood of the front desk. Sukuna, thee Sukuna, is planning a surprise for you. Either he’s about to do some kind of awful prank and all this tension between you was just an elaborate joke, or he’s going to gift you his dick. There’s no in between.
Part of your spirit drops. You’ve enjoyed this version of Ryomen. Even if it’s fake, it’s been nice to feel like he’s into you. He even makes it seem like he’s fallen for you. Chills roll down your arms and chest, puckering your peaks with the memory of yesterday.
The way he makes demands of your body. The way he gets jealous and makes ludicrous declarations of you belonging to him, how long will he keep it up? So much of you wants his shenanigans to be real, but you suffocate that thought before it takes hold. You will not fall for Sukuna. Not a chance. Even if the foreplay is mind-blowing, succumbing to him must be avoided at all costs. Still, after you check out at the business office front desk, you trek back home to go change into an outfit purchased by your ‘weekend sugar daddy’ as he once put it.
Expensive loafers with a thigh length skater skirt are matched with a shear sleeveless button up. Underneath you wear a black lace set , feeling slutty and looking like you belong in a bad porno. “Welp, at least this time I won’t blame the boys for thinking I strip.”
You pull your hair up into a high pony and pull out a few framing pieces at the front, perfecting the art of seemingly effortless beauty.
After a quick search of your apartment, you grab your lab notebook, chemistry textbook, and your laptop, stuff them in your pretty designer bag and walk all the way back to frat row to Sukuna’s house.
OMW
Bout damn time
You required a dress code, I had to go back and change.
Just walk quick and txt me when you’re here
Will do
You slip your phone in your pack’s side pocket, wondering why Ryomen is so anxious to see you. The curiosity does put a pep in your step, so you arrive at the giant, white mansion more quickly than usual.
I’m outside
You quickly text him as you walk up to the kitchen entrance and open the door like you belong.
“Hey! It’s Charity!” Toji and Geto greet from the kitchen island.
“Hi guys.” Your cheeks heat, feeling uncomfortable.
“My oh my! It’s my favorite poor girl. How are you Charity?"
“Hi Mahito, I’m fine.”
The entire exchange is uncomfortable; you cast your eyes down trying to walk away, but Mahito decides to stride up to you. You take several steps back, attempting to get out of his way, however, he continues his advance, backing you into one of the kitchen walls. Your eyes grow to saucers as you stare at him, frightened by his proximity.
“Can I help you?”
His thin fingers reach for the strands of your hair, “Yes, dear. You definitely can.” You squeeze your thighs together, suddenly very aware that you’re in a skirt.
“Mahito, I need to get to Suku-”
“Ah, ah, ah, shh, we don’t need to bring him up right now,” he says as he places his pointer to your lips, his opposite hand finds the wall and cages you in. A chill wrecks your body from the small touch. Thankfully, the other brothers start calling out to him, beginning with Geto,
“C’mon Mahito, she’s off limits. You know you can't be doing this.”
“Yeah, bro. If she’s gonna choose anyone it’d be me.” Toji chimes, to which he winks as you shoot him a glare past the blue tresses that hang over Mahito’s shoulder.
“Shut up. The off limits rule is bullshit. They’re not even dating.”
“Say that again?”
The kitchen grows dark. When you look for the source of the shadow, you catch Sukuna towering above you. His terrifying red eyes flood your body with relief even when they should probably make you pee yourself, especially when he looks this pissed off. Determined, Mahito’s hands slide to your biceps, where they grip you hard, trying to steal you from Sukuna’s claim.
You wince in discomfort, the sound setting off a reflex in Sukuna. He fists Mahito’s indigo locks and smashes his face into the wall by your head. Crimson blood instantly spurts out of his broken nose and runs down the front of his shirt. Ryomen pulls back, bending Mahito’s neck so that he’s looking up at Sukuna, who growls at him, “When you wake up, you have 6 hours to move out.”
“When I-” Thump
Sukuna whacks the back of Mahito’s head, knocking him unconscious. His body dangles limp, only supported by the hair caught in Sukuna’s grip. He lets go, allowing the body to crumple on the floor. One final look of disgust is paid to the heap of human garbage before Ryomen’s eyes return to yours.
His hands lightly trace your face, “You okay, baby?”
You quickly blink, trying to remember how to breathe. Eventually you grasp the situation enough to nod ‘yes’.
“We’re calling each other baby now, hmm?”
“Fuck off, Geto.” Sukuna calls over his shoulder, never taking his gaze from your features cradled in his hands.
“Just seems a little familiar for someone who’s ‘not your girlfriend.’”
Ignoring him, Ryomen grabs your backpack and slings it over his shoulder before finding your hand. He slips his fingers between yours and guides you upstairs to his room, his protective presence warming every part of your body. Something feels right about your hands folded together. Repeatedly, you look down at the union, worried about the feelings blooming in your chest. He’s not boyfriend material; he’s just a jerk who saves you from his jerk friends. But you know it’s a lie. You try to make yourself believe it, but when he pulls you into his room and locks the door behind him, his worried expression rips the fib from your thoughts.
“Did he hurt you?”
“No, just scared me a little.”
Sukuna bends down, making his face eye-level with yours, searching your expression, “You aren’t lying to me, are you?”
“No, though the threat of you murdering others makes it a real possibility in the future.”
The half smile that cracks his worried features softens the mood. His hand slips to the back of your head and pulls you into his lips. He steals your pink flesh with a vicious bite, yet a slight vulnerability still lingers amidst the possessive nature of the kiss. He once more commands your mouth, claiming you like a prize as his fingers tighten in your hair, needy moans lingering on his tongue.
By the time he releases you, your eyes have glazed over and your lips are swollen. A slightly vacant expression stares back at him, as you try to decide how to feel. Your throat eventually bobs before you finally speak.
“So, drama aside, are you ready to write?”
“Not yet, I still have your surprise.”
“If you offer me your dick in exchange for writing our pa-”
“Hold that thought.”
Your eyes narrow at him when his signature mischievous grin splits his mug and reveals his teeth.
From the corner of his room he pulls a wooden chair up to his desk and spins it so the back is facing the desk. Then he grabs a parcel from his bedside and hands it to you.
“A gift?”
“Open it.” he says with a smirk.
You take custody of the box and begin unwrapping the paper gently. As you peel away the giftwrap you see that the box is a custom ‘clone a willy’ dildo with a giant suction up at its base. You glare up at Sukuna half amused.
“I know you still don’t believe in my claim over you, but at least this way, you’re prepared for your fate.” You release an exasperated laugh at his antics.
“You are an extremely self assured man, aren’t you?”
Ryomen’s head tilts to the side as he licks his teeth, considering you before smiling. “I am. Now,” Sukuna opens the packaging and slides out your phallic gift. He walks over to the wooden chair and with a heavy hand, he slams the suction cup against the grain allowing the rubber penile mold to lightly bounce back and forth as it settles onto its new home.
“Sit”
“Sukuna, no.”
“Sit. Down.”
You laugh in disbelief, your arms folded over your chest. “Ryomen, I’m here to write our paper with you. I can’t concentrate if I'm sitting on…that.”
Sukuna spits on the tip of the silicone clone allowing his saliva to dribble down the shaft. Your eyes zone in on its path while you worry your lip, noticing how thick and veiny the item is. Its shape is long with a J hook arching up, the kind that strokes the right places. You wonder how accurately the item replicates Sukuna since you’ve never actually seen what he looks like under his boxer briefs.
Noticing your musings, Sukuna strides over to you, closing the gap with an outstretched hand that cups your cheek. Your eyes flutter wide as you stare up at him. Then he leans down, licking your lips before pressing into them. He pulls you into his chest, one hand against your back, the other sinking into your scalp. You moan into his mouth, your core clenching from anticipation. You rub up against him when he slides his hands between you and undoes the buttons on the front of your shirt, leaving it open to expose your bra before his hands run up your sides and down your arms.
He pulls you forward towards the desk, guiding you over to the chair. His fingers trail under your skirt and pull your panties to the side. You widen your legs, lips breaking contact as you step to each side of the chair. Slowly he pushes you down, the tip of the toy nestling against the center of your labia. He continues to press till the head breaks through your seam and enters your slit, stuffing you more than you anticipated.
Soon the entire shaft is inserted into your core as your ass meets the wood. You clench and instinctively rock your hips while he resumes kissing your neck and chin. When he breaks away, you go to stand up but his large hand on your shoulder stops you. “No.”
You eye him with confusion and watch as he walks over to his nightstand to pull out several wads of rope before returning to you. A thick swallow unconsciously follows while you focus on the contents of his hands, the black rope rolled up into neat little bundles, waiting for a victim to ensnare.
“Do you trust me?” He asks as he stands behind you. In the tiniest of nods you admit you do. Gently, he grabs your wrists and brings them behind your back, overlapping them and knotting them together. Then he pulls the cords up along your spine to wrap them around your neck three times before running the line down your sternum and splitting the chord between your breasts. He continues looping the fibers around your arms and chest, each knot and tie tightening the bindings and accentuating your mounds leaving you exposed and at his mercy. Then, once he’s done constructing your fiber harness, he takes another bundle of rope and begins to tie your ankles to the legs of the chair. Your lips part, a protest upon them, but sensing your objection he looks up at you. “Trust me.” you close your mouth, allowing him to continue restraining you. First he wraps the cord around your ankle and chair then he begins to thread the rope around the stacked ties, separating your flesh from the wooden peg and nearly cutting off your circulation.
Sukuna stands up, looking at you bound in shibari and straddling the chair, sitting on a clone of his cock. His pants feel tight as he gazes at the sexiest sight he’s ever seen and he’s had multiple angles threesomes. “One last thing.”
“How can there be more?!” you say, feeling your arousal spilling out all over the chair as you shamefully clench around the silicone peg wedged inside of you. Sukuna comes back with one last gift that he claims he was saving for later. A sliver chain with three strings and three clamps.
“Ryomen, I don’t know about all this.”
“Tonight, I’m in charge. I am the writer and you are the observer.”
“And the puppet.”
“And my puppet. Now relax, and enjoy.”
“But we’re supposed to be writing a paper!” you protest as he pulls each mound out from your brazier and stretches the skin around your areola before closing the weight of the clamp around your peak. You hiss from the slight pain but he only smiles, knowing exactly what this is doing to you. The chain is threaded through the decorative design of the chair’s wooden back before it’s passed through and the second clamp is placed on your other peak.
Both your nubs feel tender but the abuse is making the slick gush from your center. Then Sukuna grabs the third and final clamp and runs it south. You suddenly realize where he intends to place it and you squirm. “Don’t worry, puppet, you’ll like this.” One pair of fingers open your labia to expose your engorged nerve bundle while the other pair open and close the clamp's jaws, trapping the pleasure nub inside its pinch.
You gasp and moan feeling the pain and increased sensitivity. Every shift of your torso is felt due to the tug of the chain threaded through the chair back and every tilt of your hips feels more extreme with the weight of the clamp sitting at the apex of your sex. Then, with one finger looped through the chain that connects all three jaws together, Sukuna gives a little tug.
“Fuck!” you gasp
“She’s sensitive. Good.”
That toying smile is wide on his face and you realize it was a mistake playing nice while he put you in this position. If anyone walked in, you’d be humiliated, yet here Sukuna stands, admiring you like you’re a work of art. “Now that you’re prepped and ready, it’s time to write our paper.”
“Like this?!”
“Yes.”
“Sukuna, I can’t use my hands!”
“I can always stand behind you. I’m sure you can reach what you need to from that angle.” You glare at him, not ready to reward him with a hand job after this stunt. “Relax, Charity. I’m writing that paper, remember? You talk, I write. We’ll do the entire thing together like we should’ve done from the beginning.”
That’s when it starts to dawn on you, this twisted little sex game is actually his version of some kind of apology. Making sure you’re pleased while he writes. In his own devious way he’s trying to make up for his earlier fuck up by giving you sex while he writes the paper. “Now let’s start with the outline.”
Sukuna pulls up his computer chair next to yours at his desk and opens his laptop. The two of you walk through each section of the paper, contrasting the outcomes of your various experiments on the synthesis of typical over the counter drugs like aspirin and acetaminophen. Every so often a moan slips out as you adjust your position on top of Sukuna’s clone. Sometimes his hand mindlessly wanders over to play with the silver chain connected to your clamps, and sometimes he stops what he’s doing to stand behind you and kiss your neck.
“You have no idea how beautiful you look like this.” he whispers into your ear. “I want to take a photo and turn it into the wallpaper of my bedroom.” your eyes close at the dirty thought. “Ride that dick for me baby. I wanna see just how sloppy your hole is after sitting on it all this time.”
Your eyes cast down as you acquiesce. You begin to tilt your hips forward tugging on the clamp squeezing your clit. You cry out in pleasure, constricting around the dildo while also raising up off the chair ever so slightly. Sukuna kneels on the floor behind you, lifting your skirt, watching the seat of your chair, mesmerized by the way your lips stretch around the thick girth of the dildo. He imagines it’s him. A deep growl releasing itself from his chest as his cock aches with want. His palm finds his pants, soothing the appendage while he watches you slowly glide up and down on your chair-bound toy.
“Fuck it.” he says, grabbing his phone. He starts recording you from behind, holding up your skirt for the camera. “Moan for me baby. I wanna hear just how good it feels.” Your head tilts back as you whine from the way the dildo pushes into you, reaching deeper than any man ever has.
Then Sukuna comes around the front, his left hand tugging on your chain while the right one records. Your eyes pinch together, from the abuse, your hips moving faster on the silicone splitting you open. “That’s a good girl.” he whispers in your ear, putting his phone away before you notice it. He puts his hands upon your shoulders signaling you can stop. “Let’s get back to writing.” Your breathing slows as you come down from your high, trying to settle in even when your hands go numb behind your back.
You continue this way for another two hours, your juices running all over the inside and backs of your thighs and between your ass cheeks with each adjustment of your position. The lace underwear you wore are drenched and stretched out, and your nipples are purple while each pull of the chain sends bolts of pleasure to your clit.
By the time you’re ready to revise the assignment Sukuna stands up to leave. You fear he’s going to leave his room with you tied like this when you realize he’s going back to his nightstand to grab one final item.
“I was going to save this for another time, but now's as good a time as any.” he pulls out a new mini vibrating wand and walks back to his seat. He presses the button, triggering a buzzing sound and presses the head against your pinched clit. You choke on your own gasp while Sukuna turns back to his laptop and silently reads the paper to himself. Every so often he pulls the vibe away to rewrite a section or fix a punctuation, but each time he picks up the wand, he holds it to a different area.
Switching between your trapped peaks and your swollen nub, the game is driving you wild. You twitch and grind in your restraints, dirty thoughts and intense orgasms rocking you in the chair. By the time Sukuna closes his laptop you’ve had at least five spells of convulsions from his vibrating wand, leaving your brain bloodless and stupid.
You gasp for air under the tight rope around your neck and shrink away from his touch from pure fatigue, when his hands start to grow greedy.
“My baby looks satisfied. Did I take good care of her?” You wordlessly bob your head, a distant part of your brain annoyed that he titled you ‘his baby’ again. “Good, I hope I wasn’t too mean.” You shake your head no. “Does Charity want to be released?”
You nod your answer with a tinge of regret because part of you is still aching for more. The demons in your head want to open your mouth and wait for him to fuck his length into your face. You want to taste his cock and choke on it while it’s shoved down your windpipe. Then after, you want to know what it feels like to have his actual dick between your legs, not this silicone version. The filthiest thoughts rush to your head, filling you with fantasies, but mostly, you’re just tired from your orgasms and just want some rest.
“Okay baby, I’ll help you.” he coos.
He takes the bite off your clit and rubs slow soothing circles around the area, to which you moan loudly. Then he removes the clamps off each nipple in a painful release. You cry out, so to ease the sting he takes each nub into his mouth and sucks on it, licking away the tenderness. Your head falls back in relief, happy to have bloodflow restored. You rock on top of the dildo again, more arousal dripping out of you.
Then Sukuna releases your ankles and lifts you up off the dildo. He doesn’t undo your harness yet, however. Instead he guides you to the bed and has you sit on its edge. “I’m trying so hard to resist you right now, baby, but I need just a quick taste. Just a small one and then I’ll let you go. I promise.”
You’re weak from the evening’s torture; your mind is completely numb as you watch him kneel before you. Thick hands divide your legs before he buries his face between your thighs and begins flattening his tongue along your sex, pointing the muscle and dipping it inside your folds. You fall backwards on the bed, bucking your hips up into his face. It feels like heaven, the way he is slurping your fluids and eating your core. Even when he sucks your clit between his teeth, you can’t help the wall-penetrating moan that escapes. Sukuna continues to push your skater skirt and thong to the side. The fabric of both items are completely soaked from tonight's activity, but he stretches them just to maintain his access to the thing he desires most.
He sounds ravenous. Groans and grunts fill the room while your quiet gasps and cries blend into a melody. His fierce teeth and tongue play with you till you gush into his anxious mouth, cumming directly on his face as your legs box in his head. Your arched back bows in delight while you ride the high.
Gently, Sukuna centers your underwear and rolls you onto your belly to undo the ties binding your arms, chest, and neck. You continue to tremble from your most recent orgasm while his fingers work through the bindings. Once you’re free and have regained some of your strength, you tuck yourself back into your bra and fasten the buttons of your shirt.
“Thank you.” you say, to break the silence.
You’re not even sure what you’re thanking him for. Rescuing you earlier, pleasuring you all night, writing the paper, or finally releasing you. All you really know is that you’re weirdly at peace. “Can I have a ride home? I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk that whole way after, you know….”
He smirks, that smug expression showing how proud he is of a job well done. “Of course.”
Silently he carts your ‘gifts’ off to the bathroom to be cleaned. When he returns he deposits the dildo into your bag. “I’ll keep the rest here for another time, but this” he holds up your bag, “I want you to use every time you think of me.”
Canines flashing once more, you look back at him flustered, feeling a little more arousal drip into your very soggy underwear. “I won’t make any promises.”
He leans down to your ear, “You don’t have to. I can already see from your face that you will.”
He’s definitely not your lab partner anymore. There’s no denying it at this point. You can’t just let a guy tie you up and pretend you’re only friends.
The two of you leave Ryomen’s room, trying to discreetly walk through the house and to the cars parked outside. However, your plans are foiled by the hoard of men sitting on the leather couches downstairs. The entire group of them applaud and whistle, turning your face beet red. One of them even points to the wet spots on your skirt. “Didn’t even get naked first! I told you Charity’s a freak!”
Sukuna stops, menacing eyes turning to them. “Say one more word about her and I’ll make you look like Mahito.” His threat is low and cuts off all banter. No one dares to speak. Making sure they’re good and done, Sukuna grabs your hand and angrily tugs you through the kitchen, leaving them all behind while your other hand hides your face in shame.
“Fucking assholes making fun of my future wife. Actin’ like they know how to satisfy pussy.” he grumbles under his breath, but you don’t miss the words…’future wife.’ That’s what he said.
Sukuna guides you around to the passenger side of a chrome pink Aston Martin, where he opens the door for you and guides you inside. He snaps the door shut, with a little more anger than you were expecting, before walking back towards the driver’s side. You let his earlier statement settle in again. Sukuna isn’t just claiming you or toying with you, he’s thinking about a whole future with you. That’s… scary.
SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ When you enter the Love Island villa as a bombshell, you spark an instant, high-stakes connection with the intense and complicated Rafe Cameron. As you navigate each others web of secrets, messy betrayals, and jealous rivals, you must decide if your undeniable chemistry is a genuine match or just a casualty of the game...
WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, smut, mentions of past relationships, suggestive content, mentions of addiction, circumstantial cheating/infidelity, general LI drama, arguments, mentions of mental health, drinking, more detailed warnings for each individual chapter
SERIES TAG NAV‧₊˚ #fic analysis☀️ | #sotb | #mailbox:sotb
some quick (kinda important) notes
EPISODES
The Deep End (Day 1+2) | tweets
2. Muggy Mornings and Moonlit Pasts (Day 3+4) | tweets
❤︎ |6,5k| Summary: Lando is disappointed to find Y/n gone in the morning. When he meets her the next day she’s full of attitude and on her period. Luckily Lando is there to help her feel better.
The house was quiet as Lando carried Y/N through the front door, the only sound the soft thud of his footsteps on the marble floor and her gentle, even breaths against his chest. The moonlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the pristine white walls. He navigated the staircase carefully, one arm secured under her knees, the other supporting her back, her head lolling against his shoulder.
She felt impossibly small in his arms, fragile in a way she never was when she was awake and fighting him with every sharp word and defiant glance. Asleep, she was soft, vulnerable, and his heart ached with a fierce protectiveness that both terrified and exhilarated him.
He reached his bedroom and gently laid her down on the king-sized bed, her body sinking into the plush duvet. He stood there for a moment, just watching her sleep, the moonlight catching in her hair, highlighting the gentle curve of her cheek. He reached out, his fingers trembling slightly, and brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face.
The touch was feather-light, but it was enough.
Her eyelids fluttered, then slowly opened. For a moment, she looked dazed, her gaze unfocused as she tried to piece together where she was and how she'd gotten there. Then her eyes found his, and she just stared. There was no anger, no defiance, no teasing mask. Just a raw, curious, almost admiring gaze that made his breath catch in his throat. She looked at him like she was seeing him for the first time, really seeing him.
Then, as if the intensity of her own gaze scared her, her expression shifted. A soft whine escaped her lips, and she started pulling at the silk dress she wore, her movements clumsy and desperate. "This dress," she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. "I can't breathe in it. It's... suffocating."
She twisted, trying to reach the zipper at the back, but her arms weren't long enough, her movements too sluggish from sleep. She let out a frustrated little huff. "Zipper," she said, her voice a quiet plea. "Can't reach it."
Lando didn't hesitate. He sat on the edge of the bed, his movements gentle. "Turn over," he said softly.
She complied, rolling onto her stomach with a soft sigh, exposing the long line of her back and the delicate zipper nestled between her shoulder blades. His fingers brushed against her warm skin as he found the small metal tab, and he slowly drew it down, the sound a soft, metallic whisper in the quiet room. The silk parted, revealing the smooth expanse of her back, the delicate curve of her spine.
He helped her sit up, and the dress pooled around her waist. She shimmied out of it, letting it fall to the floor in a heap of silk, leaving her in just her matching black lace bra and panties. He then knelt, his fingers finding the delicate straps of her heels. He unbuckled them carefully, his touch lingering on her ankles, and slipped them off, placing them neatly on the floor.
She was already asleep again before he even straightened up. She just collapsed back against the pillows, her body curling into itself, a soft, contented sigh escaping her lips as she burrowed under the duvet.
Lando watched her for a long moment, a small smile playing on his lips. He quickly shed his own clothes, pulling on a pair of loose boxers before sliding into bed beside her. He didn't touch her, just lay there, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her body, listening to the soft, rhythmic sound of her breathing. He fell asleep with the image of her peaceful face etched behind his eyelids.
The morning light filtering through the curtains was a soft, golden-gray. Lando surfaced from sleep slowly, his consciousness drifting upward through layers of warmth and safety. He reached out, his hand searching for her, for the warm body that had been beside him when he fell asleep.
His hand met only cool, empty sheets.
He sat up, his eyes scanning the room. She was gone. Her dress was gone. Her shoes were gone. It was as if she had never been there at all.
A wave of frustration washed over him, hot and sharp. He threw back the covers and stood up, running a hand through his already messy hair. He knew she was always quick to leave, always the first one out the door after they were done. But this was different. She had stayed the night. She had been here when he fell asleep. He had carried her to his bed, undressed her, taken care of her. And she had just... vanished. No note. No message. Nothing.
He walked into the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face, trying to shake off the sting of her disappearance. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, his jaw tight. He was being ridiculous. This was what they were. This was the arrangement. No strings attached.
But then it hit him, a thought so staggering it made him freeze, his hand gripping the edge of the sink.
He didn't have her number.
God, he didn't even have the fucking number of the girl he was completely, utterly obsessed with. He knew her body, her taste, everything physical but he couldn't just text her, couldn't call her, couldn't send her a simple "Where the fuck did you disappear to?" He was completely at her mercy.
"Fuck," he muttered, slamming his palm against the counter.
He got dressed, his movements jerky and angry, and stomped downstairs, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. He needed coffee. He needed to forget about her for five minutes.
He found Max already in the dining room, sitting at the large oak table, a newspaper spread out in front of him and a cup of coffee in his hand. Max looked up as Lando entered, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.
"Rough night?" Max asked, his tone teasing. "Or should I say, rough morning? I saw Y/N leaving your room at the crack of dawn. Looked like she was in a hurry."
Lando just rubbed his face with his hands, his exhaustion and frustration palpable. "I don't know, Max," he said, his voice muffled by his hands. "I honestly don't know."
Max's smirk faded slightly, replaced by a look of genuine concern. "Hey, you okay?"
Lando dropped his hands and sank into the chair opposite Max. "She was gone when I woke up," he admitted, his voice quiet. "Just... gone. No note, no nothing."
Max sighed. "Lando, what did you expect? You said it yourself, it's just sex. No strings, remember?"
"I know," Lando said, his voice tight. "I know. But this time felt... different."
"Did it?" Max asked, raising an eyebrow. "Or did you just want it to be?"
Lando didn't have an answer to that. He just stared into his empty coffee cup, the bitter taste of her absence stronger than any caffeine.
The next day, Lando decided he needed some air. He went for a walk along the harbor, the salty breeze a welcome distraction from the thoughts that had been swirling in his head for the past twenty-four hours. He watched the yachts bobbing in the water, the tourists milling about, the rich and famous going about their daily lives.
And then he saw her.
She was standing by the harbor, leaning against a weathered wooden piling, looking out at the sea. The breeze whipped her hair around her face, and she wore a simple pair of grey shorts and a grey tank top, a stark contrast to the elegant dresses he usually saw her in. She looked... normal. Real. And his heart did that stupid little flip it always did when he saw her.
He didn't think. He just walked.
His footsteps were determined, and she must have heard them approaching because she turned her head slightly, her eyes widening in recognition when she saw it was him. He didn't give her a chance to run.
"Fancy seeing you here," he said, his voice casual, but his eyes were locked on hers, intense and unwavering.
"Lando," she said, her voice neutral. She didn't smile, but she didn't immediately tell him to fuck off either. That was a good sign.
"Come over," he said. It wasn't a question. It was a statement, a demand.
She let out a small, humorless laugh and shook her head. "No."
"Why not?" he pressed, stepping closer, invading her personal space. He could smell the salt on her skin, the faint scent of her perfume.
"I have things to do," she said, turning her gaze back to the water, effectively dismissing him.
"Like what?" he pushed. "More important than me?" He knew he sounded like a petulant child, but he couldn't help it. Her disappearance this morning had left a raw, gaping wound, and he needed to see her, to touch her, to remind himself that she was real and that he hadn't just dreamt her.
She finally looked at him, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. "Yes, Lando. More important than you."
He wasn't deterred. He was used to this by now. "Come on," he cajoled, his voice softening. "Just for a little while. I'll make it worth your while."
She finally turned to face him fully, a skeptical arch to her eyebrow. "Oh, will you now?" she challenged, her lips quirking into a smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes. "And how exactly do you plan on doing that?"
He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against her ear, his voice a hot whisper against her skin. "I'll fuck you so good you won't be able to walk tomorrow, and I'll make you come as many times as you’d like. How does that sound?"
A shiver ran through her, despite her best efforts to remain unaffected. He could see the desire warring with her resolve in her eyes. He had her. He knew he did.
But then she seemed to collect herself, taking a small step back. "I'm not in the mood," she said, her voice clipped.
Lando's gaze slowly, deliberately, dropped from her face down to her legs. He raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Really? Then why are your thighs clenched so tight together?"
Her face flushed, a beautiful pink that spread across her cheeks. He loved it when he made her blush. "Because I'm on my period," she snapped, as if that was the ultimate conversation ender. "So I'm definitely not in the mood to deal with your... proposition."
He just shrugged, completely unfazed. "So? You can still come over. I've got snacks."
She stared at him, dumbfounded. "You want me to come over... to eat snacks?"
"And watch a movie. And just be together. Is that so hard to believe?" he asked, his tone genuinely curious now.
"Yes," she said bluntly. "It is."
"Please?" he asked, and he hated how pathetic he sounded, but he didn't care. He needed her near him. "Just for a little while. I promise I'll behave."
She let out a long, dramatic sigh, but he could see the fight leaving her eyes. "You are so incredibly annoying," she muttered, but she was already reaching for her bag.
A triumphant grin spread across his face. "So I've been told," he said, holding out his hand. This time, she didn't hesitate before placing her own in it. "So, is that a yes?"
"Fine," she said, her voice resigned. "But only for the snacks."
"Of course," he said, his smile widening as he laced his fingers through hers. "Only for the snacks."
The walk back to his house was quiet, but not uncomfortable. He couldn’t focus on anything but their joined hands, a small, contented smile on his face. He could feel her eyes on him occasionally, but he didn't look at her, just kept walking, enjoying the simple act of holding her hand, feeling the weight of it in his own.
Once inside, he led her straight to the kitchen, true to his word. He rummaged through his pantry, pulling out a bag of chips, a box of cookies, and a bar of her favorite chocolate. "Here," he said, handing her the chocolate. "Get started."
She took the chocolate, a small smile playing on her lips as she broke off a piece. He watched her eat, his own hunger forgotten. She was so fucking cute when she was eating, her eyes closing in bliss as she savored the sweet treat.
They settled on the couch, the bag of chips between them, a random action movie playing on the giant TV screen that neither of them was watching. He couldn't stop himself from asking, the question that had been burning a hole in his gut since he'd woken up to an empty bed.
"Why did you leave this morning?" he asked, his voice quiet.
Her hand, halfway to the bag of chips, froze. She slowly lowered it, her expression shuttering. "Why not?” "What does it matter anyway?" she asked, her eyes challenging him.
He didn't have an answer to that. Because she was right. It didn't matter. Not according to their rules. But it mattered to him. It mattered a hell of a lot.
She pressed, her gaze unwavering. "Why does it matter, Lando?"
He opened his mouth to tell her. To tell her that he was completely, utterly, head-over-heals in love with her. But the words got stuck in his throat, choking him. She didn’t feel the same, he knew that, she had made that pretty fucking clear. He could see it in her eyes, in the way she held herself so stiffly, so defensively. Telling her now would only scare her away, and he couldn't risk that.
So he settled for something else, something safer. "Because I would have liked to fuck you first thing in the morning," he said, his voice rough. "And then again in the shower."
She rolled her eyes, a small, amused huff escaping her lips. "Men," she muttered, but the tension had broken.
He smiled at her, relieved. "Guilty." He turned his attention back to the movie, but he could feel her shifting beside him, her movements restless. She kept squirming, a slight frown on her face.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his concern returning.
"Cramps," she muttered, her hand pressed to her lower stomach.
"Period cramps?" he asked.
She shot him a look. But she settled for a surprisingly civil answer. "Yes”.
"Do you want some painkillers? I have pretty much everything. Advil, Tylenol, Midol..."
"No," she said, shaking her head. "I don't like taking pills. They're not good for you."
"Right," he said, falling silent. He hated seeing her in pain, even if it was just something as mundane as period cramps. He wanted to fix it, to make it go away, but he didn't know how.
He picked up his phone, searching for how to help ease period pain. Did he search How to help ease your girlfriends period pain? Definitely not. Suddenly he could feel her mood shift, could feel the distance growing between them again.
My stomach was still churning, a dull, persistent ache that made me want to curl into a ball and disappear. I risked a glance at him. He was slumped back against the couch cushions, his phone held up in front of his face, his thumb scrolling endlessly. The blue light from the screen illuminated his sharp features, making him look distant, almost cold. He hadn't said a word in ten minutes.
A bitter taste filled my mouth, and it had nothing to do with the chocolate I'd just eaten. He was bored. Of course he was. I'd basically told him I was off-limits, sexually speaking. The whole reason I was here, the entire foundation of our… arrangement, was off the table. He was probably just waiting for me to leave so he could call someone else, someone who could actually satisfy him. The thought made my stomach cramp up even worse. Why was it starting to do that every time I thought about him with someone else?
This was a mistake. I never should have come. I had let my guard down, let his promise of snacks and his stupidly charming smile lure me in, and now I was just sitting here, feeling like an unwanted guest while the man I was having meaningless sex with silently wished I would go away. The intimacy from earlier, him rubbing my belly, felt like a lifetime ago, a trick my mind had played on me.
I couldn't do this. I couldn't just sit here in his suffocating silence, feeling like a consolation prize. I started to shift, getting ready to make my excuses.
"Come here," he said, cutting me off. He'd put his phone down, screen down on the cushion beside him, and was looking at me now, his expression unreadable.
My defenses shot back up. "Why?" I asked, my voice wary. I was already bracing myself for him to tell me to leave, to get it over with.
He patted his lap, the gesture simple and direct. "Because I want to help you."
I stared at him, completely baffled. Help me? By scrolling through Instagram while I was in pain? "What are you talking about?"
"Just… come here. Please?" The please was soft, almost vulnerable. It disarmed me. Against my better judgment, I found myself moving. I shifted on the couch, turning my back to him and leaning back. He guided me, his hands firm but gentle on my hips, until I was settled with my back against his chest, my head resting on his shoulder. His arms came around me, one across my ribs, the other resting low on my stomach.
I was tense, every muscle in my body coiled tight. This was too close. Too much like something a couple would do. I had run from this exact feeling this morning, the terrifying warmth of being cared for by him.
Then his hand started to move. It was just a slow, gentle pressure at first, his palm flat against my lower belly. He began to rub small, slow circles, the heat from his skin seeping through the thin cotton of my tank top. It was… nice. The warmth was soothing, the steady, repetitive motion strangely calming. I felt the knot of pain in my stomach begin to loosen, just a little.
His fingers trailed down, skimming along the waistband of my shorts before moving under my shorts to continue the circles, lower this time, right over the source of the ache. A small, involuntary sigh escaped my lips. It felt too good. My brain was screaming at me, telling me this was dangerous, that this was intimacy, this was caring, and I needed to run. But then again there could only be one reason to why he was doing this. He was obviously hoping to ease my pain so we could have sex, no not sex he probably finds that disgusting since I’m on my period. Then he could have called anyone else. No he probably was hoping that I’d suck him off once my pain was gone. Probably why he looked so disappointed earlier when I refused the painkillers as well. But despite knowing this my body betrayed me, melting against him, my muscles unclenching one by one. My heart gave a painful clench. This was so much worse than sex. This was something I couldn't pretend didn't mean anything.
The steady motion of his hand, combined with the deep, rhythmic beat of his heart against my back, was a potent lullaby. I felt my eyelids grow heavy, the fog of sleep pulling me under despite my desperate attempts to fight it. I was so tired, and he was so warm, and his hands felt so good…
I suddenly felt her go very quiet. Her body, which had been stiff and tense against mine, seemed to go boneless. Her breathing, which I could feel against my chest, deepened and slowed, becoming soft and even. I looked down and saw that her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted in sleep.
My heart melted. Right there, in my chest, just turned into a giant, gooey puddle. She was asleep. On me. Because she felt safe enough to fall asleep. I couldn't stop the huge, dopey grin from spreading across my face. I kept rubbing circles on her belly, my touch feather-light now, not wanting to wake her. I just sat there, holding her, watching the movie I wasn't paying any attention to, and enjoying the feeling of her in my arms, peaceful and trusting. I could stay like this forever.
She woke up slowly, a warm, heavy weight pinning her down. For a moment, she panicked, her assassin instincts kicking in, before she realized where she was. She was still on Lando's lap, his arms wrapped around her like a security blanket. He was looking down at her, a soft, sweet smile on his face that made her stomach do a weird flip-flop.
"Hey," he said, his voice a low rumble against her ear.
"Hey," she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. She started to sit up, feeling awkward and exposed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"Don't be sorry," he said, his smile widening. "You looked too peaceful to wake up." He shifted, adjusting his position. "Are you tired? Do you want to go up to my bed? It'll be more comfortable."
She hesitated. Going to his bed felt like crossing another line, one she wasn't sure she was ready to cross. But the thought of moving from his warm, solid presence was unbearable. "Okay," she agreed softly.
Before she could even try to stand, he was moving. He slid an arm under her knees and another behind her back, lifting her effortlessly into his arms as he stood up. "Lando!" she squeaked, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I can walk!"
"I know," he said, completely ignoring her protest as he started towards the stairs. "But I'd rather carry you."
A secret part of her, the part she tried desperately to ignore, found it incredibly hot. And sweet. So, so sweet. She rested her head against his chest, letting him carry her up the grand staircase and into his massive bedroom. He laid her down gently on the bed, pulling the duvet over her before sliding in beside her.
He cuddled up to her, pulling her back against his chest, his arm draped over her waist. But the comfort she'd felt on the couch was gone, replaced by the sharp, insistent pain of her cramps, which seemed to have worsened while she was asleep. She couldn't get comfortable, shifting restlessly, a small groan escaping her lips.
He must have felt her tense up, because he propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at her in the dim light. "Still hurting?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.
She just nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
"I read something," he said after a moment, his tone hesitant. "I read that an orgasm can help with period pain. Like, really help."
She rolled her eyes, even though he probably couldn't see it. "I'm not in the mood for sex, Lando," she said, her voice tight. The last thing she wanted was for him to think the only reason she was here was because she might eventually put out.
"I wasn't even thinking about sex," he said quickly, his voice earnest. "I was thinking about pleasuring you. Only you."
She let out an exasperated huff. "It's messy. And disgusting."
"Have you ever tried it?" he asked.
"No," she admitted grudgingly.
"Me neither," he said. "But I'm pretty sure it's not disgusting. It's natural. And honestly?" He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I think it's kind of hot. It means you're fertile. It's like… a biological sign that your body is working perfectly. I find that incredibly sexy."
Y/N's face burned. She was shocked, utterly floored by his words. Why would he care about her being fertile? Was that actually a turn-on for him? The thought was so bizarre, so unexpectedly intimate, that it short-circuited her brain. She found herself nodding slowly. "Okay," she whispered.
A wide, triumphant grin spread across his face. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," she said, a small smile playing on her own lips.
"Good," he said, leaning down to kiss her, his soft lips moving over hers. "Just relax. I'll be right back."
He disappeared into the bathroom, returning a moment later with a fluffy, dark-colored towel and a package of wet wipes. He kissed her again, a deep, lingering kiss that tasted of chocolate and promise. He spread the towel out on the bed, the dark fabric a stark contrast against the pristine white duvet.
"There," he said, his voice soft, almost reverent. "Get comfortable."
Her brain was screaming. This was too much. This was intimacy on a level she hadn't signed up for, a level she'd actively been running from. This wasn't just sex; this was care. This was seeing her at her most vulnerable, her most uncomfortable, her most… female. And not running away. It was terrifying.
But her body, the traitorous thing, didn't listen. It leaned into him, seeking his warmth, his solid presence. Her muscles unclenched, her breathing evened out.
He settled beside her, his weight dipping the mattress. He didn't rush. He just looked at her, his gaze so intense it felt like a physical touch. "You're sure about this?" he asked, his voice low.
She just nodded, unable to form words. Her throat was tight with a mix of fear and anticipation.
His fingers found the waistband of her grey shorts. He hooked his thumbs into the fabric, his knuckles brushing against the sensitive skin of her stomach. "Lift up for me, baby," he murmured.
The endearment sent a jolt through her. Baby even though she didn’t want to admit it she absolutely loves it when he calls her that. It was so simple, so domestic, and it made her heart ache in a way that was both painful and pleasant. She complied, lifting her hips so he could slide the shorts down her legs. He tossed them onto the floor, his movements unhurried.
And then his hands were back, this time at the edge of her panties. Her breath hitched. Panic, cold and sharp, seized her.
"Wait," she whispered, her hand flying down to cover his. "Stop."
He froze instantly, his eyes widening with concern. "What's wrong? Are you changing your mind? It's okay if you are, Y/N. We don't have to—"
"No," she cut him off, shaking her head. "It's not that." She was wearing a pad, and that just seemed so private and disgusting that he would be able to see that once he pulled off her panties. She took a shaky breath, forcing the words out. "I just… I need a second," she whispered, her cheeks burning with shame.
"Take all the seconds you need," he said softly. He didn't move his hand, just let her hold it there, a silent anchor in her sea of panic.
She closed her eyes, taking a deep, steadying breath. She opened her eyes and looked at him, really looked at him. He was watching her with an expression of such unwavering patience and tenderness that it made her chest hurt.
Leaning in, she pressed her lips to his. It was a soft, tentative kiss at first, a thank you, a silent apology for her hesitation. He responded immediately, his lips moving against hers with a gentle pressure that was both comforting and arousing. She deepened the kiss, pouring all her fear and all her burgeoning trust into it. When she finally pulled back, she felt a little steadier.
"Okay," she whispered, nodding. "I'm okay."
He smiled, a genuine, radiant smile that made her stomach flutter. "Okay," he echoed, his thumb stroking her hip. He hooked his fingers back into the waistband of her panties. This time, she didn't stop him.
He slowly peeled the fabric down, revealing the small, white pad nestled between her thighs. He didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. He just continued pulling the panties down her legs until they were free, and tossed them carelessly on the floor.
And then his eyes were on her. On her. All of her. Bloody and exposed and vulnerable.
And his gaze darkened.
A low groan rumbled in his chest, and she watched, fascinated, as the front of his pants suddenly became impossibly tight. He was hard. So fucking hard. The sight of her, messy and bleeding, had made him hard.
"God," he breathed, his voice rough with lust. "Look at you."
He shifted, and she could see the prominent bulge straining against the fabric of his pants. Something about it, about his obvious, unashamed arousal at seeing her like this, was the most erotic thing she had ever experienced. It wasn't just about sex anymore. This felt… primal. Intimate. Like he was seeing a part of her no one else ever had, and he wasn't just accepting it, he was worshipping it.
"Is this okay?" he asked, his voice a low growl. He was looking at her exposed core, but his question was for her, for all of her.
She could only manage a shaky nod, her breath caught in her throat.
He knelt between her legs, his hands gently parting her thighs. The air felt cool against her heated, slick flesh. He leaned in, not to taste her, but just to look. His gaze was intense, focused, as if he was memorizing every detail.
"So perfect," he whispered, and then his fingers were on her.
He started with her clit, using his thumb to draw slow, gentle circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. A soft gasp escaped her lips. It felt different than usual. More intense. The heightened sensitivity of her body, combined with the taboo nature of what they were doing, sent sparks of pleasure shooting through her veins.
"Like that?" he murmured, his eyes fixed on her face.
"Y-yes," she stammered, her hips arching slightly.
He continued his ministrations, his touch steady and sure. He watched her every reaction, learning her body, responding to her every gasp and shiver. The pleasure built slowly, a warm, pooling heat in her belly that did wonders to chase away the dull ache of her cramps.
"I'm going to touch you inside now," he said, his voice low and serious. "You tell me if anything hurts, or if it's uncomfortable. Okay? I mean it, Y/N. Your word is law here."
"Okay," she breathed, her heart pounding with a mixture of nerves and anticipation.
He gently eased one finger inside her. The sensation was… strange. Familiar, but not. She could feel the slick, wet heat of her own blood coating his finger as he slid deeper. And she could feel her muscles clenching around him instinctively.
"Fuck," he groaned, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. "You're so tight. Even tighter than usual."
He began to move his finger, a slow, gentle in-and-out motion that had her moaning. The sounds were torn from her throat, raw and uninhibited. She was never this vocal, never this loud. But she couldn't help it. It felt too good. The combination of his thumb on her clit and his finger inside her was a potent cocktail of pleasure.
He seemed to love it. A triumphant grin spread across his face as he listened to her moans. "That's it, baby," he coaxed, leaning down to kiss her. "Let me hear you."
He added a second finger, stretching her carefully. The stretch was a delicious burn, a feeling of being so full, so completely possessed by him. He continued to pump his fingers in and out, his thumb never ceasing its maddening circles on her clit.
And then he curled them.
A strangled cry escaped her lips, her back arching off the bed. "Lando!"
He found it. That spot deep inside her that made her see stars. He rubbed it relentlessly, his fingers crooked just so, hitting that perfect spot over and over again.
"Right there?" he asked, his voice smug and satisfied.
She couldn't answer. She could only moan, her head thrown back, her eyes squeezed shut in a frown of pure pleasure. Her hand shot out, gripping his wrist, anchoring herself to him as the waves of pleasure crashed over her, threatening to pull her under.
Lando was absolutely loving this. He couldn’t stop but let out loud groans at the sight if her. He didn’t know where to look. At her beautiful face where her eyes were closed and her eyebrows knitted together in a frown of pleasure. Or her pussy, where the blood was gushing out of her, coating his fingers, his hand. Small droplets of blood flying around, some landing on his forearm, some on his face. He was loving this so much. And he was absolutely certain that it wouldn’t be the last time they were doing something like this.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice rough.
She forced her eyes open, her vision blurry with pleasure. He was staring down at her, his eyes dark with a possessive lust that took her breath away.
"You're so fucking beautiful like this," he growled. "All messy and mine."
That was it. That was all it took. The combination of his words, his touch, the sight of his blood-stained fingers pumping into her, sent her over the edge. Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, a violent, shattering crash that stole her breath and her vision. A scream tore from her throat, raw and primal. Her body convulsed, her inner walls clamping down on his fingers in a frantic, rhythmic pulse. She was completely gone, lost in a sea of sensation, her mind wiped blank by the sheer force of her release. She could feel the wet gush of her orgasm mingling with the blood, a messy, primal flood that seemed to go on forever.
Lando watched her, mesmerized. He had never seen her come this hard. Never seen her so completely undone. It was the most beautiful, most erotic thing he had ever witnessed. He felt her spasm wildly around his fingers, her body arching off the bed, a silent scream on her lips. He didn't stop, didn't let up, his thumb still circling her clit, his fingers still pressed against that sensitive spot deep inside her, helping her ride out the waves, drawing out her pleasure until she was a limp, trembling mess beneath him.
When the final shudder subsided, she collapsed back against the bed, her chest heaving, her body slick with sweat. He slowly, gently withdrew his fingers, his gaze fixed on the evidence of their intimacy coating his hand. It was a mess. A beautiful, fucking mess.
He waited, giving her a moment to come back to herself, to drift down from the incredible high. He watched as her breathing slowly evened out, as the frantic pounding of her heart against his chest subsided.
"Are you okay?" he asked softly, his voice full of a tenderness that surprised even him.
Her eyes fluttered open, and they were completely glazed over, hazy and unfocused. She looked drunk, high on pleasure. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, but no sound came out. She just stared at him for a long moment, her expression one of dazed wonder. Then, she slowly nodded.
A small, proud smile touched his lips. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, a gentle, reassuring press of his lips against her sweat-damp skin. "Good," he murmured.
He moved off the bed, his movements careful. "Stay there," he said, his voice soft. "Don't move."
She didn't seem capable of moving anyway. She just lay there, watching him with those dazed, sated eyes as he walked into the bathroom. He returned a moment later with a warm, wet washcloth. He sat back down on the edge of the bed, his touch impossibly gentle as he began to clean her up.
He wiped away the blood, his movements slow and methodical, almost reverent. He was so careful, so attentive, it made her heart ache. He wasn't just cleaning up the mess; he was taking care of her. He was cherishing her. He wiped down her thighs, her stomach, the sensitive folds between her legs, his touch leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. When he was done, he balled up the soiled towel, along with the dark towel from the bed, and carried them into the bathroom, disposing of them discreetly. He returned from the bathroom, his movements quiet and deliberate in the dim light of the room. He stood beside the bed for a moment, just looking at her, a soft smile playing on his lips. She was still lying where he'd left her, looking completely boneless and sated, a faint blush still coloring her cheeks.
"Here," he said softly, walking over to his dresser. He pulled out a plain black t-shirt, the fabric soft and worn. He brought it over to her, holding it out. "Put this on. It'll be more comfortable than your tank top."
She slowly pushed herself up, her muscles protesting with a pleasant ache. She took the shirt from him, her fingers brushing against his. The shirt smelled like him, clean and masculine, with a faint hint of his cologne. She pulled it over her head, the soft fabric swallowing her, the hem falling mid-thigh. It was huge on her, and she felt a strange, unfamiliar sense of comfort being enveloped in his scent, in his clothes.
She hesitated for a moment, then reached down and picked up her panties from the floor, pulling them back on. She left her bra where it lay, a forgotten piece of lace on his expensive rug. She felt exposed, but not vulnerable. It was a strange combination.
He watched her, his eyes dark and appreciative. He quickly shed his own pants, leaving him in just his boxers. He slid back into bed beside her, the mattress dipping with his weight. He immediately cuddled up to her from behind, his chest pressed against her back, his arm wrapping around her waist. He was so warm, a solid, comforting presence behind her.
His hand found its way to her stomach, his palm flat against the soft cotton of his shirt. He began to rub slow, gentle circles, the heat from his skin seeping through the fabric.
"Is it better now?" he murmured, his voice a low rumble against her ear.
The pain was gone. Completely. In its place was a warm, pleasant languor that settled deep in her bones. She shifted, pressing back against him, a soft sigh escaping her lips.
"It is," she whispered, her voice barely audible in the quiet room. "Much better."
This series is a celebration in honor of me hitting 6,000 followers on tumblr! This is a military!rafe series since he’s a very frequent requested au of mine ୨୧
CONTENT WARNING (for the whole series): age gap, power imbalance, authority kink, manipulation, possessive behavior, jealousy, virginity loss, fingering, oral (f & m), unprotected sex, inappropriate relationship with superior’s daughter, light corruption kink / innocence kink, degradation/praise mix (e.g. “good girl” / “dumb little thing”), mild public tension, possible voyeuristic elements, rafe being a cocky menace and enjoying it, (eventual) feelings, jealousy, obsession, reader is 19-20 | rafe is 23-24 | everything is legal but morally unwell
You were supposed to be safe at the base this summer — tucked under your father’s watchful eye, far from boys and trouble and anything you weren’t ready for.
But Rafe Cameron?
He’s everything you’ve never had: older, sharper, meaner. He’s one of your father’s soldiers — slick mouth, sweat-slick skin, dog tags clinking when he leans a little too close. and from the second he sees you, it’s already over.
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