𝒐𝒊𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒂⭑

LOL

[steelpaperboats]

💋 KINKTOBER 2025 | Prompt List

Threesome | ( Clint Barton x ftm!reader x Natasha Romanoff ) Medical Play | ( Steve Kemp x f!reader ) Sex Pollen | ( Bob Reynolds x m!reader ) Mirror Sex | ( Rafe Adler x ftm!reader ) Gunplay | ( Jason Todd x f!reader ) Praise Kink | ( Helmut Zemo x ftm!reader ) Double Penetration | ( Steve Rogers x m!reader x Bucky Barnes ) Degradation | ( Pietro Maximoff x f!reader )

Looking forward to this pretty boy October with ya'll !

[tunescatorze]

Rafe Adler - h4rdjump_1988 (super slowed)

Hadn't edited in a while so I thought I'd make an agressive-ish Rafe edit, happy with how it turned out :D

Streamable link (temporary) below for higher quality

Watch Rafe | Streamable

Watch "Rafe " on Streamable.

[steelpaperboats]

~ It Ain't For The Money

Pairing: Rafe Adler x ftm!reader Rating: E Word Count: 863 Synopsis: Perhaps saying something self depreciating in Rafe's presence was the wrong call. Or maybe the right one? Depends on if you can walk tomorrow.

Content Tags: transgender male reader, mirror sex, words of affirmation, protective Rafe, post-top surgery reader, non-descriptive sex open to interpretation, smut and fluff

It's an ornate mirror, gold filigree, massive in scope. Some of the reflection in the corners and edges has started to patina, but it's still clear enough to use without difficulty. It's the kind of mirror one would expect in an old mansion in Britain, hanging half forgotten in a hallway no one bothers to walk down. 

Old money. 

It is an object that speaks privilege. You wonder if that's why Rafe has it in his bedroom, hung on the wall across from his too-large bed. Egyptian cotton sheets, fluffy pillows, and a sturdy frame. You know it's sturdy because it's silent—no annoying creak, no thump of the headboard against the wall.

Your fingers dig into the plush comforter, tightening with each harsh thrust that threatens to send you face first into them. The mirror is either there to remind him that he's fabulously wealthy, or it's there for this. 

You see yourself in the reflection, on your hands and knees, mouth parted. See the way you jostle forward each time he snaps his hips forward into your body. Every nerve is singing, a loud keen leaving you as he slides to the hilt. He fills you so completely. 

Though you are not entirely the object of the most interest in this old money mirror, at least not to your eye. Rafe is behind you, hair fallen in his face, body bare except for the necklace around his throat you got him on your last vacation, a shimmering silver shield. 

It glistens as it catches morning light. The sunlight through the window is bright; it casts him, and you by extension, in a glow that makes you feel as expensive as this whole room, as the mirror you are showcased in. Leave it to Rafe to make his point as dramatically as possible, though would it be him if he didn't? 

As you watch, his hand slides up your side, tracing the section of numb skin along where your chest has been remolded in your image to find the hollow of your throat. He lifts your head where it's begun to hang so you can't look away from the mirror, never pausing in the way he keeps a steady pace. 

Out almost completely, and then sliding all the way back inside. It leaves you teetering between too full and too empty with each breath. 

"What was it you said at breakfast?" He murmurs in your ear, hot breath across your cheek. 

It takes longer than it should to register what he's asked, like deciphering code. Longer still to come up with something resembling an answer, "That I - that I was ... ugnh ... wasn't desirable." 

"Undesirable." He says the word a bit like one would say fuck and not in the particularly amusing or fun variety. Like an insult to everything he stands for, "Darlin', look at you." 

You struggle to mount an argument, heavy-lidded eyes looking into the mirror. Your skin is flushed, arms trembling, drool on your chin—an absolute mess. 

He keeps his cheek to the side of your head as he talks, back bent over yours. He's so close, so hot against you, so overwhelming. His presence consumes all your focus as he grinds his hips into your skin. 

"Undesirable," He tiskes his tongue and jerks into you so hard your arms buckle, and it's only his hand on your neck keeping you up. "Is the last thing in the world I would call you." 

"Rafe." You don't know if you're asking for something, pleading, apologizing, or if you just want to say his name. 

He nuzzles against the side of your head. "You know me better than anyone. You really think I'd keep someone I didn't want around? I don't waste my time." 

You know this, but knowing it and believing it applies to you are two entirely different things. Your self-worth has always been a tricky slope to begin with, and then you went and scored a man so far out of your league it's downright laughable. 

Rafe Adler, Mister Fortune Five Hundred, wants to settle down with what people consider a girl at worst and a femboy at best. No one saw you, and nobody understood, not really until Rafe came along.

He just saw you. Not the girl you used to be or the man you were trying to emulate. Just you, straight through the core of your heart to everything you are and will ever be. 

You were immediately a man in his eyes, and not just a man, but the man he wanted in his bed, in his office, and in his life. Now it seems he's determined to prove that to you as much as to the world. 

There's more drool building on your chin. He wipes it away with his thumb, smirking as his finger traces your bottom lip. "You're fucking everything. You're everything. Say it." 

Normally you'd blush at something silly like that and try to joke your way out of it. There's no joking out of it here. No way your brain is conjuring up a quippy one-liner right now. So you give in, "I'm—mmh—everything." 

His responding smirk is everything to you. 

[nathandrakeisabottom]

⋆ 8=D & General Promiscuous Headcanons - The Uncharted Boys ⋆

Summary: Nathan, Sam, Sully, Rafe, Harry, Charlie. Enjoy your goods.

Warning: Everything under the sun. Everything under the cut. Because this dumb site censors everything.

Enjoy, adventurers. ⋆

Nate:

Sub/Bratty Bottom, but often people-pleases his way into Service Topping. 6 inches with a solid, comfortable thickness. Pretty and proud of it. Might I say, a perfect dick. Clean, trimmed pubes; secretly shaves his ass because it makes him feel sexy, and he gets very turned on at the idea of spontaneous anal play. Might be the only thing in his entire life he ever prepares for prematurely. 

One wrong breeze and he’s hard. It’s the way he’s always been. Doesn’t mean he’s ever learned to adapt to it. 

Generally on the more lithe side of fit, but hides amazing (-ly sensitive) thighs under those khakis. Blushes and blathers up a storm if his lover chooses to cover them with bites and hickeys. 

Speaking of sensitivity, give soft, little kitten licks to his balls while you sweetly look up at him and he’ll come on the spot. Sucking or biting them is an immediate no-no, though. Or maybe go do it anyway just to fuck with him. 

Lives to eat pussy. Spit on his face, tie his hands behind his back, slap his cheeks til’ they’re red, pull his hair until his handsome nose is fucking smothered in your bush, and let him get to work. It’s a surprise: the first time he realizes he’s turned on by body hair, especially on women. Makes him go wild. Don’t make him go back. 

Wears a jockstrap on missions. Briefs at home. Not against lingerie. His dick looks excellent in a lacey Victoria’s Secret.

Manhandle the shit out of him, instigate a quickie, whisper something dirty in his ear. Man grew up Catholic, he has a lot of sexual shame rumbling under the surface. So, a lot of the time, it’s up to you to take the reins. Often has to be drunk/high/emotional/desperate to instigate on his own. Every time he flirts, he does so with a bit of a self-deprecating smile, just in case you decide to reject. Being direct and earnest and genuine with him turns him into an entirely different person. Stands to reason he partners with highly dominant personalities.

Don’t ask to roleplay with him unless you’re willing to go full Broadway. He’ll launch into a whole monologue, craft a plotline and backstory, attempt to create a set, make himself a homemade costume. The sex part is often forgotten entirely.

Only downside: often finishes quickly. The type to come just from making out when he was younger. Might even pop a boner just from receiving flowers or being made dinner. It’s an embarrassment for him. A total perk to the right person. 2-3 rounds is essentially a must for him. One to get out the lovestruck jitters, two to do it properly, three so you can overstimulate him til’ he cries— his favorite, he just might admit at gunpoint. There’s really no other way to do it with Nate. :)

As Harry and Sam like to refer to him: ‘an absolute sap.’ Loves eye contact, kissing, and to be the little spoon afterwards. Doesn’t mean he didn’t spend the majority of his 20s going without it for the purpose of ‘looking tough’, though. 

Sam:

Dom Top, Service Top if he ever let himself fall in love again. An unfortunate pornstar at 7 inches and on the thicker side. Knows it hurts at first, and is the kind of asshole who gets turned on at the thought of it. Rough, dirty, no kink off limits. Wants to make up for all his years in prison; a sex addiction is to be presumed. 

Craves the sheer mess of sex: wants his partner to take him wet and sloppy, to let him come over every inch of their face, and to let him rub it into their skin with the curve of his still-leaking dickhead after. Especially loves facefucking, and the sound of his balls slapping against his partner’s chin. 

Loves sound, in general. 

Loves marks of any and all kinds. Anything that involves other people seeing it, anything that leaves a lasting effect, anything that proves he was there— is still there. Even during sex, he plays in the name of winning. He plays in the name of survival. 

Heavy balls with an earthy, intoxicating musk from all his running and jumping around. A grower, not a shower, but his balls speak for themselves. He gets hard quick, so it’s never a problem. 

Doesn’t shave his ass, because “it’s gay” or whatever. Train him out of it, please. Dude’s still living in 2000. (Doesn’t mean he won’t cave to a drunken rim/peg, though.)

Wears boxers, probably the white ones with little red hearts on them like he’s in a Looney Toons cartoon. 

Similar to his brother, doesn’t mind body hair. However, after all those years with the lone 1989 porn magazine he smuggled into prison, he’s come to appreciate a bikini wax. Has a bit of an unfortunate fetish for it due to his childhood love for Baywatch. Pamela Anderson left an imprint. 

Loves roleplay but admitting to it is one of the few things that drives him flustered. He spent 13 years behind bars and quietly resents not getting to live as many lives as he so desperately wants. Caves for nurses/patient, boss/employee, teacher/college student. Despite his skills in deception out on the field, is a total klutz when it comes to playing a scene. Expect lots of rolling eyes (or ten). Just keep encouraging him. He’s still working on letting himself want things again.

Will hint to his current partner and open the door for him to be a bratty bottom for them once and only once. They reject it or miss it completely, it’s gone. Don’t be stupid. Catch that firefly. Again, still working on letting himself want things again.

Sully:

Service Top. 6. You know what they say! Like father, like—

On the skinnier side, but he likes to refer to it as ‘elegant’. His ‘one size fits all’, he’ll remark with a mischievous twinkle while Nate, in the corner, gags overhearing. Tends to make for a smooth, comfortable fit. 

Highly considers himself a romantic. Loves to take things slow. The classic “candles and rose petals around the hotel bed’ shtick. He always pours the glass of wine for you, and he’ll make damn sure it’s the one best in house. Says it’s about respect. The most offensive thing you can do is claim he’s not a gentleman. 

Surprisingly vanilla. Doesn’t like bothering with all the ‘bells and whistles’. Claims ‘kids these days’ are spoiled and desensitized and wouldn’t know a beautiful woman if one bit them on the ass. Is a huge lover and proponent of body worship. Treats each body part as equally beautiful. Makes every partner shiver. The stories are true. 

Not interested in being particularly dominant, but isn’t against taking on the role of a sweeter-side brat tamer. Might let you restrain/tie him up on your birthday.

Keeps himself neat into old age. Fine, groomed, oddly soft pubes and chest hair. Fit, with a nice bit of arm and leg muscle. Loves it when his partners play up how “huge!” his arms are, and grins proudly and motions a casual affirmative if someone asks to touch them. Doesn’t matter if it’s true or not; he loves the flattery.

Likely has the broadest range of sexual experience in terms of partner types. He finds everything attractive. Feminine traits, masculine traits, younger, older, familiar, foreign, birth marks, stretch marks, big, small, it doesn’t matter. He loves people. He connects with them easily. A social chameleon. If you can get him to understand the meaning of the word, he’d likely identify as pan. 

Rarely masturbates. Old-fashioned, doesn’t see the point in it. But has sex enough for it not to matter.

Has never made a partner not come. Do with that what you will. 

Rafe:

Brat Tamer/Dom Top. 5”, on the skinnier side. Pretty standard, but unhappy with it. Too mind-wiped by porn and Eyes-Wide-Shut mansion sex parties to be satisfied. Makes up for this with aggression and stamina. Not always for the better. 

Keeps himself waxed to a tee. An absolute Ken doll. Unfortunately, only seems to gravitate towards partners who make fun of him for it. 

On that same note, nothing gets him turned on like anger. Hatred and horniness go hand in hand with him, so if he openly complains about someone, just assume he’s probably porked them before. Or secretly hopes to. Who ghosts first after the act is pretty 50/50. He’s insufferable, I’m sorry.

Loves a back of the limo/party bathroom/someone else’s bedroom quickie. It’s all about secrecy and power. If he wants to stick it to someone who professionally disrespected him, assume he’ll find a way to take you right on their stupid-ass nobel peace prize award shelf. Even better, in their fucking bed. He’s a big fan of doing things out of spite. You just get to benefit from it.

Has never been in love. Every relationship in his life has somehow revolved around his family/his money, either someone trying to use him for it, or him attempting to sway them with it. Needs to be broken out of the “everything in life is transactional” mindset. It’ll take some time to get him comfortable not offering money/a vacation/a job in a bandaid attempt to fix whatever your last fight was about. Resents romance… mainly because he’s never been good at it. Needs some good ol’ therapy or some proper lovin’ to realize, god forbid, someone could just like him for him.

Corny ass loves a maid roleplay. He buys the outfit himself. It cost 600 dollars, made by hand for your exact measurements, and won’t let you forget it. Probably jerks off on the receipt, to boot. Favorite thing to do when he’s on a business trip away from his partner is to ship them expensive outfits, and then have them model over Facetime while they moan about how he shouldn’t haaaave. Keep asking him how expensive it must’ve been in that moaning little voice and he’ll come on the spot.  

Secretly gets off on the thought of being cuckolded. Won’t ever actually do it because his ego is too big.

Harry:

Dom Top, Bratty Bottom. 5.5, thick, satisfied with it. Knows exactly what he’s doing. You won’t find an insecure bone in (or on) his body. 

Enjoys partaking in ‘Bingo’, a game he seems to play with himself and only himself, but will beg others to join since competition (and making people flustered) turns him on. The rules are simple: bone everyone he’s ever paired up on a mission with. Yes, him. Yes, her. Yes, him, too. Will always claim he was so drunk, he doesn’t remember a thing. You must’ve just been fantasizing about him, doll. His too-cool attitude just ends up pissing off his partners more than anything, though.

King of dirty talk. Man could’ve been a writer in a past life. Not a 0% chance he wasn’t a phone sex operator at some point. The accent most certainly helps. Never, ever stutters or backtracks on it, either. It’s honestly a gift. 

You’d never know it because of how suavely he plays it all off, but the man plans everything. He remembers details like nobody’s business. You hate red wine? Suddenly, the motel mini fridge just so happens to only have white. How are you not going to let him pour you a glass now? It’s pouring rain and all of a sudden, there’s not an umbrella to be found? Well, he just so happens to have enough room under his suddenly oversized coat to cover you. Must be fate, right? 

Will say/do anything and everything to rile his partner up. It’s pretty rare that he’s the one actually initiating sex— so he has plausible deniability when the booze wears off— he just knows exactly how to flip that switch in someone else. A master manipulator. Will compare you to past lovers so you’ll want to prove you’re better. Make up sob stories on a dime (don’t tell Nate, but he’s borrowed that ‘dead brother’ story more times than he can count). But you’re the one who’s always kissing him first. And he won’t have it any other way.

Waxed pubes, but keeps his chest, pits, and ass unaltered. Hard to tell if those ‘used to be a porn star’ stories are true or not. 

Wild for doing anal on women and receiving anal from supposedly straight dudes. It’s about what he can get away with. He likes feeling special. 

Collects sex toys from every country he’s been to. Even better if he managed to find a time to buy mid-mission. The weirder, the better. An unfortunate habit that rubbed off on Nathan.

Charlie:

Service Top/Submissive Bottom with the right partner. A meaty, veiny 8. Fee Fi Fo Fum.

Big, so struggles to stay hard at times. Fortunately for him, he’s an avid foreplay enjoyer and is rarely in any active rush to finish. Prefers one several-hour-long round than several, less satisfying shorter ones. Hell, sometimes there are times where he prefers not to cum at all. Too much of a mess.

Heavy balls. Comes a lot. If you’re a bukkake girlie, this is your guy. 

Due to his size and generally softer/more passive demeanor, he has surprisingly limited experience. Has had about two previous long term girlfriends, and the very occasional quickie with the particularly-persistent stranger mid-mission. Struggling to understand when someone is coming onto him certainly doesn’t help. 

Is used to the skinny pretty boys like Nate and Harry getting most of the attention, so falls head over heels when someone makes the moves on him. Easily flustered at the worst of times. Has been known to cave easy to other people’s deceptions. It’s why Nate and Sully never let him carry anything too important during missions. Some girl in a cafe’s going to flirt with him once and the Golden Mask of Tutankhamun is gone by the time he’s gotten up to buy them both a drink. 

Loves getting head. When he encounters partners where there’s no way it’s going to fit down there, he’s more than happy for oral to be the main act. Thinks there’s nothing prettier than a sweet young thing looking up at him with loving eyes while wriggling their tongue into his dick slit.

Amazing kisser. There’s no method to it, he’s just a gentle romantic. Loves to cup his partner’s cheek and comment how big his hand is in comparison. 

‘Doesn’t mind’ being tied up. Deeply enjoys it, but won’t ask for it unless his partner does first. 

Adores a bit of wax play. There’s something about his partner trusting him enough to do it right that turns him on. It’s the trust and intimacy of it all. Also enjoys ‘decorating’ his partner. It’s why he’s been known to splurge on jewelry he definitely can’t afford. 

The king of going commando. Just more comfortable that way.

Prepare yourself for rather… audible sex. Not because he’s vocal (he is), but because his size requires so much lube that he’ll be constantly slipping out and making your bodies squeeeeek together. At a certain point, it just starts to turn him on. Don’t make him be the only one. ;)

⋆⋆⋆

[justsomerandomfanfic]

I Did This All For You - Rafe Adler X GN Reader

Title: I Did This All For You

Rafe Adler X GN Reader

Additional Characters: Nadine (Mentioned), Nate, Sam, Rafe's parents (Mentioned), Captain Avery (Mentioned), and Tew (Mentioned)

WC: 3,410

Warnings: Canon Uncharted 4 violence, very brief suggestiveness, italics, Rafe's obsession for the treasure, betrayal, brief heartbreak, weapons, guns/swords, death mentioned, mentions of blood/injuries, crying, fire, confession, cursing (one word), angst, and fluff

Everything had led to this moment: the lies, the risks, the impossible choice between love and survival. 

You had met Rafe at a truly extravagant party three years prior to the Avery disaster. It was a night filled with rich laughter and champagne. You had been drawn to him. Not by his money or his charm, which he had an abundance of, but because of the look in those seafoam eyes, a look that betrayed something far deeper than the polished facade he presented to the world.

At first, it was nothing more than flirtation. You teased him, he teased you. It became a game, one neither of you cared to really put a name to, but were both so eager to play. His sharp remarks were met with your quick comebacks, and though you often rolled your eyes at his arrogance, you couldn't deny the spark that ignited every time he smirked at you.

He wasn’t used to being challenged, and you weren’t used to letting your guard down, but something about him made it feel… Thrilling. The continued stolen glances, the lingering touches, the way his voice would soften ever so slightly when he spoke to just you… It was becoming more and more dangerous the more you spent time with him.

You told yourself it was harmless, that Rafe Adler wasn’t the kind of man you could fall for. But somewhere down the line, between the late-night rendezvous, wrapped up in his arms, his fingers in your hair, the way his lips felt against yours, all logic fled from your head. He made you feel things, and those feelings made you want to do anything to keep him close. To be selfish, just once, to take advantage of the feeling.

It stopped feeling like a game.

You saw pieces of him no one else did. The frustration he buries beneath his charm and the ache for something he could never quite reach for the past how many years. You weren’t blind to the danger of it all. Rafe was ambitious, relentless, determined, and wholly unpredictable. But when he asked you to come with him to find Captain Avery’s treasure, you couldn’t refuse. 

At first, it had been easy to ignore and brush off the growing red flags. His obsession with the treasure seemed driven more by pride than anything else - a way to prove himself to a world that never truly appreciated him. You understood. He had told you about his childhood, about growing up with a father who basically trained him to someday take over the family business, and a life where everything was handed to him on a silver platter. He wanted to prove himself, show that he could earn something for himself. You understood.

But as the journey went on - going from Paris, to Italy, Scotland, and then to Madagascar - you began to see the cracks. The long nights where his temper would flare, his focus shifting away from adventure and into revenge. The treasure wasn’t just a goal anymore - it was consuming him, and the man you had come to care for was slipping further and further away.

You tried to reason with him, to remind him that there was more to life than this. That there were other ways of getting recognition, other treasures to find. He would just smile, kiss your forehead, and assure you it would all be worth it in the end. But you could see it in his eyes… They used to be filled with so much amusement, affection, and ambition. But now, it was all madness and desperation.

And still, you stayed. Partly because you wanted to believe you could bring him back. Bring back the man that wouldn’t hide himself away in his office for hours. The man that used to laugh with you, smile with you, hold you close, and kiss you senseless. Was it wrong for you to wish for such things? Were they even real? You didn’t know anymore.

But despite everything, against your better judgment, you loved him.

And it scared you just how much you did.

~~~

Now, standing on the ship, surrounded by the gleaming and sparkling treasure that had driven Rafe to this point; madness… 

His voice echoed through the air, wild and taunting. “I told you, Sam,” He sneered, a smug grin pulling at his lips. “I told you I’d win. All this time, all that effort, and it’s mine now. Avery’s treasure is my treasure.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Sam’s gaze was hard, unwavering, “Nate will be here soon.”

Rafe scoffed, shaking his head as if the mere thought of Nate still standing a chance was laughable. “Huh, yeah, I don’t think so.” He kept his gun trained on Sam, “Nate fell from the cliff, remember?”

Sam didn’t back down, his voice calm but with an edge of frustration, “You ever wonder how Nate even got this far in the first place, Rafe? It wasn’t just from our knowledge.”

Rafe scoffed once more, in disbelief, looking at Sam incredulously. “Nadine? No, she wouldn’t have helped you.” He shook his head, “She wouldn’t do that. You know, my partners don’t betray me…” He cut himself off, his words trailing off as he slowly turned his head to face you. His eyes narrowed, “You,” He began, his voice quieter now, accusatory, “You’ve been helping Nate, haven’t you?”

You glanced at Sam behind Rafe’s shoulder, your stomach twisting, your heart pounding in your chest. There was no hiding it now. The truth had been exposed, and the man you tried to protect was staring at you with that look in his eyes - a look that sent chills through you. You had never seen him look so cold.

And you hated it.

“I-” You swallowed hard, trying to steady your voice, “I did it for you, Rafe.”

Rafe’s laugh was low, guttural, and void of any amusement. He looked down, as if trying to process your words, before he snapped his eyes toward you. “For me?” He gestured his gun at himself, his voice laced with disbelief and growing fury. Before you could even blink, he was stalking toward you. You barely had time to react as he grabbed your arm and roughly pressed you up against the ship’s wall. “You were doing it for me?” His voice was deadly, dripping with venom. You could feel the heat of his body close to yours, his breath hot against your face. His eyes, once filled with so many more positive things, were now empty, consumed with rage. The world seemed to slow down as he pressed the cold barrel of the gun to your temple. “After everything we’ve been through, after everything…” His voice was rough, low, each word clipped, “And this is how you repay me?”

He trusted you. He told you his secrets, his life. He let you in. He let down his walls for you. You were everything to him, and you betrayed him. 

You could only stare at him, heart racing, breath shallow. His finger hovered dangerously close to the trigger. Your eyes welled with tears, “Are you going to kill me, Rafe?” The question slipped from your lips before you could stop it, your voice surprisingly calm but tingled with heartbreak.

Rafe didn’t answer. His gaze, cold and unwavering, locked onto yours, but there was something else there now - something deeper, more conflicted. His jaw clenched, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as if he were fighting something inside himself.

For a moment, his eyes flickered - just a brief flash - but you saw it. The man you knew, the man you had loved, was still there, hidden behind the madness and desperation. But then, like a flicker of a dying flame, it was gone, replaced by that icy determination.

He growled, a low, guttural sound, before his lips parted as if to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. His grip on the gun tightened, and for a split second, it seemed like he might lower it. You saw it in his eyes, the internal battle waging inside him. He still cared… He still loved you…

You held your breath, praying that whatever was left of the man you had once known would rise above the madness and the revenge, but before you could make sense of it, an explosion rang out.

And just like that, everything went black.

You woke with a start, coughing violently as smoke filled the room. Your eyes burned, and your vision swam as you struggled to sit up. Pain shot through your side, sharp and unrelenting. You pressed a hand to your ribs, the ache growing with each passing moment. It felt like a dream. You were disoriented, your body numb, but the fire around you was all too real.

You blinked through the haze of smoke, your heart hammering in your chest as you tried to focus. The heat in the air was suffocating, but there was something else - sounds. The clash of swords echoed through the room. You turned your head, eyes widening as you saw the two figures at the far end of the room.

Rafe and Nate. They were locked in a duel, their swords flashing in the dim, smoky light. You let out another cough, your chest tight as you winced from the pain. Your gaze moved quickly to Sam, who was pinned beneath a large piece of wood. He was struggling to move, but the debris kept him trapped. 

You coughed again, a more desperate sound now, as you watched the two men fight. Nate was trying to talk to Rafe, pleading with him, but Rafe was so far gone. “Rafe!” You called his name, your voice cracking with urgency, but he didn’t even flinch. He didn’t even turn to look at you, as if you were nothing more than a distant echo, lost in the chaos of his anger.

You tried to push through the pain, pushing yourself up a little more, but your legs were shaky. Still, you couldn’t look away. The sound of their swords clashing grew louder, each strike more violent than the last. 

With a quick swipe, he pushed Nate aside, knocking him to the ground. “So long, Nathan Drake,” Rafe muttered, preparing to deliver the final blow. But before he could strike, he saw the cold steel of a sword pointed directly at his chest. Rafe froze.

His breath caught, his gaze flickering to the sword’s wielder. And there you were - standing, sword in hand, blood dripping down from a cut on your cheek, but your grip firm and determined. You could see the hesitation in Rafe's eyes, just for a moment, before it disappeared, swallowed by the rage again. But you held your ground, your chest heaving with effort. You weren’t going to back down. Not now. 

The air between you two thickened, every second dragging out as you locked eyes. His chest rose and fell, the tension in his shoulders visible even through the haze of smoke that filled the room. Your sword remained steady, pointed directly at him, though your free hand shook from the pain in your side.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Nate struggling to push himself to his feet. He stumbled but made his way toward Sam, who was still pinned under the wreckage. Your focus wavered just for a second, but it was enough for Rafe to speak, his voice cold and dark.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" He sneered, his gaze hardened, his grip tightening on his sword. "Now, don’t do anything stupid.”

“Do you want to know why I did it?” You asked, and Rafe opened his mouth to speak, but you didn’t give him a chance to answer. You took a step forward, your sword held steady in your grip, "I did it because I could see it, Rafe. I could see how this treasure... How it was taking over your mind. Consuming you. Corrupting you just like it did for Avery, just like it did for Tew. You think you're invincible, but you're not. This thing - this treasure - is ruining you. It's not worth it. There will be more adventures and treasure to find out there. You can give this one up." You paused, your breath shaky, and the words poured out of you.

“Y/N! The ship’s going down!” You heard Nate by the latch door, you ignored him.

"I wouldn’t have helped Nathan if it wasn’t affecting you like this. I did it for you. Because I care about you…" You took a step closer, holding his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest. "I love you, Rafe," The words trembling as they left you, "I love you so much that it scares me. I would do anything for you. Anything. But I can’t stand seeing you like this. It’s going to kill you.” You could physically feel your heart breaking as you continued, "You have two choices. One is to drop the sword, take whatever treasure you’ve already got, and go home. Or…" You trailed off for a moment, gathering the courage to finish your plea, "Or you can stay. And if you stay, I’ll follow you. I followed you to Paris, to Italy. To Madagascar. To this goddamn ship. Everywhere. And if I have to, I’ll follow you to the bottom of this ocean, Raphael. I’ll go down with the ship with you in it if that’s what it takes. I’ll be there. But you have to choose." You raised your sword once more, tilting your head slightly, "So… What will it be?"

For what felt like an eternity, Rafe didn’t move. His gaze remained locked with yours, and for a fleeting moment, his sword wavered in his hand. His expression was unreadable, a complex storm of emotions flickering in his eyes - anger, confusion, fear. You held your breath, unable to tear your eyes away. Your heartbeat echoed in your ears, louder with every passing second.

Rafe’s eyes shifted toward the treasure, then back to you. His jaw tightened, his grip on the sword faltering slightly. He looked down at the sword in his hand as if seeing it for the first time. And then, he lowered it. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move - just stood there, staring at you, his gaze now softer but no less conflicted. A silent understanding passed between you. No words were necessary. It was in the way he exhaled, the way his shoulders slumped.

And then, without saying a word, he dropped the sword and turned. And you followed him. Wordlessly. As you walked toward the exit - propped open by Sam and Nate - the finality of the moment settled in your chest. The treasure, the madness, the violence - it all stayed behind. You didn't remember much from the boat ride back to shore. The motion of the waves was a quiet hum beneath the silence between you and Rafe. You were lost in your thoughts when your gaze drifted over to him.

Rafe sat with his back slumped, his eyes fixed on the burning wreckage in the distance. The flickering flames danced on the horizon, a reflection of the chaos that had once been his life. He didn’t say anything, didn’t move. It was as if he was trying to process everything. His expression was a mix of exhaustion, regret, and so much.

You noticed the small shake of his head, the way his eyes lingered on the smoke until it finally disappeared from view. Only then did he turn, his gaze meeting yours. The raw emotion in his eyes made your chest ache. It was the first time in so long that you saw him - truly saw him. You watched the shore get closer, the small boat gently rocking with the current as you neared the land. A sigh escaped your lips, a mix of exhaustion and relief. You stayed in silence, neither of you speaking, the only sound being the gentle lapping of water against the boat as you pulled up to the shore.

Finally, without a word, you silently moved beside him, sitting down next to him. He didn’t raise his head, his gaze still distant, eyes locked on the horizon. You didn’t need him to acknowledge you. You just needed to be there beside him. His hands, bloodied and raw from the fight, sat limply in his lap. You reached over, taking one gently into your own, your fingers tracing over the calluses, the rough skin. The warmth of his hand was grounding, steadying you, reminding you that he was still there. Alive. You were so scared that he was going to die on that ship. After everything…

You watched him, searching the side of his face. Your free hand slowly raised to brush his hair away from his forehead, fingers softly grazing the dark strands. You smiled sadly when his seafoam eyes met yours at the contact, eyes filled with so much, too much, that you couldn’t begin to unravel it all.

"It's going to be okay," You said, your voice barely more than a whisper, but steady. "We’ll get through this. Like we always do. Together."

Rafe didn’t answer, but his gaze softened, and for the first time in a long while, he didn’t seem so lost. The weight in his shoulders seemed to lift, just a little, but it was something. He stared at you for a long moment, his hand hesitantly raised, cupping your cheek. His thumb brushed below the cut on your cheek, and both of you closed your eyes, leaning your foreheads together.

The world seemed to pause as your breaths synced, and in that fleeting silence, Rafe finally spoke.

"I never said it back."

You sighed softly, a small, gentle smile spreading across your face as you cupped his cheek in your hand. "You don’t have to say it right now," You whispered, the sincerity in your voice clear. "I know, Rafe, I know…"

For a moment, neither of you moved. The distance between you, so vast before, now felt small, barely there. 

~~~

It wasn’t instant. Healing never was.

It wasn’t until a couple of weeks after the incident with Avery’s treasure that you started to notice the progress Rafe was making. It wasn’t huge, not all at once, but it was there. You could see how he was trying, and you were so proud of him. 

One of the first things he did, though subtle, was start showing up for you. He didn’t just give gifts, although he did that, too. The gifts were personal, thoughtful, not his usual fancy and expensive gifts, but a book you mentioned months ago, a piece of jewelry you admired in passing, a painting from a local artist you had said you loved. But more than the material things, it was his time that mattered most.

Rafe began taking you out of the house. He would plan small trips to places he knew you’d enjoy. Vacations that weren’t for hunting for treasure. Vacations that were for spending time with each other and relaxing. Breakfast on the Eiffel Tower in Paris, museum dates in Athens, admiring the Northern Lights in Iceland…

When he wasn’t whisking you away on small, romantic vacations, he was right there by your side, always looking for ways to be present. No more constant running off to his home office after work. Sometimes it was as simple as sitting with you on the couch, watching a movie with you. Or learning how to make your favorite dish together.

Then there were nights when he would pull you into his arms, holding you close, his hand resting against your back, fingers trailing along your spine, his lips gently brushing your forehead. Nights where your faces would be so close, that you could feel his warm breath ghost over your skin. Nights where he would press soft kisses to your lips, or your cheeks, or anywhere he could reach, leaving you breathless. It was then that he would whisper his apologies, sincerely, softly, surrounded by you, your love, and the darkness of your shared bedroom. For only you to hear. And, you knew his words to be true.

Rafe still had a long way to go, and so did you. The wounds were still there, scabbed over, but there was still hope. Hope for a brighter future, together.

~~~

Main Masterlist | Uncharted Masterlist

[oicorafmcl]

𝑺𝒊𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊ó 𝒒𝒖𝒆 𝒂𝒎𝒃𝒐𝒔 𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒏 𝒍𝒂 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒎𝒂 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒅𝒂𝒅. 𝒐 𝒔𝒐𝒚 𝒚𝒐?

Ojalá no ser la única ....

( ꩜///꩜;) 

.·°՞(っ-ᯅ-ς)՞°·.

[samdrakeshappytrail]

Old Money.ೃ࿐

𝐶𝐸𝑂!𝑆𝐴𝑀 𝐷𝑅𝐴𝐾𝐸 𝑋 𝐹!𝑅𝐸𝐴𝐷𝐸𝑅

Word Count: 5.5k

✧.* Summary: After signing off a successful deal, Sam finds himself at his favourite club searching for the right woman to spend his victory with. Upon arriving, he spots you, and you're exactly who he needs for the night.

✧.* Content/Warnings: 18+, NSFW, ceo!sam au, afab!f!reader, pre-established relationship (fwb), lots of use of the word fuck, public/exhibitionism, grinding/dry humping, piv, condom use that leads to unprotected sex, just a bit of assplay, creampie, porn with slight plot, smut under the cut

✧.* A/N: i need a sam in higher power with too much money to spoil and use me thank you, this was so very very self indulgent. first fic of 2026! dt @tommyslimpknee ofc🤭

Money, sex, and record breaking deals. That’s all Sam Drake, CEO of Drake Enterprise, cared about. That and a good expensive glass of bourbon whisky. He was a shark in the business of suits and ties. He was the kind of man that didn’t have to say a word as he entered a room to demand respect. He exuded superiority. Confidence. Wealth. Arrogance. 

He had a secretary to deal with his scheduling, plenty of subordinates willing to kiss his Oxfords to do his paperwork for him. All he had to do was show face at a meeting or two, prove his company always had the upper hand in every situation and corner whoever it was he was meeting that day like a scared street cat. Intimidate them with just the right amount of his very apparent power and shake on it. It was his own kind of drug. To ink paper with his name on it, sealing a deal with his signature. Ruining lesser people’s lives for a profit. Many would say he got off on it, and they wouldn’t be wrong.

Sam absolutely got off on the power he had, the power of significance and wealth. It was hard to beat the feeling of knowing you’re better than the person you’re sitting opposite from at every table you sat at. He’d wear the finest suits, flash his charming smile while sporting $1500 neckties and $4500 cufflinks. His hair slicked back with the finest of gels. Hair he knew made him look more confident, more bold. No matter where he was, he was best dressed. He simply was the best and, fuck, did he love it. 

Today was another win, another deal inked and millions flooding in within the next few hours. Today was a good day, and with his blood pumping with that rush of power, Sam made his way to the usual jazz club he enjoyed visiting after a win. The club was by invite and membership only, classy and upscale, and fucking expensive. It was a mix of a lounge bar, gambling room, and strip club. It gave him everything he needed; expensive liquor, hot women, the confidence boost knowing he was richer than every man in the room. Tonight would be his victory lap.

Prestige men and women with too much money on their hands roamed the club. The kind of men and women who flaunt their money on their clothes and their consumables. Some coming to blow off steam, others coming to find their next night’s companion to take home. Many of which are married, most of which didn’t care who was married. Sam was one of those people.

He’s fucked countless married women in his lifetime, and countless still wanted to try their luck at winning his attention for a night. But tonight we didn’t want just anyone. Tonight was a victory lap, tonight was a celebration on the new fantastic deal he fucking won his company. It was the kind of night that was fuelled by his ego so big it made his impressive cock look small, and that was no small feat. The same cock was already jumping in his pants out of sheer eagerness, the rush of today, that same rush of power now rushing straight to his dick straining insistently behind the zipper of his slacks.

Sam made his way to the bar, ordering a Double Eagle Rare and sipped at it, feeling the brown liquor burn hot on the way down. His pulse thrummed with the same heat, the same heat he needed to expel from his body into a tight warm cunt that would make his nerves buzz.

Sam’s eyes surveyed the room, watching people mingle with each other. His eyes caught some women he recognized, most of those he recognized he’d fucked before. Some more than once. Those same women were all the same, women with lots of money wearing the most costly perfumes they could get their hands on, the biggest pearls and diamonds to ornament their bodies. He had nothing against those kinds of women, he fucked them for a reason, he liked them.

He liked peeling back those brand name dresses and finding more brand name lingerie adorned beneath. He loved the way women threw themselves at him. The way they were impressed with him, with his money. With his cock, his mouth. He knew how to fuck, knew how to take his pleasure and shower a woman in her own as well. He knew how to make women feel so good the dolls at the club never asked for tips.

But as he had in mind, tonight was not a night for the same wealthy women he’s fucked before. Not a night for the dolls either as lovely as they may be. His celebration called for someone special. Someone to make his blood pump and keep him hard for hours. In his scanning, sipping his bourbon idly, his eyes landed on a familiar head of hair and body. The same silhouette he’s dreamed of touching again since the last time all those months ago.

Sam’s pupils dilated when he saw your face, when he confirmed it was really you. He hasn’t seen you in a year. Shit, not since last year’s New Year’s party. A charity event that made its impact on his memory and it was not because of the catering.

Sam had met you that night, dressed in dazzling gold designer with matching nails. He still remembered the Jimmy Choos you’d worn. The beautiful sparkling heels that later dangled by your toes when he’d had your legs hung over his shoulder for hours that same night. He remembered the taste of you, that tangy decadence almost present on his tongue now as his heart skipped a beat and his cock jolted in his briefs. You were a walking dream, a woman he never imagined would’ve left such an impact.

Sam was used to one night stands, used to no strings attached. He never cared for a woman he fucked, never wanted to. He found women for sex and nothing more. He’d told himself that if they wanted more: that wasn’t his problem. He thought you’d be just another woman. That was until you flashed him your glimmering eyes, laughed at his attempts to charm you, blushed so sweetly when he commented on his desires for you.

When you first met Sam you hadn’t had many men. A handful sure, but nothing far from regular vanilla sex. That night you had wanted to experiment, to find the right man who will teach you and test things you’ve never tried. And when you got talking with Sam at that gala? You knew instantly he was the one. He made you blush with so many sinful things he wanted to do to you, things you never knew existed. Things you now wanted to try.

Sam was used to women blushing, sure. But the way you blushed? Blushing because you didn’t know the things he spoke so explicitly about doing to you were even things that could be done between a man and a woman? It struck him singularly. He was accustomed to women whoring themselves for him, expected them to blush and oblige to whatever it was he suggested. But you? Your innocence made him want to corrupt you. The same kind of corruption that he was hooked on dealing in his line of work. The same kind that made his heart course with adrenaline and dominating power.

There you were now, sitting there with a cocktail in hand. It seems today you went with an espresso martini. A drink that Sam noted seemed to match the dark tones in your dress. Your dress was designer like any other article of clothing in sight in this club, yet still unique that no one else wore something similar. As Sam approached like a hound with his primal senses locked on you, all he could do was focus on how that rich dark colour reminded him of a deep velvet cake he wanted to bury his face into.

You had a man with you, a stranger Sam didn't recognize, who seemed to be chatting you up about one thing or another. Clearly trying to impress you with a flash of a smile as he leaned closer from his side of the couch. Your eyes weren't on him, however. Rather, you scanned the room as you sipped from your martini, paying the man trying to charm you very little mind.

You and Sam have only fucked about a handful of times, and each time was magnificent. Earth shattering. Left him breathless and aching in all the right places. Sam was known for not doing feelings–emotions–much like any other rich man in this club. He liked his women without complications, his sex without strings. He never saw the average woman more than once. Had a select few women in his contacts he saw regularly who wanted the same as he did and nothing more. Yet you were neither of those. You fit into your own category. A category Sam couldn’t place, somewhere feeling not having enough and always wanting more, even if it did go against his rules. And for some reason, seeing that man even trying at you had Sam's blood boiling.

Sam rounded the couch, bourbon in hand and stood in front of the man. You were first to notice Sam. Sam's eyes met yours briefly and you smiled at him, that familiar flutter in your gut returning after not seeing him for so long. The stranger didn't spare him a glance, not until Sam looked back at him with sharp eyes.

"You're in my seat, pal." Sam doesn't start with a greeting, he doesn't need to.

The man's gaze meets Sam's and he's instantly cowering, grabbing his drink and shuffling out of his seat. "Sorry..." He mumbles before giving you one last glance and leaving just as Sam took his place.

"Who was that?" Sam's inquiry was less sharp to you now, but still had an edge to it. An edge you recognized as jealousy in his tone and his expression. It made your ego swell while you hid your smile.

"Just someone from a recent job. He's been trying–and failing–to hit on me. It's kind of sad to watch. I wonder what kind of women fall for it." You say simply as you eye Sam, your lips upturning just the slightest as you sip your drink. "Got a free drink out of it though." You shrugged, "Can't complain."

Sam's cock stirred to life beneath his trousers at the look in your eye. The mirth he found so simplistically seductive whenever he spoke to you. Sam smirks, "Where've you been this past year? Haven't seen you at any charity events."

"Miss me?" You hum coyly with an edge of cockiness. Sam loved that in you. Loved that you knew you had this strange but pleasant hold on him.

"Maybe."

"Heard you landed a top notch deal."

"You heard, huh?" Sam's confidence grows.

"Word travels fast when Drake Enterprise brings in big money and their so-called 'partners' leave crying to their mothers." You smile at Sam and he can see some pride in the way you look at him. That pride shoots straight to his cock.

"What can I say? I'm a good business man."

"You're a predator, eating up every small fish in the sea that dares to enter your territory. Should I be worried?" You mocked your concern.

Sam huffs a laugh and you could smell the bourbon whisky he drank on his breath as it fans towards you. The rich yet pungent scent that somehow always made your thighs clench when you smelled it on him. "Only if you challenge me, sweetheart."

"You make it sound so inviting."

Sam leans a bit closer, his eyes dark on yours as he catches the barest scent of your perfume up close. The sweet smell made his skin pebble with gooseflesh. Now all he could think of was having you beneath him, naked and breathless. To feel that tight cunt of yours and smell that perfume as he'd drive into you mercilessly. He found himself staring at your neck, his gaze following your collarbone to your sternum then down to your breast. The same breasts he's memorized from many greedy tastes and touches. The only pair of breasts he dreamed of sitting perfectly in that dark coloured dress.

Sam took a breath, a deep breath, breathing in that sweet warm perfume again before speaking. "You're welcome to, sweetheart. Anytime."

His voice was lower now, rougher. It was the same voice he used when his face was buried between your thighs, the same voice you heard when you dreamed of him.

"A winning deal means a celebration is in order." Your voice is smaller, but loud enough for him to hear.

You watched his lips as he answered, "You read my mind." He purred, bringing that glass of liquor to his lips and taking a slow sip. Your eyes still trained on his mouth, the way his lips kissed the glass. How his throat bobbed with his swallow. The way his tongue darted out to lick his lips. How his lips were left slightly glistening from the mix of the bourbon and his saliva. It made you want to lick those lips, taste the bitterness of the alcohol on his tongue, feel his mouth on yours again.

"I missed you." You utter softly.

Sam was already reading your mind as he leaned closer to press his lips to yours. His kisses were never featherlight or hesitant. He was sure in everything he did, confidence radiating off him in heated waves as he devoured your lips with his own. He kissed you deeply, so mind-numbingly you almost spilled the drink you held in your hands. You moaned as you kissed him, his mouth catching it with a groan of his own.

Sam's cock was hard and chafing his zipper with every movement he made, straining in those black dress pants. His hand found your jaw, thumb sliding along your chin as he kissed you so fervently you swore if you weren't sitting your knees would've given out.

Sam pulls away before he could rip your dress off and fuck you right there in the middle of the club. He wouldn't have minded, but he was sure the staff wouldn't appreciate it as much. Sam was brought back from his thoughts at the sound of your soft, almost pleading, whine.

Sam stood smoothly, his hand holding your arm to bring you with him as he grabbed his drink and brought the two of you to a more secluded corner of the club. Behind the group of socialites gambling their money away at a roulette table, Sam guided you towards some empty booths. The circle booth Sam chose was lit dimly by a small amber table lamp. Far enough from the crowd to not draw attention, but close enough that you didn't exactly feel alone with him.

Sam sat down in the booth, pushing the table aside to make room for the both of you as he pulled you into his lap.

"Now that's better don't you think?" His voice was low and next to your ear, hands on your hips as he shifted, letting you feel his prominent hardness beneath you.

A soft sigh escapes you, both of anticipation and pleasure as you grind down on Sam's hard on. You could feel Sam's lips pull into a smirk against your skin as he breathed in your perfume on your neck.

"Missed my cock, haven't you?" His voice was cocky, knowing.

Much like any woman he's fucked before, you couldn't stay away from him, and damn him for knowing it too. Damn his good looks, his charm. Damn that thick long cock of his that always made your eyes roll back and toes curl. You hated him for it, but you also loved it. Loved the way he knew just how to fuck you, how to make you forget about the stress of life and every other man you've ever met.

You've tried finding regular men who could fuck you in a way that would satisfy you the way Sam did. And there were plenty of rich men with big cocks and the same cocky arrogance Sam bestowed. Yet somehow, no matter how good the sex was, none of them came close to a fraction of what Sam made you feel. You would curse him for plaguing your mind, if only you didn't fold each time you saw him. Each time months apart from the last. Seeing Sam again just made your insides yearn to be filled the way he always managed to do so perfectly.

But you weren't blind to not see the similar effect you had on him. Sam was drawn to you as much as you were drawn to him. He yearned for your warm cunt the same way you itched for that fat cock of his.

"And you've missed this pussy." You purred with a smile over your shoulder as you rolled your ass against his erection. Even through his slacks you could feel his thickness, the ridge of his cock head, every pulsing throb your presence alone was able to pull from his gut.

Sam groans into your neck, a gentle scrape of his teeth meets your skin. “You don’t need my admission to know I did.” He murmured gruffly. “You wanna know what I've really been thinking?"

Goosebumps rise on your skin as Sam's hands grip your hips tighter now, guiding your movements smoothly and firmly against his lap. Your soft moan mingles with his sigh of pleasure, both of you keen on getting the slightest bit of relief.

Your eyes roamed the busy club, no one paying a single mind to either of you as the public laughed and drank, some couples getting cozy in their own corners. Your mind was a haze when you answered Sam finally. "Yes."

Sam leaned back in the booth, watching you as you grind against his cock. He was so tightly wrung from today let alone from you he swore if he wasn't careful he could blow in his fucking slacks like a teenager. He needed some sense of composure, he couldn't let everyone in this club know he was a mess when it came to you. But the way you so shamelessly found the right angle to rub and grind your clit through your dress against the hard ridge of his cock was fucking sinfully delectable.

"Fuck, I've been hard since I saw you sitting there. Been looking forward to tonight, on finding the perfect wet pussy to bury myself into." Sam starts roughly, his hands sliding up along your sides, "I needed someone perfect tonight. Couldn't have just anyone, baby. Didn't want some bored rich wife or another stripper..." The same hands touch that barest of skin exposed from your dress along your shoulders before sliding down your back.

His touch was electrifying. It had you arching with the glide of his hand, a pleasant shiver shooting straight to your core. You moaned a soft sound of need as you ground down harder against his twitching cock.

Sam hisses and his hips jolt, "Then you showed up, fuckin' perfect timing. You're exactly who I need, sweetheart. You'll give me what I need, won't you?"

"Yes, Sam... Yes..." Your voice was breathless as Sam's hands guided you to lean back against him.

Sam's eyes were glued to the way your hips rolled in circles, feeling the way his cock strained and throbbed insistently in his too tight slacks. "Fuck, princess, I need you home. Now." His low groan was enough to send arousal fluttering through your abdomen. With that, Sam downed the rest of his thousand dollar bourbon in one swig and gently pushed you to your feet. "Come on."

It was a quick drive back to Sam's multimillion-dollar penthouse suite. He was even quicker to get you inside to get your clothes off. He wanted to see that dress on the floor and by God nothing would stop him.

You remembered Sam's penthouse well. Modern and sleek with still the right touch of old money that showed his wealth in various forms. An expansive view of the city no matter which floor to ceiling windows you were looking through. The city at night was mesmerizing through the unobstructed windows, every room providing an impressive view.

By the time you reached Sam's room, you were swiftly being stripped of your dress. You turned to Sam as he let the dress drop and pool around your feet. His attention was instantly drawn to your rather skimpy underwear, if you could even call it underwear.

"Shit, sweetheart... A g-string? Really?" Sam's hazel eyes were blown dark with lust. He couldn't get past the g-string let alone the fact that you weren't wearing a bra under your dress. Sam's hand went straight to your breast, cupping and kneading firmly, "I mean, come on. Were you expecting someone in particular? Or am I just this lucky?"

Your skin prickled at his touch, your nipple hardening under the pad of his thumb as the cool air chilled your naked flesh. "My dress didn't need a bra."

"So you just go around not wearing one? Letting anyone see those puppies poking through your dress?" His words are punctuated with a pinch of your other nipple that made you suck in a breath as arousal gushed through your pussy.

"Why does it matter if I wear a bra or not?" A part of you enjoyed the way he was being possessive. Any other time you would've told him off, said something about how he should be a bit more progressive in his thoughts about how women should dress. But, fuck, right now? You couldn't think of anything but that hard length drilling a hole through his fucking pants.

Sam caught the way your eyes drifted down and his cock jumped. He uttered a curse under his breath before pulling his hands away to undo his belt. "Turn around."

His command was stern and exhilarating, sending a tingle through your gut as you willingly obliged. You went to kick off your heels but Sam's tut stopped you. "Keep 'em on."

Your eyes met over your shoulder as you paused in your actions, he was hungry in a way you haven't seen before. His hands deftly remove his belt and unzip his fly. "What'd I tell you, baby?"

The endearment sounded more like a statement of ownership, and you couldn't stop the way your stomach flipped at his tone. There was raw need in his words. Wordlessly you finally got on the bed, bent over as he asked for. With your head down and your ass finally in the air, Sam took a long look at the view before him. Even the richest of women could be brought to this state with a few words and the right touch. It was something you should've felt ashamed of. To be able to be stripped down to nothing with one man's arrogance. But it was that confidence that made you weak at the knees. His cockiness that made your pussy drip.

Sam pulled his cock out through the zipper of his pants, not bothering to undress any further. He liked the power it gave him. The extra bit of dominance to have a woman naked for him while he fucked her with his clothes on. It was his proof that he could bring any woman he wanted down to this level of obscenity. To be a whore for him. He thrived off of it.

His hand found your plush skin, smoothing over your ass, his other hand stroking himself a few slow times before he stepped away. Heading to the other end of his room to his minibar, he poured himself another drink. As he sipped, he turned to admire you for a moment. Naked except for some skimpy panties and your $2000 heels glinting in the low light, waiting so patiently for him.

You chanced a glance at him over your shoulder, your cheeks heating at the vulnerability of your position, at the way he was teasing you and making you wait this way. It should've been humiliating. Yet something inside you loved it. Loved that sovereignty he had over you.

Sam caught your gaze over the rim of his glass before wordlessly walking back to you. Lazily, his hand found the curve of your ass once more, slipping his touch down to feel how wet you were. A satisfied groan sounded from him as he pushed aside your flimsy panties.

You were slick to the touch as Sam's fingers parted your folds. The almost tentative touch was too gentle for what either of you needed. For how taught with tension you felt while eagerly waiting for his fingers, his cock, inside you. For anything at all. You watched him out of the corner of your eye take another slow sip and you were buzzing with impatience and anticipation. Until his fingers finally circled languidly over your clit making you whine.

Your noise made Sam's cock twitch, "Fuck, you're so desperate for me." However, his words weren't any less desperate themselves.

Sam moved closer behind you, his swollen cock aching to feel your warmth envelope and squeeze him. He held his cock at its base, his balls feeling tight with need in his pants as he rubbed his tip to your pussy lips. "God, you're soaked." He breathed.

He reached into his pocket, setting aside his drink to pull out a condom. He was quick to rip the packet and slide the rubber on swiftly, an action he's done a hundred times before. He pressed his tip back to your folds, grunting in slight disappointment when it didn't feel the same as he’d just previously sampled. But the thought didn't last when he finally started to push his length inside you.

A gasp flees from your lips as your cunt stretches around the girth of Sam's cock. It was always the same, delicious sting that made your mind go blank. You bury your face into his sheets, a long mewl muffling into the fabric as Sam sheathed himself in your cunt.

Sam groaned when he pushed as deep inside you as he could, the tightness of your walls squeezing him never disappoints as he took a deep breath. He stilled himself, giving you the chance to adjust before he'd ravish that tight pussy. Yes, Sam loved power, loved to see even the tallest towers fall and the toughest men cry, but he wasn't a monster when it came to sex. He always lets you adjust. Paid attention to every sign your body gave him, every sound you made. Your comfort mattered, even if he acted like he didn't care. He wouldn't enjoy it if it hurt you. Besides, he knew his size wasn't exactly small.

But then your pussy quivered and squeezed around him the way it always did when you wanted more. "That's right. Ease into it, baby." Sam groaned as he leaned over you, giving you a slow thrust. "Tell me what you want, sweetheart." Your moan of pleasure didn't seem to be enough as you pushed yourself back on Sam's cock when he pulled back. "Your words, sweet thing." He hums. Then another languid thrust.

"Please, Sam." You whined out. Another thrust. "Your cock... Fuck me..." The words came out in broken half sentences. You could hardly think straight when Sam's cock pierced your needy cunt.

Your plea was met with a sharper thrust, then another. The wind was knocked from your lungs as Sam's pace grew rough and harsh. His hand pushed your back further down. His grunts met every thrust as he used his spare hand to grope your ass. "Ass up, baby. Higher..." He smirked when your moans spiked louder. "That's it."

Your eyes drooped closed, moans muffled into the sheets as you gripped his duvet taking every hard thrust he gave you. Surely you were drooling onto his sheets but you didn't care, not with how this man was fucking you. Not when you've been needing this for months. Your mind was blank, nothing but the feeling of Sam's rigid cock diving in and out, hard and fast, angled so perfectly you could see stars. You didn't even know how loud you were being, but Sam could.

Sam could only feel his ego inflating with the same urgency as his release. It was a high he could never get enough of, the way you made him feel like a God among men. "That's right, sweetheart. Show me how good my cock makes you feel."

Sam's pace didn't falter. He was mesmerized by the way your ass giggled with every thrust, by the way your back curved to take more of him. How your pussy swallowed him eagerly, coating his length in your creamy silk. His hand slid along the globe of your ass until his thumb grazed your asshole. Your tight hole puckered slightly from the touch but you made no protest as he rubbed it gently. Sam didn’t think twice, spitting onto your hole and slowly easing his thumb in. The mixture of him stretching both your holes was enough to make you squeeze.

The feeling of both your holes responding to him had Sam’s brain short circuiting with nothing but arousal. God, he wish he was fucking you raw. His cock jolted inside you at the thought, his balls tightening as he groaned loudly. "Fuck..." He grunted before pulling out his cock and his thumb.

You whined in protest, lifting your head to look at him over your shoulder once again, ready to demand why he stopped. Then you saw him rip off the condom. Saw his angry red cock pulse. The look in his eyes that showed just how much he craved to feel every inch of you.

He brought his cock back to your pussy, stopping as he met your gaze. A silent moment, a moment for you to say no. But you didn't. Instead, you pushed back, feeling his leaking tip poke your wet cunt as you bit your lip. Sam's expression darkened with desire. "I fucking knew you were a slut for me." He purred before sinking in deep.

Both of you moaned at the intimate feeling of skin on skin. You never fucked any man raw, and you've surely never let Sam. But this time you couldn't say no. You wanted it as much as he did. You couldn’t have imagined you would want a man raw inside you, you were sure Sam didn’t want to risk such things either. Yet there was something deeper, deeper in the both of you, that couldn’t help but need it.

Your moans and Sam’s grunts were punctuated with each thrust. Sam bent over you, pressing his brow to your shoulder as he panted against your back, chasing his imminent release. “I’ll pull out, I promise…”

Yet even as he said that, a part of you didn’t want him to. Neither of you wanted kids, yet here you were, desperate to feel him fill you up. Your thoughts were fogged with lust and pleasure, senses tingling and nerve ends firing. You couldn’t think before the words slipped from your lips. “Don’t pull out.”

Sam tried to protest, he should’ve. He wanted to. But he couldn’t. Not when he was so close. Not when your pussy was so tight and so wet and so warm. You undid him so simply every time. “Shit…” Sam shuddered, his muscles tensing and his body growing too hot. His eyes screwed shut and his mouth fell open as a strained moan escaped him. The sweat on his brow mixed with the sheen of sweat on your skin. The smell of your perfume and your musk mixing with sex was causing his neurons to overload with arousal. Sam’s orgasm hit him so powerfully he felt as though he stopped breathing as he spilled deep inside you.

Sam pushed his hips so firmly against yours you swore he was going to breach your cervix. His length applied pressure in all the right places inside your swollen cunt. The feeling of him throbbing and filling you with his hot cum was overwhelming as you grind back on his cock, pursuing the hunt for your release as his pants chafed against your clit so deliciously rough. You choked on your moan as you came, your body trembling beneath his as the both of you grind into one another to chase that euphoria for just a second longer.

Heavy pants filled the room as you floated down from your high. Sam didn’t pull back yet, his bones limp. As were yours. Your ears were ringing slightly, your body buzzing with the satisfaction of an intense climax. You smiled into the sheets, a soft moan humming in your chest. It truly was only Sam who could bring you to such bliss.

• 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 . ˙♡

[ripdrhomo]

oops... you shouldn't have hit him

[oicorafmcl]

Miren mí teléfono cuando tenía 13 años jajaja, era toda una loquilla ajaja, mis recuerdos están en ese dispositivo. Lamentablemente se me cayó y a la pantalla dejo de tener sensibilidad impidiendo desbloquearlo :(

Ojalá poder recuperarlo. ❤️‍🩹

⭑｡𖦹

Look at my phone when I was 13 years old hahaha, I was a insane girl hahaha, my memories are on this device. Unfortunately, I dropped it and the screen lost sensitivity, preventing me from going down. :(

I hope I can get it back. ❤️‍🩹