Write in progress

𝐒𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐲 - 𝟑𝟎𝐬 𝐃𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐠𝐢𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫 + 𝟏𝟖 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠

[sallymaywritings]

Welcome!

Hi, I'm Sally May. I'm here with a fresh new blog to improve my writing skills. I'll make some gifs too. I'll reblog a lot for sure. This post will be regularly updated with a list of my stories & other info.

Feel free to DM me. Requests Info

You can find my writings on Ao3 too

Masterlist under the cut ⤵️

Duncan the Tall

Oblivious Oblivious Pt.2

Maekar Targaryen

Cyvasse Portraits: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 Heavy Burden Fireplace Carnal

Lyonel Baratheon

Bachelor party at Storm’s End | Lyonel x F!Reader

Other

One Night in the Storm | Lyonel Baratheon x F!Reader x Duncan the Tall 200 followers milestone | ft. Maekar, Lyonel and Baelor What are you looking at? | fr. Maekar, Lyonel and Baelor

Requests

Maekar Targaryen

A little bit of help | Maekar x F!Reader The Seventh Day | Maekar x F!Reader The Dress | Maekar x F!Reader The threat of the bull | Maekar x F!Reader Redgrass | Maekar x F!Reader Req no title 01 | Maekar x F!Reader The Right Treatment | Maekar x F!Reader The Ride of the Wolf | Maekar x F!Reader Motherhood | Maekar x F!Reader The Wrong Prince | Maekar x F!Reader

Lyonel Baratheon

Deer Hunting | Lyonel x F!Reader Thunder - Deer Hunting pt.2 | Lyonel x F!Reader Knights | Lyonel x M!Reader The Game | Lyonel x TargPrincess x Duncan Req no title 01 | Lyonel x F!Reader Gilded Silver | Lyonel x F!Reader Twins!Dad Lyonel x Targ!Reader Headcanons

The wife and the hitman | Part 1 - Part 2 | Ole Munch x F!Reader

Other Sam Spruell's characters The North Water The Heart of the Sea | Michael Cavendish x F!Reader

[ghostlybfgf]

✬ A KNIGHT OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS MASTERLIST ✬

aerion targaryen

ser duncan the tall

baelor targaryen

maekar targaryen

lyonel baratheon

valarr targaryen

daeron targaryen

other characters (including egg)

‘mad cousins and meetings’ — raymun fossoway

‘beautiful boy’ — egg / mother!reader

‘life goes on’ — egg / mother!reader

[sourdough-seal]

“how did you get into writing” girl nobody gets into writing. writing shows up one day at your door and gets into you

[orbitalmirror]

"how did you get into writing" girl i've been tormented by the visions since i was eight years old

[janearts]

Agatha Christie’s poem from And Then There Were None adapted for Dragon Age II.

[behindfairytales]

Tanzyn Crawford in A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms (s1) as Tanselle

[bluegiragi]

in his shadow. (see me practising their faces below)

early access on patreon

[alexjacobsgoodnight]

Bleed for me

Chapter 2

"My name is Cyrus," he hummed, thumb caressing my jaw. A shiver ran down the entirety of my spine at the light caress, a deep blush betraying me. His deep hum filled the room, almost appreciative in nature.

"You got a name, little dove? Or should I call you my little dove from now on?" Cyrus asked, eyes searching mine.

"I'm Alyx C-Cregan," I choked out, my entire being betraying both my terror and curiosity. Cyrus grinned darkly, leaning down to nuzzle into my cheek. A deep growl rumbled through me as he moved to bury his face into my neck.

"You smell so fucking good, little dove," he moaned, nose skirting the shell of my right ear. My core throbbed when he did this, making him grin salaciously against my hair.

"Y-you can smell that too..?" I squeaked, and Cyrus chuckled darkly.

"Of course I can, love. But fret not, I quite like it," he purred, and I never wanted the ground to swallow me whole more than I did in the moment. I trembled in fear, body frozen to the spot. Cyrus pulled back and looked at me, frowning.

"Please..." I whimpered, trying to convey what I felt on the inside. He pouted slightly, tipping my head up a bit further.

"Alyx, I wouldn't hurt you. Ever. You are my partner, the other half of me. I would never hurt you, little dove," Cyrus promised, the blue of his eyes deepening.

"Good.. now, if you don't mind, I want to sleep. It's been a long day, and I have to be up early for work," I whispered, deep rooted exhaustion crashing over me suddenly. My throat tightened and my eyes stung from unshed tears, the main indicators of my overstimulated nervous system wanting to rest. Cyrus's face softened, leaning over to kiss my forehead tenderly.

"Then into bed with you, little dove," he crooned, corralling me into bed. I gratefully crawled under the thick duvet, only for Cyrus to join me. He lay above the covers, sprawled out and facing me. I rolled my eyes and nestled into the blankets, body relaxing fully.

"G'night, Cyrus.." I mumbled, curling close to the demon sharing my bed. The last thing I remember is feeling him press a feather light kiss to my temple.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

I rolled into the bar, thankful that it was Friday.

"There she is!!!" I laughed as Everest's voice floated over to me. She was flanked by Jordan, Ryan, Jake and Serena, Jake's sister.

"Thank the gods I had just four embalmings today!" I replied as I joined them, hooking my arm in Everest's.

"You are doing the gods' work, I swear! I couldn't do what you do, Alyx," Serena said, and I smiled faintly. I felt Everest staring at me, and I turned to her.

"Somethings happened. Tell me," she hissed, holding us both back. I sighed heavily, knowing I would have to tell her about Cyrus.

"He came to visit me. The demon. Last night, when I got home from work. I was wide awake when we talked," I started, and Everest's eyes widened.

"Then, he told me his name. Cyrus, and fuck.... Ev, he's sweet. For a demon, he's sweet and kind," I said, and she stumbled.

"He told you his name?! What else?!" Everest asked, and I blushed.

"He told me... that such demons like him can take life partners. And, Ev... I'm his life partner," I choked out, and my best friend paled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"MORE DRINK, CREGAN!" Jake hollered, already way passed his limits.

"I am.... past my limit, Jake," I slurred, feeling my head spin slightly. Everest giggled as she swayed, nudging my arm.

"There's a really fucking hot guy staring right at you, Alyx," she hiccuped, and I followed her gaze as I took a sip of my drink. When my gaze met his, I spat out what was in my mouth. For Cyrus sat at the bar, looking very human, watching me intently. My friends all jumped and stared at me, while Everest's gaze clicked with realization.

"Holy shit..... is that the Cyrus you were talking about..?" She asked quietly, and I nodded.

"Yeah... and fuck, he's even more beautiful passing as human," I whispered back, mouth suddenly drier than the Sahara desert. He slowly stood and made his way over to us, maintaining eye contact the entire time. When the guys realized what was happening, Cyrus was already circling them to get to my side.

"Hello, little one," he purred, smirking as he wrapped an arm around my waist.

'I know you told them about me, little dove. What I call you.' I blushed deeply, burying my face in my hands.

"Now, I know none of you know me. I'm Cyrus, I work with Alyx at the care center," he said cooly, grinning at my friends.

"Are you single, cause Alyx here desperately needs a man," Jake asked, looking as serious as he could despite how drunk he was.

"JACOB! You can't just ask people if they're single to try to get Alyx laid!" Serena scolded, swatting her brother hard. Cyrus's deep laughter rumbled through me, making me blush further.

"I think all of you are in need of going home. Alyx, little one, which car did you bring? Your five or seven seat Subaru?" Cyrus asked, and I groaned before handing him my keys.

"Brought the seven seater tonight.." I mumbled, watching him as he pocketed the keys. Everest eyed us suspiciously, cautious of every interaction. We ended up ordering one final round of drinks, courtesy of Cyrus, before we closed out. Everest and I wobbled outside together before we were guided to the car. I sat in the front passenger seat as the others got settled into the back seats. Cyrus then slid in, smirking over at me as he did so.

'You still look so good despite the alcohol flush, little dove.' I turned my head so he couldn't see just how much his words affected me.

"Cyrus, serious question for you," Ryan slurred, leaning up from the back row. Cyrus motioned him to continue, eyes flashing back to their natural colours.

"Would you ever consider dating?" He asked, grinning like an idiot. His amusement trickled into my mind.

"I would. There's only one, though," Cyrus replied calmly, pulling into the driveway of my home.

"Who?" That earned a deep chuckle from the demon.

"Lets get you all inside first." We stumbled out of the car and meandered inside, Cyrus keeping close to me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I settled down in my recliner, Cyrus sprawled out on the couch.

"Do you have enough blankets and pillows?" I hiccuped, the room spinning slightly. He hummed and nodded, stretching out fully.

"I am comfortable, little dove. Are you comfortable?" He asked, and I blushed. I struggled momentarily to get out of my chair before stumbling over to the couch. Cyrus sat up and helped me down, tucking me into his side. My back was pressed against the back of the couch, my head on Cyrus's shoulder.

"Now I'm comfortable," I murmured, nuzzling into his neck. Soft, feather light kisses were pressed to the top of my head, almost approvingly.

"Sleep, little dove. I will watch over you."

Taglist: @amphib0e @ghostlybfgf

[sallymaywritings]

[deadpsalmistsociety-deactivated]

hobbits were the peak of civilization in tolkien verse. jobs were Gardening, Stall At The Farmer’s Market, or Mailman. Shoes OFF, capris ON, 6 meals a day, high and fat as all shit. Names like Daddy Twofoot….why the fuck are we horny for elves

[english-history-trip]

[sallymaywritings]

The Heart of the Sea

Gif by ararebloom

Pairing: Michael Cavendish x widowed sister-in-law reader Summary: Michael Cavendish seises the opportunity in the tragedy, but this time he decides to take some responsibility for it. Warning(s): Porn with feelings and some plot, angst, explicit sexual content, p in v, fingering, oral (f receiving), cursing, rough sex, slight humiliation, mutual slapping, mention of character’s death, mention of marriage, happy ending. No use of y/n, the reader has no physical description. No AI involved, all of my garbage is mine, and I'm still human. English is not my first language; my apologies for any eventual mistakes. Don't copy, translate, upload, or use my works anywhere.

(I have no fantasy for titles, so I decided to use the title of a Flogging Molly song)

Tag list: @orson-pope @ghostlybfgf @californiablues88 @risefallrise

Likes, Comments and Reblogs are always welcome :D

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

The Heart of the Sea

England mid-1800s

The clamour of the street on that warm day of August was just an annoying noise in the background for him. His whole attention was on a particular window on the second floor of a building in his native neighbourhood. He had been standing there for almost an hour, brooding over the idea of entering or whether it was wise to vanish forever.

He was supposed to sail with the other whale hunters, escaping into the icy waters of the North, but he was there, thinking of what words of circumstance to use with you. It’s been a while, two years, maybe three, since the last time you met. He couldn’t remember it clearly anyway, since half of his life was on board some ship.

Michael was anything but a man of principles. His way of seeing an opportunity in everything allowed him to survive, but what he had to face that day was out of his league. Not to mention the feelings involved. Feelings. Something foreign, something he constantly rejected for all of his life.

His thoughts shut off when he saw the curtain move and your figure appearing behind the dirty window pane. He recognised you immediately. You didn’t change by an inch, and his limbs started to tremble as you finished tying your corset and adjusted the underwear camisole.

He dragged a puff of cigarette, slightly squinting his eyes and thinking of how many nights he fantasised about you, of how soft your body would have been, how your voice would have sounded while he would have fucked that pretty cunt of yours. He would have smelled your arousal as he tasted your flesh and ate your core.

“Fuck…” He murmured and spat on the ground. When his eyes moved again at your window, you were gone.

He threw away the cigarette stub and blamed his feral needs for why he crossed that street and entered that building, but there was a score to settle behind it.

“Good morning, Mrs Williams.” He took his hat off in front of the building owner.

“Cavendish…” The curvy, red-headed woman scanned him up and down. “You’re a bit late for the funeral.”

Michael lowered his visibly upset gaze as he chewed his inner cheek, promising himself he would behave. He couldn’t risk being kicked out before seeing you.

“Yeah… need to see her.”

The woman gave him a surly look, carefully scanning him up and down. “You’re not drunk, are you?”

“I am not.” He snapped.

“Uh.” She huffed out before waving her head to the stairs, silently permitting him to go. “I want you out before dinner time. No one wants despicable men around during the night.”

He didn’t reply, even if he really wanted to do it, but his mind was already under your skirt. He ran upstairs and ignored a couple of women chatting in the corridor, who became silent when he passed. His steps were heavy on the wooden floor, his movements confident in contrast to his accelerated heartbeat. It would have been better…easier, to fall in love with a whore.

He vigorously knocked twice, but you didn’t respond. He took a deep breath, hating every single second of that useless waiting. The two women remained silent as they watched, eager to catch some new gossip in their boring lives. He called your name through the door, resting his forehead on the old wood. “It’s me.”

At the sound of his voice, the anger grew inside you. The awareness that you would have met him at some point wasn’t unexpected, but you couldn’t help feeling so frustrated. Michael had always been insufferable, out of the box and extremely harsh. You loathed him.

“Go away, Michael.”

“Open up.” He slightly slammed his hand on the door. “I need to see you.”

You opened the door with a sharp movement, rage clearly painted on your face. “See me? And what about your brother?!”

“Let’s speak inside.”

“He died two weeks ago, and you didn’t even show up for the funeral!” You ignored his request and kept venting while he was still standing at the threshold.

“I was busy.” He said absently. “They needed me to fix the ship before it set sail.”

“Last time I checked you weren’t a carpenter.” You crossed your arms.

Michael was losing his patience, no matter if he loved you more than his own brother, and he was celebrating his death with a bottle of rum and his cock stuck up in a whore instead of attending at his funeral at your side.

“Let me in.” He said with a low but firm tone as he pushed you inside and slammed the door. He took a better look of you, thinking of how useless that faded-purple dress was, considering the good things there were underneath it.

“What now?” You shrugged. “Did you come to take what remains of Arthur?”

“Sort of.” He said as he threw his hat on the table. “I have a proposal for you.”

“A proposal?” You raised your eyebrows.

“I want to take care of you. I… I want to marry you.” He said with a softer tone, scared of using such soapy bullshits.

You knew it was a serious thing since he wasn’t giggling like a fool as usual, and that caused an unexpected pleasant reaction down in your stomach; way too pleasant considering how you hated Michael. You tried to ignore what your body was telling you, unable to resist repaying him with the same coin. A mocking chuckle came in response, and it was even better when you noticed his irritation. Your bully smirk remained on your face, enjoying having been able to bruise his ego.

His reaction was immediate. He closed the gap between you two with a couple of long strides before pulling your hair and keeping you firmly in place. “You are carrying my name.” He said with gritted teeth. “It will never be replaced by someone else.”

“I belong to Arthur. I will belong to him forever.”

“He’s dead.”

“Better a ghost than you.” You pushed your luck with your sharp words.

Your boldness, his arousal, and everything in between broke the last restriction of your roles. Arthur wasn’t there to oppose, and you wouldn’t reject Michael. Not this time. Not under such circumstances. You knew it would be a wild ride, and you needed it.

The kiss that followed was ferocious, possessive. Years of restraint unleashed in a moment. His tongue invaded your mouth with no respect as he pushed you toward the bed, despite your complaining gestures to push him away. A series of rapid-fire slaps hit his chest, his shoulders, his face and your whining voice, suffocated into that kiss, only increased his needs.

“There’s no one between us now. You’re mine.” He pressed his words against your mouth.

When your back touched the mattress, and his lips reached your neck, your attempt to reject him was slowly fading into pleasure. Your mind was fighting because you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of your surrendering so soon, but your body was betraying you. Your fists kept hitting him as he lifted you easily to throw you in the middle of the bed. The way he was handling you was nothing compared to your relationship with Arthur. Your husband was caring, sweet, almost shy to touch you, even after years together. Michael was a beast, eager to claim you. A warm sensation filled your stomach as never before. The need to be taken roughly and quickly pervaded your mind with sinful thoughts.

“Do you have an idea of how long I have been waiting for this moment?” He asked breathlessly as he lowered his braces and took his shirt off. “It should have been me since the first time I put my eyes on you, in that pub. Not Arthur!” His hand went down and pulled your skirt up enough to feel the skin of your thigh. A deep laugh growled in his chest. “You’re not wearing any socks. I bet my ass your cunt is easy access too. Maybe you’re cut out to be a whore.”

It was humiliating and irrespective, and you liked it. The way he was looking at you, thirsted to violate your flesh, eager to fight against you, was pure fire between your legs. “Try me, you shithead.” You deliberately instigated, perfectly aware of the consequences. “I swear I’ll kick your ass…”

You couldn’t finish your threat because Michael shut your mouth with another kiss and moved his hand directly on your sensitive core. The jolt you felt as his fingers brushed your dripping folds led you to moan shamelessly, finally betraying yourself.

“You little whore, with your flooding cunt. Where you wanted to hide?” He breathed against your cheek, carefully watching your face contorting into pleasure and enjoying the feeling of his hard cock brushing against his trousers. “Let me hear your pretty voice once again.” He commanded as his fingers sank inside you and his thumb delightfully pressed against your swollen bulge.

You bit your lower lip, swallowing your moans and shutting your eyes. You still didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“Look at me. I said… look at me!” He moved to his knees and grabbed your face with his free hand. When your eyes met, he licked his lip to avoid losing saliva. “Unbutton your dress.”

“No.” You replied breathlessly, as his grip around your face tightened and his fingering increased.

He spat on the floor with irritation, removing his fingers from your cunt and sucking them clean before tearing the front part of your dress apart. The row of buttons snapped off, revealing your pristine corset and your chest moving up and down, under your heavy breath.

“Fuck…” He whispered as his hand caressed your upper body, wrapped in that solid cage made of whale bones and firm fabric. He was mesmerised at the idea of unwrapping you like a gift, and he didn’t see the slap coming, making him return to reality.

“Fuck!” He shouted and slapped you back. His hand slipped down your throat, carefully tightening enough to let you feel his strength, but not enough to take your breath away. “Is this what you want? You want me brute? You want me to take you as the whore you are?”

He felt you swallowing against his palm as a teasing smirk appeared on your face. His eyes widened, and his cock throbbed; he reconsidered his idea of you as a perfectly well-mannered woman.

“I knew it…” A wild grin opened on his face.

He moved to take his switch blade from the back pocket of his trousers and hastened to cut the corset laces. “Well fuck. My brother always painted you as an angel on this damn earth. He’s probably rolling in his grave now.”

“You’re cruel.” You said, perfectly aware you were in the same boat together.

“And you’re a bitch who’s fucking her brother-in-law when her husband’s body is still warm six feet under.”

The switchblade ended up stuck in the wooden floor as Michael opened the corset with a sharp tug and ripped the underneath camisole. He didn’t waste time in fondling your bare breasts with full hands, pinching the hard tips and biting your soft flesh. You arched a bit, unable to suppress a loud moan. He laughed with open mouth as his tongue teased your nipples, feeling your hand pressing on his head.

“Someone is finally eager here as I am.”

“Shut up, asshole!”

A low growl of satisfaction accompanied his movements as he reached your cunt once again, this time fully intent on eating you out. He moved your skirt up to your hips, completely exposing your forbidden fruit.

“So perfect.” He murmured before assaulting it with hunger.

“Michael!” You shouted as your thighs moved on his ample shoulders and the tip of his tongue sent deep shivers of pleasure through your body.

He licked and sucked, losing himself in that long-awaited moment. “You taste even better than imagined.” He couldn’t stop worshipping your cunt even when he unbuttoned his trousers and lowered them enough to jerk himself.

“Michael, please…”

“Please what, angel?” He moved up, wiping his mouth from your juice as he carefully observed you begging for more.

You shut your eyes as you surrendered to his whims. “Fucking take me.”

He smirked as he penetrated you easily with a sharp thrust. You moaned as you clung to his shoulders, pressing your soft breasts against his firm chest. His body started to move with ferocious vehemence, slamming deep inside you mercilessly. You took all of him so well, feeling things you'd never felt before, even with Arthur, and silently blessing Michael’s visit.

“My angel… my…” He breathed into your ear, losing control of the moment.

You repeated his name, unable to say anything else as the orgasm pervaded you unexpectedly. His eyes widened in shock and ecstasy as your body convulsed around him, sending waves of pleasure through his own cock. The sudden, intense milking of your pussy made his vision swim, his hands gripping the mattress on either side of your head to keep from collapsing completely.

“Fuck, you're coming already?” His voice was a desperate growl, a mix of awe and frustration. “You can't do that without warning me…fuck!”

His hips stopped for a moment, caught off guard. But then his own instincts took over, and he began pounding into you again with renewed ferocity, determined to draw out every last drop of your climax.

“I'm not done with you yet.” He panted against your neck, teeth finding the sensitive spot where your pulse was racing.

A loud cry coming from your arousal and pain pushed him to cover your mouth with his. The crash of the lips was hungry, intense. His tongue tangling with yours in a desperate dance that mirrored the frantic rhythm of your bodies. The kiss was raw and demanding, a silent battle for dominance that neither wanted to lose. His thrusts became more erratic as your climax continued to ripple through you, his own control fraying at the edges.

“Look at me.” Michael commanded roughly, pulling back just enough to see your face. “I want to see you when I make you forget everything but how good I feel inside you.”

With a guttural groan, he drove into you one last time; his body went rigid as waves of release washed over him. His cock pulsed deep inside you, spilling hot seed that mixed with your own wetness. Deep groans were unleashed in the room shamelessly as he collapsed onto you, panting heavily.

“Fuck…” His voice was raw with emotion, lips pressing against your neck where his teeth had marked you earlier.

The room became quiet; the air was thick with arousal and sweat, and you both rested enough to regain your senses. It was the first time for Michael to feel the need to stay in a woman’s arms instead of running away with a still-dripping cock. It was the first time for you to feel the need to keep a man in your arms instead of dressing back up quickly.

“You owe me a new corset.” You said softly, wanting to break that silence to avoid thinking of your husband.

“I didn’t know you wanted to be paid after.” He joked.

“Do you think you can throw me some pennies and run away? Better for you to give me that ring you have in your trousers before you go away.”

He moved to look into your eyes. “How the fuck do you know I have a ring?”

“You came to propose to me, right? It would have been a shame for you not to have an engagement ring.”

Michael laughed deeply. He wouldn’t have left so soon.

Ao3 Link

[ka4lina]

"How long do I have to wait?"

Modern AU. Men in suits are my weakness.

[drgnflyc]

more lyonel art because I’m obsessed and physically cannot stop drawing him !!

[californiablues88]

[amber-pope]

Rally Romance: Chapter Three

Summary: Lena just started her dream job as a personal assistant of the team principal of Yama Racing Rally Team. As she navigates her new life, she meets the love of her life.

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: 18+ and smut (evenutally), minors and ageless do not interact, slow burn, mutual pining, slow start, no beta

Neither of them was aware how much time passed with them basically just staring at each other's faces, lit by ever-changing scenes on a small hotel TV. Unbeknownst to Lena, James got really worried, but was wary of doing anything. At times, he seriously considered wiping tears from her face, feeling guilty of triggering her tears by inadvertently forcing her to relive her hurtful memories. He noticed she seemed so off, almost like she shut down for a time. Guilt, mixing with anxiety, sent his mind into an overdrive, in that familiar overthinking that he was just now explaining to Lena. 

This time around, everything went on so smoothly. Lena believed it was because she had already settled in the team, so she wasn’t that anxious about remembering everyone’s names and little titbits they shared about themselves. 

Also, as she had so much more time to prepare, she managed to finish organising Riley’s whole schedule a good week before the actual rally; now, she was mostly reminding him of his schedule and following him to press conferences and media appearances. 

What she was the happiest about was that not only did she manage to actually use her voice in the way she always wanted (a minor, but important), she also realised that what James Thompson told her on her very first day was actually true: everyone in the team was friendly and relaxed. 

Lena was sure that, as the season progressed, that sentiment would change as well, especially as the championship battles would start to escalate. She was hopeful that, even if that happened, the team would not lose its spirit and motivation. Most of that will have depended on the drivers though, primarily on Galliard and Thompson. 

More on Thompson, if Lena was asked, and more on Galliard, if her boss was asked. All in all, with Schmitt being replaced by another part-time driver during this rally, León Moreno, all three of their drivers finished Friday with amazing results, with Moreno in twelfth, Galliard in third, and Thompson actually leading the scoreboard, with more than sixteen seconds ahead. Although happy, Lena noticed that he looked the same exhausted self and hoped this result, together with four stage wins that day, would help him relax a bit.

Back in her hotel room after exciting Friday results, she was just washing her bangs after a shower, when she heard something in front of her door; a nervous male voice, almost on the brink of tears, stepping up and down her hallway. Due to a mix-up in the reservations, she was on a completely different end of the floor to where the rest of her team were staying, so she assumed it was simply somebody from rooms around when she heard it: that dragged-out Scottish monotone. He was almost whispering, but even before checking through the peephole, she knew who it was.

Quickly, she opened the door; James Thompson, completely startled and with tears in his eyes, looked like a deer in the headlights.

“Get in,” Lena ordered, checking if there was anyone else in the hallway.

“Mum, I gotta go, I’ll call,” he quickly whispered into his phone, but hesitated a bit.

“Get in,” she gritted through her teeth, in a way Riley would sometimes speak.

After closing the door behind herself, Lena took a deep breath to compose herself. 

“Don’t you have your own room?” she asked him, sounding maybe a bit more annoyed than she actually was. If anything, she was more scared than irritated, but her voice wasn’t on board.

“I do, but I didn’t want anyone from the team to hear me,” Thompson kept rubbing his forehead and looking at the floor, like a little child being summoned to the principal’s office.

“And how is this better? Journalists, members of other teams could have heard you. Can you imagine the headlines tomorrow?” Lena gestured at him to sit, but he was too distracted to notice. 

After a couple of seconds, he literally just started to shake, real tears running down his face, which he tried to hide with his hands. Fuck.

Lena decided not to ask or even speak, but managed to get him to sit. She recognised what he was experiencing and just wanted not to make him feel ashamed, mainly because, after suffering from panic attacks for years, Lena didn’t think they were anything of the sort. 

Thinking back, she realised that both instances when she either caught him on the phone or when he stormed out of the elevator were him trying to handle anxiety, something he later in the evening confirmed himself.

“Can I help somehow?” she asked him after his tears seemed to cease for a bit.

“I don’t think so. I know I have a problem, I know,” he looked straight at Lena, his voice breaking in a small whimper.

“Oh, please don’t look at me like that,” he continued, looking at the floor again. “I don’t need pity.”

“You are conflating empathy with pity,” Lena answered, almost whispered, her heart breaking looking at him so helpless and scared. James was hesitant to speak, so she turned on the TV.  

“Just so you can be sure no one could hear anything if standing in front of the room,” she tried to explain it. It was silly, but James seemed to appreciate it.

“I can’t sleep. I can’t concentrate. I’m constantly tired. I can’t eat. I have this panic, panic attacks,”  his voice calmed a little, but his face stretched in a painful grimace. 

At least that’s what Lena thought he said, as he slipped back into his accent that she was still struggling with. In any case, she was nodding along, wondering if she should pat him on the shoulder. 

“I keep calling my mum,” his voice broke again, and he went into that quiet sob, where your whole body is shaking, but without making an actual sound.

To Lena, all of that sounded familiar, too familiar. Her anxiety, to her, manifested like running through mud or being pulled through quicksand.

She had a feeling that James might be experiencing something similar, although at least it looked like he had some sort of support system. Options he didn’t have were medications, due to rules, and with all the sneaking he did, Lena was sure he hadn’t had regular appointments with a psychiatrist. Knowing how resistant people would usually get to that idea, she didn’t plan on suggesting it right away , but rather to try and calm him down enough so he could be rested for tomorrow.

“I would also call my mum,” Lena finally piped up, passing him the glass of water and a tissue. “And I still can’t sleep that well, especially in new places. And don’t you dare ask me why I accepted this job; most of the time I’m working at the HQ anyway.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” James still didn’t sound calm, but he was trying to. At least he sounded honest. “You deserve this job, sleep or no sleep,” there was something in the way he said it that left Lena completely speechless. 

“So… Do you want to cry for a bit more? Maybe we could alternate?”

That finally got a chuckle out of him, but before letting it go to awkward silence, Lena started asking him when it started (last year around last rounds of the championship), when it started to be noticeable (couple of weeks after he lost the championship), and if he talked to someone else about this (just his mum, but he had a feeling that Riley suspected something has been happening as well). 

“I know how you feel, I really do,” Lena said in an attempt to make him feel understood and appreciated. “I do think you will need to ask for some help, though,” she immediately saw the reluctance and desperation on his face, but she wasn’t going to let it go. “I was only a student, without resources or even an understanding of what was happening. I tried to ask for help, but everyone kept telling me it was just stress, even after I had to repeat a year during my undergraduate studies. Only after I lost my volleyball career did they start to take me seriously and realise it’s not just stress.” 

It was very painful for Lena to share this bit, as she still wasn’t completely over it, not even all these years later. However, she was always determined to help anyone with similar issues, not wanting anyone to go through the same pain, let alone the driver of the team she worked at. She turned to face James and saw tears in his eyes flooding over as he observed her face, his upper lip barely holding it together in a soft tremble. 

Neither of them was aware how much time passed with them basically just staring at each other's faces, lit by ever-changing scenes on a small hotel TV. Unbeknownst to Lena, James got really worried, but was wary of doing anything. At times, he seriously considered wiping tears from her face, feeling guilty of triggering her tears by inadvertently forcing her to relive her hurtful memories. He noticed she seemed so off, almost like she shut down for a time. Guilt, mixing with anxiety, sent his mind into an overdrive, in that familiar overthinking that he was just now explaining to Lena. 

He didn’t understand where that urge to just gently comfort her came from, but he was getting some serious courage to softly move a strand of her hair from her cheek, hoping it wouldn’t come out wrong, or worse, inappropriate. Her face was full of red patches on pale skin, and her eyes were almost completely closed, her breathing deep and slow, and yet it felt to James like she had some kind of an aura around her; he knew it was just a faint light, but the rollercoaster of emotions left his mind too weak to think clearly. Just as he made a final decision on what to do exactly, her phone rang, snapping them both out of it.

Lena excused herself to the hallway near the door, just to confirm all the meetings with Yama Technologies and then quickly went on to confirm the flights as well; she was a little bit excited because they were going to fly private, although Riley insisted on completely filling the whole manifest. All the calls and emails took much more than Lena anticipated, and when she walked back to her bed, James was lying on it; it took her a couple of seconds to realise he had fallen asleep. 

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to sort her thoughts into something comprehensive and tangible. As he was neatly taking up one side of the bed, Lena, completely exhausted and grateful for bigger-than-normal hotel beds, lay on the other side, silently blowing her nose. Then, she turned off the TV, but James seemed to be sound asleep. 

She could wake him up at any given second, but the clock was already showing 2:30. That would mean that, if she were to do that, he would fall asleep at 3 in the best-case scenario and only have two, maybe two and a half hours of sleep before needing to wake up for day two of the rally. Taking into account what he told her about his countless sleepless nights that he refused to call insomnia because “that’s for people who have real problems”, Lena just shook her head and put a two-pillow barrier between them and then sent a text message to Riley.

“Your number one boy is crashing in my bed atm.” 

She also included a picture of James curled up at the edge of the bed with it. She did not want to make a big deal out of it, but decided it was necessary to inform Riley at least, unsure if anyone had seen James enter her room. She tried to keep thoughts about possible rumours at bay, but her tired mind was failing her and various anxiety-inducing, almost intrusive, thoughts were plaguing her.

“???”

“It’s a long story, and not my story to tell, but he wasn’t feeling well, pacing in the hallway. I pulled him in because I didn’t want journalists or other teams to see him. While I was finalising our meeting confirmations and flight reservations, I guess he just fell asleep?” Lena knew Riley wouldn’t even think something inappropriate had taken place, even though intra-team relationships were neither forbidden nor disapproved of. 

“I just want to be as clear as possible about everything and I am honestly not comfortable about disclosing his personal issues to you either,” she quickly added. 

The room was faintly lit up by a faraway street lamp with light creeping through a small slit between two heavy curtains, and the only sound was James’ deep, rhythmical breathing. Lena felt a little bit sorry for him; mental health care was still not talked about enough in the motorsport, not even in the whole world, if Lena was asked. 

She often felt like people would fake compassion and empathy because they felt that was something they should do, not because they actually did, and then would turn around and stigmatise the illnesses even further. Not that things weren’t turning around for the better, but she felt that there was still a long road ahead, especially among the athletes, because asking for help was still perceived as a weakness.

“You did the right thing, don’t worry. I was actually afraid of something much worse, so this is a relief. Do you need me to come there and get him?”  

“No, let him sleep, he’s clocking too few hours as it already is. When does he have to wake up the latest?”

“5.15 am. You sure you are good? We can switch rooms if you want.” 

Although she really appreciated the proposition, Lena knew it was impossible to do it without waking  James up, and she was, in all honesty, a little bit too grossed out to sleep in someone else’s bed, at least in this particular situation. She knew that would be a weird reason, but she couldn’t help herself really; she sometimes had some clinical ideas about the bathroom, and especially the bedroom, given her own sleep issues, which she did call insomnia.

“It’s fine. Can we deal with this internally? And by that I mean just the three of us?”

“Yes, of course. Can you come see me first thing in the morning?”

“Yeah, see you in two hours.”

Lena, however, wasn’t sure she would even get those two hours and was hoping she would be allowed to sleep afterwards, during the morning stages. She knew her thoughts would continue to torment her for the rest of the night, but she took her anxiolytic and called it a night. 

Forcing her mind to focus on future things, she thought of exploring the city tomorrow or the day after. Slowly, she fell into a shallow sleep, waking up after what felt like barely a couple of minutes because she was sure she felt James’ hand touching hers. 

Her eyes flashed open, feeling a little spacey. However, all she saw was a pillow falling onto her and absolutely no sound or movement from James’ side. She propped herself up and saw he was barely on the bed, sleeping so close to the edge of the bed that one of his arms was dangling off of it; his mouth was slightly open, and his other hand was resting on his chest. He was still in his sneakers, and his phone was on the bed next to him.

She checked her phone; it was just before 5. She stumbled to the bathroom to prepare herself for the day and woke up James just before 5.15.

“What’s the time?” he asked, his accent slipping into hard Scottish again.

“Quarter past five. You need to get ready for the day,” she was erroneously stuffing things in her backpack, yawning all the time. Her head was hurting already, so she checked all her notes to be sure she wouldn’t forget something important, whether it was documents or a later meeting.

“I am so sorry,” James immediately started apologising, looking mortified, “I was so tired, and I just wanted to close my eyes for a minute. I am really sorry.”

“It’s okay, but I snitched on you to Riley,” Lena said while flinging the drapes open and passing him her phone so he could read the conversation. 

“I am sorry as well,” she almost fearfully waited for his reaction, hoping it wouldn’t send him into one of his famous moods that she was yet to witness, but nothing of the kind happened.

“No problem, you had to protect yourself, it’s understandable,” James kept nodding along. “And I did sleep better than previous nights, so at least something, right?” he started to sound more and more unsure with every letter uttered, like his confidence was being drained from him by just breathing. He handed her back her phone and headed for the door.

Lena was looking at him and his smushed face and his tousled hair, and didn’t like the feeling that was slowly spreading through her body. Not one bit.

“I will not tell anyone about this, don’t worry,” he added, his eyes still getting used to morning light.

“Wait,” Lena almost yelled, causing him to turn immediately, “there are some appearances to be kept, right?” She said it in her work Lena voice, and tossed him her hairbrush.

“Thanks,” James said, chuckling a bit, “see you in the park.”

Lena exited her room not even five minutes later, as she put on only the minimal makeup and hurried to the hotel lobby; Riley was already waiting for her. 

“What did you mean by “worse” in the text message? What did you think was happening?” she was already on her second coffee (drank the first one back in the hotel lobby) and although the light hurt her eyes, her head has started to feel a bit better, especially after it turned out that today was, after couple of hours in the morning, her day off. 

Riley took a deep breath before responding.

“I don’t know James that well. He’s new to the team, and I am new, well, to rally, really, this being my third year as a team principal. And when you take his inconsistencies and outbursts into account, well…” he paused, scratching his beard, before giving an actual answer, lines on his forehead becoming more prominent. “Drugs. I thought it was drugs.”

**

The rest of the day went in such blur for Lena; she was on complete autopilot even during the sightseeing with Dana and two engineers whose names she promptly forgot. She had a lovely time just chatting, taking pictures, trying new food; she just wished she was more present. Others noticed her weariness, but she explained it away by work-related stress and lack of sleep. However, Lena couldn’t wait to get back to her room and get some rest, dreaming about her bed during the conversations. 

When she finally reached her room, she realised she was in a pickle; despite showering, meditating, and preparing everything in advance for tomorrow, she just couldn’t fall asleep. She kept checking the results of every stage of the rally, which still showed James at the top of the leaderboard. She also turned on the TV, more from a habit than a need, but no matter how much she tried to focus on another weekly murder mystery, she kept forgetting the names of the characters and how things related to each other. Curled up around the phone, she closed her eyes, hoping that sleep would finally engulf her.

If you like my writing, all interactions are greatly appreciated-`♡´-

Chapter One, Chapter Two

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The Heart of the Sea

Gif by ararebloom

Pairing: Michael Cavendish x widowed sister-in-law reader Summary: Michael Cavendish seises the opportunity in the tragedy, but this time he decides to take some responsibility for it. Warning(s): Porn with feelings and some plot, angst, explicit sexual content, p in v, fingering, oral (f receiving), cursing, rough sex, slight humiliation, mutual slapping, mention of character’s death, mention of marriage, happy ending. No use of y/n, the reader has no physical description. No AI involved, all of my garbage is mine, and I'm still human. English is not my first language; my apologies for any eventual mistakes. Don't copy, translate, upload, or use my works anywhere.

(I have no fantasy for titles, so I decided to use the title of a Flogging Molly song)

Tag list: @orson-pope @ghostlybfgf @californiablues88 @risefallrise

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The Heart of the Sea

England mid-1800s

The clamour of the street on that warm day of August was just an annoying noise in the background for him. His whole attention was on a particular window on the second floor of a building in his native neighbourhood. He had been standing there for almost an hour, brooding over the idea of entering or whether it was wise to vanish forever.

He was supposed to sail with the other whale hunters, escaping into the icy waters of the North, but he was there, thinking of what words of circumstance to use with you. It’s been a while, two years, maybe three, since the last time you met. He couldn’t remember it clearly anyway, since half of his life was on board some ship.

Michael was anything but a man of principles. His way of seeing an opportunity in everything allowed him to survive, but what he had to face that day was out of his league. Not to mention the feelings involved. Feelings. Something foreign, something he constantly rejected for all of his life.

His thoughts shut off when he saw the curtain move and your figure appearing behind the dirty window pane. He recognised you immediately. You didn’t change by an inch, and his limbs started to tremble as you finished tying your corset and adjusted the underwear camisole.

He dragged a puff of cigarette, slightly squinting his eyes and thinking of how many nights he fantasised about you, of how soft your body would have been, how your voice would have sounded while he would have fucked that pretty cunt of yours. He would have smelled your arousal as he tasted your flesh and ate your core.

“Fuck…” He murmured and spat on the ground. When his eyes moved again at your window, you were gone.

He threw away the cigarette stub and blamed his feral needs for why he crossed that street and entered that building, but there was a score to settle behind it.

“Good morning, Mrs Williams.” He took his hat off in front of the building owner.

“Cavendish…” The curvy, red-headed woman scanned him up and down. “You’re a bit late for the funeral.”

Michael lowered his visibly upset gaze as he chewed his inner cheek, promising himself he would behave. He couldn’t risk being kicked out before seeing you.

“Yeah… need to see her.”

The woman gave him a surly look, carefully scanning him up and down. “You’re not drunk, are you?”

“I am not.” He snapped.

“Uh.” She huffed out before waving her head to the stairs, silently permitting him to go. “I want you out before dinner time. No one wants despicable men around during the night.”

He didn’t reply, even if he really wanted to do it, but his mind was already under your skirt. He ran upstairs and ignored a couple of women chatting in the corridor, who became silent when he passed. His steps were heavy on the wooden floor, his movements confident in contrast to his accelerated heartbeat. It would have been better…easier, to fall in love with a whore.

He vigorously knocked twice, but you didn’t respond. He took a deep breath, hating every single second of that useless waiting. The two women remained silent as they watched, eager to catch some new gossip in their boring lives. He called your name through the door, resting his forehead on the old wood. “It’s me.”

At the sound of his voice, the anger grew inside you. The awareness that you would have met him at some point wasn’t unexpected, but you couldn’t help feeling so frustrated. Michael had always been insufferable, out of the box and extremely harsh. You loathed him.

“Go away, Michael.”

“Open up.” He slightly slammed his hand on the door. “I need to see you.”

You opened the door with a sharp movement, rage clearly painted on your face. “See me? And what about your brother?!”

“Let’s speak inside.”

“He died two weeks ago, and you didn’t even show up for the funeral!” You ignored his request and kept venting while he was still standing at the threshold.

“I was busy.” He said absently. “They needed me to fix the ship before it set sail.”

“Last time I checked you weren’t a carpenter.” You crossed your arms.

Michael was losing his patience, no matter if he loved you more than his own brother, and he was celebrating his death with a bottle of rum and his cock stuck up in a whore instead of attending at his funeral at your side.

“Let me in.” He said with a low but firm tone as he pushed you inside and slammed the door. He took a better look of you, thinking of how useless that faded-purple dress was, considering the good things there were underneath it.

“What now?” You shrugged. “Did you come to take what remains of Arthur?”

“Sort of.” He said as he threw his hat on the table. “I have a proposal for you.”

“A proposal?” You raised your eyebrows.

“I want to take care of you. I… I want to marry you.” He said with a softer tone, scared of using such soapy bullshits.

You knew it was a serious thing since he wasn’t giggling like a fool as usual, and that caused an unexpected pleasant reaction down in your stomach; way too pleasant considering how you hated Michael. You tried to ignore what your body was telling you, unable to resist repaying him with the same coin. A mocking chuckle came in response, and it was even better when you noticed his irritation. Your bully smirk remained on your face, enjoying having been able to bruise his ego.

His reaction was immediate. He closed the gap between you two with a couple of long strides before pulling your hair and keeping you firmly in place. “You are carrying my name.” He said with gritted teeth. “It will never be replaced by someone else.”

“I belong to Arthur. I will belong to him forever.”

“He’s dead.”

“Better a ghost than you.” You pushed your luck with your sharp words.

Your boldness, his arousal, and everything in between broke the last restriction of your roles. Arthur wasn’t there to oppose, and you wouldn’t reject Michael. Not this time. Not under such circumstances. You knew it would be a wild ride, and you needed it.

The kiss that followed was ferocious, possessive. Years of restraint unleashed in a moment. His tongue invaded your mouth with no respect as he pushed you toward the bed, despite your complaining gestures to push him away. A series of rapid-fire slaps hit his chest, his shoulders, his face and your whining voice, suffocated into that kiss, only increased his needs.

“There’s no one between us now. You’re mine.” He pressed his words against your mouth.

When your back touched the mattress, and his lips reached your neck, your attempt to reject him was slowly fading into pleasure. Your mind was fighting because you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of your surrendering so soon, but your body was betraying you. Your fists kept hitting him as he lifted you easily to throw you in the middle of the bed. The way he was handling you was nothing compared to your relationship with Arthur. Your husband was caring, sweet, almost shy to touch you, even after years together. Michael was a beast, eager to claim you. A warm sensation filled your stomach as never before. The need to be taken roughly and quickly pervaded your mind with sinful thoughts.

“Do you have an idea of how long I have been waiting for this moment?” He asked breathlessly as he lowered his braces and took his shirt off. “It should have been me since the first time I put my eyes on you, in that pub. Not Arthur!” His hand went down and pulled your skirt up enough to feel the skin of your thigh. A deep laugh growled in his chest. “You’re not wearing any socks. I bet my ass your cunt is easy access too. Maybe you’re cut out to be a whore.”

It was humiliating and irrespective, and you liked it. The way he was looking at you, thirsted to violate your flesh, eager to fight against you, was pure fire between your legs. “Try me, you shithead.” You deliberately instigated, perfectly aware of the consequences. “I swear I’ll kick your ass…”

You couldn’t finish your threat because Michael shut your mouth with another kiss and moved his hand directly on your sensitive core. The jolt you felt as his fingers brushed your dripping folds led you to moan shamelessly, finally betraying yourself.

“You little whore, with your flooding cunt. Where you wanted to hide?” He breathed against your cheek, carefully watching your face contorting into pleasure and enjoying the feeling of his hard cock brushing against his trousers. “Let me hear your pretty voice once again.” He commanded as his fingers sank inside you and his thumb delightfully pressed against your swollen bulge.

You bit your lower lip, swallowing your moans and shutting your eyes. You still didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“Look at me. I said… look at me!” He moved to his knees and grabbed your face with his free hand. When your eyes met, he licked his lip to avoid losing saliva. “Unbutton your dress.”

“No.” You replied breathlessly, as his grip around your face tightened and his fingering increased.

He spat on the floor with irritation, removing his fingers from your cunt and sucking them clean before tearing the front part of your dress apart. The row of buttons snapped off, revealing your pristine corset and your chest moving up and down, under your heavy breath.

“Fuck…” He whispered as his hand caressed your upper body, wrapped in that solid cage made of whale bones and firm fabric. He was mesmerised at the idea of unwrapping you like a gift, and he didn’t see the slap coming, making him return to reality.

“Fuck!” He shouted and slapped you back. His hand slipped down your throat, carefully tightening enough to let you feel his strength, but not enough to take your breath away. “Is this what you want? You want me brute? You want me to take you as the whore you are?”

He felt you swallowing against his palm as a teasing smirk appeared on your face. His eyes widened, and his cock throbbed; he reconsidered his idea of you as a perfectly well-mannered woman.

“I knew it…” A wild grin opened on his face.

He moved to take his switch blade from the back pocket of his trousers and hastened to cut the corset laces. “Well fuck. My brother always painted you as an angel on this damn earth. He’s probably rolling in his grave now.”

“You’re cruel.” You said, perfectly aware you were in the same boat together.

“And you’re a bitch who’s fucking her brother-in-law when her husband’s body is still warm six feet under.”

The switchblade ended up stuck in the wooden floor as Michael opened the corset with a sharp tug and ripped the underneath camisole. He didn’t waste time in fondling your bare breasts with full hands, pinching the hard tips and biting your soft flesh. You arched a bit, unable to suppress a loud moan. He laughed with open mouth as his tongue teased your nipples, feeling your hand pressing on his head.

“Someone is finally eager here as I am.”

“Shut up, asshole!”

A low growl of satisfaction accompanied his movements as he reached your cunt once again, this time fully intent on eating you out. He moved your skirt up to your hips, completely exposing your forbidden fruit.

“So perfect.” He murmured before assaulting it with hunger.

“Michael!” You shouted as your thighs moved on his ample shoulders and the tip of his tongue sent deep shivers of pleasure through your body.

He licked and sucked, losing himself in that long-awaited moment. “You taste even better than imagined.” He couldn’t stop worshipping your cunt even when he unbuttoned his trousers and lowered them enough to jerk himself.

“Michael, please…”

“Please what, angel?” He moved up, wiping his mouth from your juice as he carefully observed you begging for more.

You shut your eyes as you surrendered to his whims. “Fucking take me.”

He smirked as he penetrated you easily with a sharp thrust. You moaned as you clung to his shoulders, pressing your soft breasts against his firm chest. His body started to move with ferocious vehemence, slamming deep inside you mercilessly. You took all of him so well, feeling things you'd never felt before, even with Arthur, and silently blessing Michael’s visit.

“My angel… my…” He breathed into your ear, losing control of the moment.

You repeated his name, unable to say anything else as the orgasm pervaded you unexpectedly. His eyes widened in shock and ecstasy as your body convulsed around him, sending waves of pleasure through his own cock. The sudden, intense milking of your pussy made his vision swim, his hands gripping the mattress on either side of your head to keep from collapsing completely.

“Fuck, you're coming already?” His voice was a desperate growl, a mix of awe and frustration. “You can't do that without warning me…fuck!”

His hips stopped for a moment, caught off guard. But then his own instincts took over, and he began pounding into you again with renewed ferocity, determined to draw out every last drop of your climax.

“I'm not done with you yet.” He panted against your neck, teeth finding the sensitive spot where your pulse was racing.

A loud cry coming from your arousal and pain pushed him to cover your mouth with his. The crash of the lips was hungry, intense. His tongue tangling with yours in a desperate dance that mirrored the frantic rhythm of your bodies. The kiss was raw and demanding, a silent battle for dominance that neither wanted to lose. His thrusts became more erratic as your climax continued to ripple through you, his own control fraying at the edges.

“Look at me.” Michael commanded roughly, pulling back just enough to see your face. “I want to see you when I make you forget everything but how good I feel inside you.”

With a guttural groan, he drove into you one last time; his body went rigid as waves of release washed over him. His cock pulsed deep inside you, spilling hot seed that mixed with your own wetness. Deep groans were unleashed in the room shamelessly as he collapsed onto you, panting heavily.

“Fuck…” His voice was raw with emotion, lips pressing against your neck where his teeth had marked you earlier.

The room became quiet; the air was thick with arousal and sweat, and you both rested enough to regain your senses. It was the first time for Michael to feel the need to stay in a woman’s arms instead of running away with a still-dripping cock. It was the first time for you to feel the need to keep a man in your arms instead of dressing back up quickly.

“You owe me a new corset.” You said softly, wanting to break that silence to avoid thinking of your husband.

“I didn’t know you wanted to be paid after.” He joked.

“Do you think you can throw me some pennies and run away? Better for you to give me that ring you have in your trousers before you go away.”

He moved to look into your eyes. “How the fuck do you know I have a ring?”

“You came to propose to me, right? It would have been a shame for you not to have an engagement ring.”

Michael laughed deeply. He wouldn’t have left so soon.

Ao3 Link

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[sallymaywritings]

Thank you all for the tag games! I'll try to do them asap 😅 love yaaaaa!

[sallymaywritings]

Reblog because I received so many new tags in the tag games! I'll do all of them asap, promise! 🤣

[behindfairytales]

Peter Claffey in A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms (s1) as Ser Duncan the Tall