#give me colorable tablecloths

[undyingoracle]

hai omg can you do alastor reacting to the person he's courting giving him flowers instead of the other way around

Alastor reacting to you giving him flowers.

warnings: gn!reader. romantic scenario. might be ooc. sorry about that.

A/N: I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THIS IDEA. At first, I wanted to write something like him just getting flattered by it? but I think he would be more upset and disappointed that he wasn't the one who was giving you flowers. after all, "he's a gentleman and should spoil his beloved with that kind of gifts every time he got the chance to." (that's what he thinks, at least). Hope you can enjoy it anon! ;; thanks for your request. ♡

English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes. feel free to correct me as long as you're polite about it.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𝅭ㅤ𝅭ㅤ⎯⎯ㅤㅤִㅤㅤ୨ ♡ ୧ㅤㅤִ ⎯⎯ ㅤ𝅭ㅤ𝅭

February 14th. a date everyone knew the meaning of. a date where everyone did their best to show off to their loved ones, to spoil them or even fall into the deepest of the lustful desires.

however, for the radio demon it was a pretty irrelevant date. he didn't really saw the meaning of it, and therefore, he didn't get as excited as other people did, and it wasn't exactly because he didn't got gifts or attention during it, in fact he did get lots of gift, specially from people of the cannibal town (who seemed to like him quite a lot). however, all those gift were meaningless to him, and he even hate most of them, since they're usually some kind of sweets, and he isn't really a fan of them, so they ended up in the trash or someone else's hands. he just didn't cared about it, nor the people who gave it to him.

nevertheless, this time it was a little different. he had someone in mind he wanted to give a gift to, and since a few weeks ago that thought has been running around his mind. but being quite unused to being on the giving end on this dates, he was conflicted on what to get to his special someone. flowers? he already got them flowers before, a lot of times and a lot of different types and colors. chocolates? he couldn't even stand the sweet smell of them. other kind of desserts had the same effect. and just like that, he keep discarding ideas that wasn't good enough for him. he wanted to blow you mind, he couldn't just do the simplest things!

soon enough, he asked for advice to the best person: Rosie, who, after giving some other ideas that were also discarded, ended up suggesting that he invited you to have dinner together, but instead of going out to a fancy restaurant, both of you just stayed at the hotel and HE cooked the most mind blowing meal himself. that way not only was he able to show off his cooking skills, but he also was able to make sure that everything was perfect. to the decoration, to the lighting, to the ambience music, to the flavors. he was simply in control of everything. he agreed to this, he thought it was a perfect idea!

so the next day, he went to ask Charlie for help at having a space for you and him alone. she agreed excitedly, of course, and promised him that absolutely no one was going to interrupt their perfect date. so, with her help, he got the kitchen, dining room, and a balcony all for himself.

when the day itself arrived, he immediately started decorating the dining room and balcony, with just a little magic it was a quick process. the table had a pretty dark red tablecloth, in the middle of it were some light up candles. it was just what you expect to see at a table on a romantic dinner really, kind of the cliché stuff. the balcony, however, had some lights wrapped around the railing, you could find some flower petals from the table leading the way to the entrance of the balcony. he wanted it to be the most unforgivable night of your life! that way, even if you ever (tried to because hes not letting thay happen) leave him, you would remember him whenever this date came around.

he also cooked some fancy dishes, some simpler meals that he knew you liked, and Rosie got him some sweets (against his will) that she knew you would love. everything was made for you to love.

soon enough, the time for the date came around, and you showed up. as you were standing before him, he tilted his head, confused as to why you kept you arms behind your back.

— Darling, are you perhaps hiding something from me?

he asked as you giggled. then, you pulled a bouquet of flowers from behind you back and extended it to him, holding it with both hands as you said "happy valentine's day!" excitedly. he looked at you in shock. you got him flowers. and he didn't. you prepared such a beautiful bouquet for him, and he didn't? he felt disappointed in himself for not getting you something as basic as a bouquet of flowers. how could he not get something like that for you? how could he even think of not getting such a beautiful gift to you? he could have made it the best and biggest bouquet ever and he didn't! how could he-

— Hey, Al? Are you ok?

he came back to his senses when you spoke to him. he looked at your worried expression and just chuckled.

— You just took me by surprise, my dear! I wasn't expecting to get such a beautiful and heartfelt gift from you. I am truly flattered by such a cute gesture!

— You're sure? You seem a little... down.

— Well, I am a bit disappointed in myself. After all, such a beautiful person gave me such beautiful flowers, but I didn't get them flowers! How could a gentlemen forget to bring flowers to his date? For shame.

he replied in a joking tone, making you laugh. your laugh was absolutely worth everything to him, he adored it and he loved seeing you so happy.

— Don't worry silly! you already planned all this, didn't you? that's more than enough for me.

after you were done talking he extended his hand to you, taking the bouquet in his other hand as he lead your way to the table. he wanted that night to be something that you wouldn't forget, but he didn't planned for it to be a night that he also wouldn't forget because of a little surprise. not that he was complaining though.

[dotster001]

If your still doing requests can you do a scenario where in the ghost bride event instead it’s the ghost groom and yuu is the one being captured as the bride

The Ghost Groom

Summary: Fem! Reader

CW: just like the ghost bride, the ghost groom has unrealistic expectations about what a princess is, Fem reader, reader gets kissed, but ooooh by whom?

A/N: figured this one was perfect for spooky week! I always enjoy giving the boys opportunities to be silly

One second you were resting in Ramshackle, the next a blue, and handsome, ghostly looking figure was gazing at you lovingly as you slept.

"Oh my God, is this sleep paralysis?" You whispered.

He giggled and booped your nose gently. "No silly. I'm just admiring my princess while she rests! Is there something wrong with that?"

You stiffened, and slowly creeped your hand over to hopefully wake Grim.

"Princess?" You asked nervously.

"Mhmm. I've searched so long for you. You can't blame me for just staring, right?"

"I think you are looking for someone else. I'm not a princess." Your hand finally reached Grim and you attempted to shake him awake.

He frowned. "Princess is a state of being. It's in the glint in your eyes, the quirk of your smile, your adorable furry companion, and your eccentric living quarters. Why, everything about you says, 'beautiful princess waiting for prince charming to save me!' But don't worry too much about it. Once we wed you will be a princess in title as well!"

"Huh?" You croaked out, hearing Grim groan out a confused sound, as some ghost knights approached the bed and pulled you along with them.

…..

"Headmage, the ghosts kicked us out of the school," Ace whined in Crowley's office.

"Headmage, what is going on?" Riddle asked.

"They took my sleeping spot," Leona grumbled.

"Oh, I suppose it is that time again," Crowley groaned, massaging his temples. "Every four years, on this night, the ghosts rise from the grave in search of a bride for the Ghost Prince. They'll be gone by morning. Nothing to worry about. Although," he paused thoughtfully, "usually they only camp out in Ramshackle. They don't tend to go much farther than the greenhouse. It's odd that they'd commandeer the school."

As if on cue, Grim burst into the room.

"Headmage! Some ghosts stole my henchhuman! You have to do something!"

Plan A

"I can't believe we agreed to this," Epel muttered bitterly.

The task force was made up of himself, Lilia, Vil, Silver, and Jamil. The "prettiest" members of the school.

The ones who could pretend they were women and get away with it.

"You want to save Y/N, yes? Then don't blow this, and remember your training," Vil snapped.

Epel grumbled and hiked up his skirts as he climbed a flight of stairs.

"Epel, the art of disguise is a very useful skill. It's something you can use for the rest of your life," Silver offered.

"Ah, that's my boy!" Lilia grinned, ruffling Silver's styled hair affectionately.

"I wouldn't do that, Vil might kill you," Jamil snickered.

The trip was long, and some of the task force had not walked in heels before, but they soon arrived in the dining hall.

"No, no, no! That is the wrong color! Everything must be perfect for my love and my special day!" The prince snapped at a ghost servant who was laying out a tablecloth.

And that's when they saw you. Dressed in a pearl white gown, a shimmering veil in your perfectly styled hair. You were covered in pearls and diamonds, and wearing an enormous, glowing, ring.

Oh. And you were tied down to a chair.

"Play it cool," Vil hissed to Epel, who was about to not play it cool.

Lilia stepped forward first, practically floating as he walked over to the prince in his large green ball gown.

"Your highness," he curtsied deeply, putting on a sweeter, higher pitched voice than normal. "We hope we are not too late. But we heard you were searching for a princess, and wanted to prove we were the truest princesses."

The ghost looked between you and Lilia, confusion on his face.

"But I've already picked my bride."

"They seem to be truer princesses than I am, Erik. At least give them a chance," you said hastily.

He pressed a hand to his chest in awe. "Your kindness knows no bounds! Truly, there can be no better bride than you! But to ease your heart," he turned back to Lilia. "You have permission to try and woo me."

Lilia curtsied again. "You are so kind. It is I! Princess Lilia! I can offer you a large kingdom, with many riches."

"But what is inside your heart, Princess Lilia. Do you have an animal companion?"

"I have a dragon!"

The prince gasped, and shot a bolt of blue lightning at Lilia, causing him to groan.

"A true princess must be rescued from dragons! She would never have a dragon companion!"

"Can't move," Lilia groaned. "Retreat." He hissed from his teeth, but it was too far, too late for them to escape now. Erik's eyes were on them.

"Your highness," Vil gave the most beautiful curtsy anyone had ever seen. "I have no animal companion, for my companion is my loyal hunter and bodyguard, who protects me from all the sins of the world."

"Hmm. That is very princess-like."

"This is so fucked up," you groaned.

"And you are very beautiful. Perhaps you are a true princess," he looked back at you thoughtfully, and your breath hitched. Were you about to be free?

"But Y/N is also a true princess."

"Oh please," Vil snorted. "As beautiful as she is, we all know I am the fairest."

You didn't feel as bad when Vil got struck with the blue lightning. It was well deserved, in your opinion.

"Comparing your beauty to another's is not very princess-like!"

Epel pushed Jamil forward, much to his dismay.

"Um. Your highness, I will bring you great gifts. My kingdom has," Jamil bit his lip nervously, "Jams. Lots of jams. Grape jam. Pear jam. Yam Jam."

"Yam Jam!" You tried to sound excited, hoping it would entice Erik. 

"And jellies!"

"Oh!"

"And spoons! Tiny spoons! How did they get so tiny?"

You gave a cough, and Jamil froze. Then you heard, "Snake Whisper."

"You are unworthy of Y/N, and will give them to me," he said smugly.

Erik raised a brow. Then screeched. "How dare you! I am a true Prince. Of course I am worthy of Y/N!"

Blue flashed and Jamil was frozen.

"So, snake whisper doesn't affect ghosts. Got it," Jamil muttered under his breath.

"Panicked, huh?" You snickered.

"A little, yeah," he whispered back.

Epel stepped forward next, giving an unenthusiastic curtsy.

"I'm Princess Epel," was all he offered.

"You are the one of the fairest maidens I've ever seen! Almost as fair as my Y/N. Don't you agree, my princess?" You nodded enthusiastically, but shivered as you saw Epel begin to shake with rage.

"Her petite frame! Her doe eyes! Why if our daughter is half as beautiful as her, I shall be a very proud man!"

"DAG NABBIT SHUT YER FLIPPIN MOUTH!" 

Erik froze, you stiffened, and Vil groaned in disappointment.

"Epel," he groaned. But the blue lightning was already flying.

"You're not a princess! You're a man! A crude man at that. You're not worthy of me, or my princess."

"COME CLOSER AN I'LL SHOW YOU EXACTLY WHAT I'M WORTHY OF!"

"Please gag him before he says something my princess shouldn't hear!" Erik cried, covering your ears, despite you having heard far worse from Epel in the past.

Once Epel was gagged, he turned to Silver. Who was, much to your dismay, asleep.

"Oh! This one must be a princess! She has a sleeping curse!"

"Maybe you should try to wake her?" You offered helpfully.

He looked at you, a tormented expression on his face.

"But I love you. And only true love's kiss can break the spell. Perhaps if I kiss you instead, our love will burst out and wake her! Minister, well begin now!"

"No! We can't begin! I, uh, I feel bad having a wedding while she's still asleep. And the dining hall isn't finished being decorated yet!" You cried. You'd been told by the ladies who dressed you "not to worry", that once you kissed Erik, you would be able to join his kingdom. His ghostly kingdom. No thanks.

You eyed Silver, hoping that the man who was typically the knight in shining armor would wake and save you. Nothing.

Erik sighed sweetly, pushing a stray strand of hair off your face.

"You're right. The wedding must be perfect. So where are my scones!" That last bit wasn't a question. It was an angry demand.

Crowley put down the mirror he'd been using to watch what the A team was doing.

"Well that was a disaster," he groaned.

"What a load of rubbish! He's literally looking for a princess from an old fashioned fairytale book! That's the only thing he'll let Y/N go for!" Ace shouted.

"It's kind of sweet, if you think about it," Deuce muttered.

"It's bullshit! No one's like that! It's an unrealistic expectation!" Ace snapped back.

"I know! I meant the part about Y/N!" Deuce snapped.

"Enough, cubs. It's obvious he has no intention of releasing Y/N. So we need a different plan," Leona said with a smirk, implying he already had a plan in mind.

"What were you thinking?" Crowley asked tiredly.

"The ghosts leave in the morning, no matter what. If they don't finish the marriage to Y/N, Y/N stays behind. So we just have to ensure the wedding can't happen."

Plan B

"Everyone understands their roles?" Leona asked.

Floyd, Ruggie, Jack, and Ortho nodded.

"Alright. Charge!" He shouted. The five slammed through the door, dead set on causing as much destruction as they could.

Leona began turning anything he could touch into sand; tables, decor, flowers, nothing was safe. 

Floyd smashed every food he could get his hands on, delighted giggles leaving his mouth at regular intervals.

Jack flipped tables, and fought off the guards who attempted to stop them.

Ortho blasted various parts of the hall, having way too much fun doing it.

Ruggie snuck through the crowd to where you and the "princesses" from Plan A were. But your chair wasn't there.

"It's a trap, isn't it," he asked Jamil.

"It wasn't supposed to be," he sighed tiredly.

Ruggie heard an inhuman screech, and felt his body go numb, unable to move.

"Damn," he muttered.

"How dare you? How dare you!!!!" Erik screamed, dragging you along by a rope lead. He must have forgone the chair, and decided to just numb you like the rest.

"You're ruining my special day! Our special day! How dare you!"

He zapped Jack, then Floyd, then Leona, then Ortho. All four verbally protested.

"Shut up! Look what you've done! We'll never finish in time!"

"Initializing death ray," Ortho began.

"No! Ortho! Sevens, please no death ray!" You screamed, quickly followed by everyone else protesting.

The boy pouted, but shut down the death ray anyway.

"I suppose we'll just have to have the wedding now," the ghost groom began.

"No!" You shouted. "I mean, I think my guests and I all agree we at least need a cake, right?"

Erik squished your cheeks together, hearts in his eyes.

"Anything for you, my princess!"

Everyone sighed in relief.

Crowley put down the mirror and looked at the remnants in his office.

"Any other bright ideas?"

Rook bowed deeply, "If he is searching for a fairytale, we must play along. Oui?"

Plan C

Rook lead the march towards the dining hall, his cape and rapier complimenting his outfit nicely. He looked over at his men. The entirety of Heartslaybul. There was no one else he would rather have serve as his knights. Even if they had a hard time getting into character.

"The cape is pulling at my neck," Deuce croaked.

"Then be better!" Ace snapped.

"I will behead both of you this instant,"Riddle hissed, coming off more as mom than knight to the fair Princess.

Cater meanwhile was trying to get a selfie in his knight outfit with Trey, while Trey wanted no part of it.

"C'mon, Trey! We look too good not to post!"

"I'm too focused on the possibility of Y/N dying to look good for a photo!"

They were an unusual group of knights. But still. Rook knew they would more than serve their purpose.

They arrived at the door, but this time, there was a ghost guarding it.

"Who goes there?"

"We're the princess' knights. If you take Y/N, we have to come with." Rook gave a well practiced flourish of a bow, which was mimicked by the men of Heartslaybul.

"Ah!" The guard said. "Of course, forgive us! We should have informed you immediately!" He opened the door, and the men walked through, uninhibited.

Meanwhile…

"Mmm my back hurts. I can't stay in one position for this long anymore," Lilia groaned.

"And I'm bored," Floyd pouted.

"I'm losing out on beauty sleep. My skin will not be forgiving."

"Big brother has been trying to call me home for an hour."

Lilia smiled sweetly at Erik. "Look, forget the cake. How bout you just give her the smoocharoo?"

"What?!?" You shouted. Was Lilia selling you out?

"He seems like a good guy. You'll be fine, Shrimpy."

"I literally won't be fine, that's the whole point!" You cried. But Erik seemed to be thinking. And that wasn't good.

"You'll die, but there's a chance you'll be at the Isle of Woe! Then you have to visit big brother and I!"

"Ortho no! Not you too!" 

"I mean, our guests are saying they don't need cake, my love," Erik whispered, his voice husky as he leaned in slightly.

"No!" You shouted.

"Smoocharoo. Smoocharoo." Lilia began the chant, but multiple voices quickly joined in.

The door burst open, interrupting the chant, and the kiss that was getting closer. You heaved a sigh of relief as you saw Rook and the Heartslaybul boys….all dressed like knights?

"Forgive our tardiness, your highness. Your beloved knights have finally arrived," Rook said loudly.

"Ah, yes. My knights. Good," you said, a fake grin filling your face.

"Your highness, the fact that you did not alert the princess' knights to your intentions, brings this whole arrangement into question," Riddle stepped up next the Rook, his eyes narrowed.

Erik's jaw dropped.

"Oh. You see I was so excited, I didn't…"

"You don't even have proof you can protect our Princess! Look at this room! It looks like a war happened here!" Cater gestured around as he joined the line.

"You're taking things out of context! I defended her, which is why she is still here!" Erik was beginning to get angry again.

Trey cleared his throat and stepped forward, "And what's this about no cake? Our princess deserves the finest of baked goods, which I am more than capable of providing. Do you have a kitchen nearby?"

"Yay! Trey approves of operation smoocharoo!" Ruggie shouted, leading to a couple chants of smoocharoo.

"Oh my sevens!" Ace shouted. "You all have zero dignity! No wonder you're frozen! You don't deserve to be moving with those attitudes!"

"What I meant was," Trey glared at Ace, attempting to keep more lightning at bay, "our Princess deserves the best, and I don't believe you've provided it."

They seemed to have finally gotten through to him. Until Deuce's sword belt just…fell off.

"You aren't real knights!" All five were frozen in one blast.

Rook giggled, "Ah well, we tried to save you. And the bitter defeat, and pure sorrow we will feel at your loss will fuel many a work of art!"

"Thanks Rook," you growled sarcastically.

To dig the dagger deeper into your heart, it was at that moment that the new cake arrived.

"Finally! I can be wed to my Princess!" He dragged your rope lead over to an area that had flowers arranged, and stood you in front of the minister. Funny enough, the minister was self aware and never asked for your consent.

"Then by the powers vested in me-"

"I object!" A voice cried out.

Plan D

You turned your head to see Azul, flanked by Jade and Sebek. Azul wore a crown, and was dressed in the very image of a fairytale prince. Sebek and Jade were in full armor.

"You have stolen my Princess!" Azul said authoritatively.

"Y/N's my princess!" Erik hissed, his impatience finally getting the best of him.

"I have a document right here, between the Princess and I, stating an intent to marry, and join our two kingdoms, for love of each other. You may compare the signature to that of the princess, but you'll find it's quite authentic."

Erik stared at the document in his hands, and suddenly his blue glow turned bright red, nearly blinding all of you.

"No! Y/N IS MY PRINCESS! A PIECE OF PAPER ISN'T GOING TO CHANGE THAT!" You'd only been scared of him before because his kiss meant death. Now you were just scared of him in general. 

"Your highness," One of his ghost knights spoke up. "A true Prince would at least look, and honor the document, lest he becomes the villain." 

Erik took a calming breath, his color going back to blue, and put on a tight smile.

"You're right. Okay, show me your contract."

Azul smiled, and handed him the golden document. He read it over, then looked at you with a heartbroken expression.

"You truly are in love with this Prince Azul? He is your fairytale Prince?" 

Azul smiled smugly at you, and you fought back an eye roll as you nodded sweetly.

"Then I suppose I have to let you go," and suddenly the numbness of your body ceased, and you were able to move. You inhaled heavily.

He looked up into the windows of the dining hall. The sun was starting to rise.

He looked at you sadly, and gently cupped your cheek.  

"I wish you every happiness."

And you couldn't help but believe him.

"Before I go again, my princess, er, your princess, deserves her kiss," Erik whispered. You held back a dry heave at Azul's mock bravado.

"Anything to ease your parting, your highness!" He stalked towards you, and you saw Jade snicker over his shoulder, while Sebek turned bright red.

"Princess?" Azul said with a smirk, though now that he was up close, you could see a tinge of pink over his cheeks.

"Ew, please don't," Ace muttered, but he was struck by blue lightning again.

Deciding to suck it up, you grabbed Azul by the collar, and pressed your lips to his. His eyes widened in shock, his face going bright red, but after a moment, he relaxed.  

"Get it, Azul!" Floyd shouted, and he immediately separated himself from you. 

"There, may you rest in comfort," Azul said, an arm around your shoulders, but his red cheeks showed no sign of fading.

"Thank you," Erik smiled softly at you, and all the ghosts faded one by one.

You and Azul stepped away from each other the second the last ghost vanished.

All the people stretched as they became unnumbed, groaning.

"Well that sucked,"Leona grumbled.

"I'll never get the image of Azul kissing Y/N out of my head," Ace moaned.

Epel gagged next to him, as he ripped off the ball gown he was wearing.

"Now what?" Vil groaned, massaging his neck.

The door slammed open.

Plan Party

"Ha! While you guys were busy, the headmage put us in charge of victory party planning!" Kalim announced, his crew following him slowly. One seemed confused, the other didn't want to be there.

"Absolute nightmare. I got the bad end today," Idia muttered as he hid behind the stacks of food Kalim had given him to carry.

Malleus looked around the venue in full confusion. Then he looked sad. 

"Was there a wedding, and I wasn't invited?"

"Don't worry, Tsunotarou, I wasn't really invited either," you said bitterly. This made him smile sweetly, until he saw your outfit, making him confused again.

"But you're the one wearing the wedding gown?"

"Don't worry about it," you muttered. You turned to Kalim. 

"What do you mean you were in charge of the victory party?"

"Well, Malleus and I weren't allowed to try and help, and Idia was busy, so after the headmage sent out operation fairytale prince, he told us to start preparing for the after party!"

You blinked a couple times, then yawned.

"Can we party tomorrow? I'm going to bed."

You ripped off your veil, threw it on the floor, then left the dining hall.

"Quick! Azul! Go after her!"

"Shut your mouth, Floyd!"

It was at that moment, Silver woke up. He looked around in confusion, then frowned at Lilia.

"Did we win, Father?"

"That we did my boy! That we did!"

[aster-bluejay404]

Sipping Tea Under the Wisteria Blooms

Materials:

(Homemade) Air dry clay

Needles

Carboard

A4 bond paper

White acrylic paint

Gold acrylic paint

Violet poster paint

Blue poster paint

Clear nail polish

Dollar store wisteria flowers

Lavender gina cloth

lilac colored paper

A lovely three seated teaset based on the Purple Bloom Teaset from days of bloom— most commonly known as the Wisteria Teaset. It is complete with a dainty set of three tea cups, a gilded sugar bowl and creamer jug, a lovely tea pot with wisteria petals painted on it, and a tower of golden tea cakes for skykids to enjoy! The white gilded chairs are toped with soft plush lavender pillows, and the table (of similar design is lined with a gilded lavander tablecloth whose design resembles the petals of a wisteria flowers. This tea set is perfect for skykids to relax and idly chat in while the wisterias bloom.

I made this entire teaset for the SoraSky discord server’s Art Prop-ject contest. And although I wasn’t able to join due to forgetting to put in my description and submitting late (EUGHH THE CENTERPIECE KEPT ON FALLING APART ON ME!!!) I am still incredibly proud of how this project turned out 🥹🥹🥹 I wanted to make the purple bloom tea-set because it was a prop that I’ve been wanting since I was still a moth on sky. It was a memorable time for me, especially when me and my friends would chat under the wisteria tree in Forest’s social space🪻✨ This tea-set was made of love, struggle, sleep deprivation, and lots of planning. It was via this project that i was also able to appreciate the little details and intricacies that sky’s purple bloom tea-set has, giving me a deeper appreciation for the item and the artists behind it 🥺 So despite feeling a bit salty of how it ended, i hope this piece brings happiness to those who see it, just like how we feel when anticipating spring ☺️ 😉 🏞️ 🌱🕊️✨ [insert moomin reference ahsjshjahaha]

[aemondsbabe]

Arbor Gold

summary: sharing a drink & toys || rhaenyra treats you to a very special night out

pairing: modern!rhaenyra x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, wlw, public, fingering, use of a toy, vibrators, mentions of alcohol, mommy kink, sub!reader, allusions to oral, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 1.9k

a/n: happy day three of 12 days of smuff!! i was sweating writing this one, i can't lie lmao

12 days of smuff masterlist!

gif creds to @gameofthronesdaily!

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

“Oh, that’s perfect,” Rhaenyra says to the waiter, watching with a smile as he finishes pouring two glasses of wine with a fancy flourish before setting the bottle on the table, “Thank you.” 

With a polite nod, the waiter takes his leave, leaving you and your girlfriend alone once more. Your eyes scan the room once again, taking in the fancy dark wood paneling on the walls and the way the vintage crystal chandeliers sparkled as they cast a low, moody light over the room; the soft instrumental music coupled with the dull hum of other couples and groups of friends sharing quiet conversations comforted you despite the circumstances. 

Finally, you let your eyes sweep over Rhaenyra and your lips instantly curved into a soft, sweet smile as you took her in, watching as she took a sip of the decadent Arbor Gold wine. This whole little adventure had been her idea – something fun and new to do, she’d said. 

And she doesn’t disappoint, you think with a slight shiver as you shift a bit in the plush booth, the small vibrator she’d taken oh-so much care to work into you earlier presses deliciously against that small, sensitive patch within you. 

“Everything alright, sweetling?” Rhaenyra asks, finally catching your eyes from where you’d been absentmindedly staring at the flickering tea candle on the table. 

You smile and take her hand as she presses in closer to you, your bare shoulders nearly touching. You can’t help but admire her dress, a mirror copy of yours in every way aside from the color – the dark, blood red silk contrasts so beautifully against her soft, pale skin while the dim lights of the small bar dance off of the black silk of your own dress in smooth, pearlescent waves. 

“I’m fine, Nyra,” you can’t help but reassure her with a soft smile as you poke your tongue out to wet your lips before pressing a gentle kiss to the back of her hand, “Just wondering when exactly you plan to start the show.” You tease, nodding to her phone. 

“Now where would the fun be in revealing all my tricks?” She gives as good as she gets, her eyes gleaming as she looks you over appreciatively. She takes another sip of the wine, taking the time to swirl it around in her glass before delicately pressing her lips to the rim. You can’t help but bite your lip as she closes her eyes with a pleased hum. “Have you had any of yours yet? You really need to try it, my love, it’s absolutely decadent.”

You reach across the table and grab your glass, swirling the pale yellow-gold liquid around in the same way Rhaenyra did before taking a sip, sighing happily as you taste all manner of sweet, fruity notes. 

You go to look at her with raised brows, about to compliment the expensive vintage as well, when she discreetly taps the screen of her phone. You only manage to get a soft, barely there squeak out as the vibrator comes to life inside you and buzzes softly against the most tender spot within you before Rhaenyra quickly leans over and presses her lips against yours, muffling the noise. 

You sigh gratefully against her lips as your eyes flutter shut, one of your hands squeezes at her thigh, and you’re grateful that each table is adorned with a long tablecloth as your hips seem to buck up by themselves for a second. 

She pulls away after a moment, once she can sense that you’ve calmed down some, and fixes you with a pleased grin before pressing one last, soft kiss against your shoulder. “That good already?” She teases, lifting her glass to her lips to take another sip of wine, “And to think, we’re only on the first level.”

You shiver, knuckles white as your fingers dig into the dark fabric of your dress, your hands pressed tightly against the tops of your thighs as you try and keep your hips still as Rhaenyra taps her phone screen, giggling as she turns the vibrations up a level. 

Your skin is flushed, though you aren’t sure if it’s from the wine or from the incessant vibrations within you. You throw Rhaenyra another helpless glance, your fingers digging into her plush thigh as a warning that your peak is approaching. 

She merely huffs out a soft laugh next to you and reaches out to tuck a lock of your hair back behind your ear before cupping your cheek, her pale eyes dancing over your face as she admires the blush that’s bloomed across your skin. 

“Oh, pretty little thing,” she coos softly, smirking when she notices your lower lip trembling as you desperately try and bite back the moans threatening to spill from your lips, “Are you getting closer, my love?”

You nod as your walls clench desperately around the toy, the movement only serving to press it even more firmly against your sweet spot. You bite down on your bottom lip, your nails no doubt leaving small crescent moon marks against Rhaenyra’s delicate skin, as you try to control your breathing. 

Just as you’re about to whisper that you can’t take much more, the waiter reappears, walking up to your table with a polite smile. You nearly cry as Rhaenyra quickly turns off the toy, although you can’t say whether it’s from relief or frustration from being so, so close. 

“Is everything to your liking, ladies?” He asks, his gaze lingering on you for a second as he looks between the two of you.

“Everything is perfect.” Rhaenyra answers with a cool smile, casually taking a sip of wine. 

“Wonderful, and is there anything else I can do for you all this evening?”

“I think we’re good over here,” she says, smirking as she spares you a glance, “Just bring the check when you get a moment, please. No rush, though.”

“Of course, ma’am.” The waiter says with a polite nod before taking his leave. 

As soon as he’s gone, Rhaenyra presses herself close to you and you almost whine when you feel her breasts press against the side of your arm, her nipples hard and aching against the thin fabric of her dress. A chill goes through you at the realization that she’s enjoying this just as much as you are. 

“That was going to be a big one, wasn’t it, sweetling?” She murmurs softly, one of her warm hands skimming across your bare thigh as she tucks it under your dress. 

“Nyra, please,” you all but gasp, trembling next to her as your center aches, your walls squeezing helplessly at the toy, “Please…” You’re not even really sure what you’re asking for as you beg, your mind covered in a thick fog. 

“Mmm,” she sighs, relishing the way you squirm in her hold as she skirts her hand higher and higher up your thigh, until the edge of her fingers are just barely pressing against the center of your thin lace underwear, “I don’t think it’s Nyra tonight, my little darling.” She says with a soft shake of her head, a few strands of her silvery hair falling beautifully against her cleavage. 

“Mommy,” you correct yourself with a choked whimper, eyes glassy as you peer up at her, “Please, please.” 

“Please what?” She asks, the condescending edge to her voice making your head spin, “Please take you home? Please make you come?” She prompts, eyebrows raised slightly as she smirks. 

“I –,” you choke out, nearly jumping out of your skin when she turns the vibrator back on, not bothering to ease you into it as it buzzes away at a high speed, “F-Fuck.” You hiss, your body already tensing as the knot in your belly winds itself up at an alarming rate. 

“I think you want to come,” she says lowly, nodding her own head as if to answer the question for you, “Luckily for you, mommy’s in such a giving mood tonight.” She studies your face carefully as she pushes your underwear to the side, her eyes positively sparkling once she feels how wet you are. 

You bite your lip harshly, nearly drawing blood, as she begins rubbing circles over your aching bud, not bothering to warm you up as she normally does as her soft fingers press harshly against you. Your head spins as she works you up and up and up, your high building at nearly the same pace as the vibrations within you as she slowly increases the speed of the toy. 

Before you’ve even had a chance to process the sensations flowing through your body, your head snaps to her and your eyes are wide as you look at her desperately, soft squeaks sounding from your throat. She merely looks at you expectantly – she may be in a giving mood but that didn’t mean she had to make the getting easy. 

“M–,” You barely choke out the first syllable before your eyes squeeze shut, your core already starting to flutter around the small toy, “M-Mommy, mommy!” You urgently whisper, finally finding your voice before gritting your teeth, your breath catching in your throat just as you feel the very beginnings of a familiar tightening overtaking your belly. 

“Let mommy have it, sweetling,” Rhaenyra coos, not stopping the movements of her fingers as she feels your bud twitch against her fingers. She murmurs soft praises into your ear as your high washes over you, talking you through it as your hips squirm against the lush fabric of the booth. “That’s a very good girl. Is that such a big one, darling? You did so, so good for me, sweetling.”

Her soft praises nearly send you over the edge again, but thankfully she decides to spare you and turns off the vibrator before slowly extracting her hand from your underwear, taking a second to make sure to move them back into place for you, the small gesture making your heart skip a beat. 

She laughs softly next to you, the sound making you open your eyes and you nearly moan at the sight of her dipping a finger, still shining from where she’d touched you, into the half-full cup of wine in front of her. She takes a second to swirl it around before bringing it to her lips, her eyes gleaming as she sucks at the digit; the sight alone is enough to make your tender walls clamp down on the toy but the small, satisfied moan she makes just about sends you spiraling over the edge yet again. 

“That’s definitely my new favorite pairing.” She teases, smirking at the wide-eyed look on your face. 

“Nyra!” You laugh, your heart racing in your chest as you feel the butterflies in your tummy stir yet again while the two of you dissolve into flirtatious giggles. 

Just then, the waiter appears with the check, which Rhaenyra quickly scans over before passing her credit card to him. She turns to you as soon as he disappears around a corner, the coy look in her eyes making you feel flush all over again.

“I can’t wait to get you home, sweetling,” she sighs softly and presses a kiss against the curve of your neck before polishing off the last bit of wine in her cup, “Mommy is absolutely dying for something sweet for dessert…” She teases, raking her hand back up your thigh.

A giving mood, indeed.

tagged lovelies: @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @marysucks-blog @watercolorskyy @valeskafics @iamaegontargaryenwife0 @aemshaircare @1997babyyyy @lovellies @little-moonbeam-666 @blackswxnn @alerisc

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

[im-his-druidess]

So I had another request!

It’s filthy (to me anyway lol)

But you don’t have to do it if it crosses any lines!

But I was wondering 🤔 how would Brahms Thomas jason and micheal be if their s/o wore super sexy outfits all the time and teased them? Like I’m thirsty for it 🤌🏻

Like I KNOW a part of them would be upset that their sweet s/o is teasing them and showing off for others and that results in angry sex🤌🏻

There is no shame here. Not much crosses lines to me 😌

Brahms Heelshire

Would be absolutely transfixed at the outfits you wear. Would raid your closet and pick you out things he would want to see you in, helps you shop online (*cough*Sugar Slasher*cough*) and would love for you to give him a fashion show when you get new outfits. However...he will throw a massive tantrum if anybody else sees you in your pretty clothes. Will destroy an entire room if he so much as thinks about someone seeing what belongs to him.

He's totally fine with you parading around in skimpy clothes, would prefer it actually, but will hide in the walls and sulk if you tease him too much.

Thomas Hewitt

Would act similar to Brahms in the sense that he would be so enamoured by anything you wear. Would stare all the time, gingerly reaching out to feel the delicate lace or silky material of your clothes. Would stop in his tracks if he catches sight of you, a lovestruck look shining in his eyes, and he would love to see all the different type clothing you have.

If you are around others, mainly Hoyt, he will physically cover any exposed skin that he deems inappropriate. Even going so far as to remove the tablecloth and drape it over you like a blanket to cover you up or snatching you up and taking you to your shared room (Which saves you from any leering from the lecherous old men of the house so you don't really mind)

He wouldn't know how to react to you teasing him. His brain would just shortcircuit and wouldn't be above hauling you over his shoulders and dragging you someone private if he gets too riled up.

Jason Voorhees

Is at a complete loss tbh. Torn between thinking it's inappropriate and nearly drooling at the sight of you. Would like to feel all the different type of fabrics and material, marveling at all the colors, and would love to see you show up with new things for him to look at. Likes to feel included.

Would probably steal clothes from campers he kills that he would think you would like.

If you tease him he will be confused at first, but will follow you around constantly until you finally pay attention to him. He doesn't quite understand the concept of a "tease" and will think you are punishing him by not letting him touch you. Will become more and more handsy the longer you tease him.

Michael Myers

Is indifferent at first. Thinks it's just your preferred style and will appreciate the flashes of skin the short skirts and low-cut shirts offer, but doesn't really care past that. The more skimpy and revealing the outfit is, though, the longer he will stare and eventually paw at you. During his usual stalking you throughout the day if he sees anybody staring at you or making inappropriate comments, then they will definitely end up missing or found with their eyes and certain body parts missing. You are for his gaze only.

After that he will start marking any skin visible with bitemarks, hickies, or his handprints. Staking his claim. And you don't have a chance to tease him because he will just scoop you up and pin you against the nearest flat surface. He doesn't like being denied and being denied you will have him throwing a tantrum that is basically a killing spree until he eventually corners you and takes what you've been dangling in front of him.

Will show up later with blood splattered skimpy clothes he stole that he wants to see you in and will stand in your personal space and stare until you change.

[harlowcomehome]

Divorce and takeout menus:

You had spent the first half of your day getting the house ready for Jack to come home. You had set out a colorful tablecloth on your kitchen table, got paper plates you knew the girls would like, and bought him his usual “coming home” flowers.

He had been in Canada the last week tending to business opportunities.

When it was finally time you picked Hazel and Jade up from their separate schools, noticing as soon as she got in the car that Hazel seemed upset about something.

She was a lot like her dad in every aspect. This meant, when something was bothering her she shut down, got quiet, and waited for someone to notice. Her energy was sad, and you knew she was on the verge of crying at any given moment.

“Hazey, baby? How did your day go?”

She opened her mouth to speak but tears came first.

“Where is Daddy? Did he come home yet?”

You checked the time. “He should be at home sweetheart!” You looked at her through the rearview mirror, noticing she was crying harder now.

“Why cry?” Jade reached over her car seat to wipe Hazel's face but sighed when she couldn’t reach.

“I just miss daddy!” She wiped her face as she continued to cry. You reached back, handing her your cell phone.

“Call him baby! He just got home and he’s probably still awake waiting for you two.”

Hazel sniffled FaceTiming her dad on the way home.

“Hi, booger!” Jack teased before seeing her face. “Oh no! Hazey, what’s wrong?”

“I missed you! A lot!” Her bottom lip quivered as she tried to gain control of herself.

“Baby girl, I missed you too! I’m home now! I got you and your sister gifts and when you get here I’ll show you all the pictures Uncle Urb took!” He was staring at his eldest daughter's expression that didn’t change much.

“I don’t care about the stuff. I just wanna see you. You’re my favorite person Daddy!” She was crying again and you were growing more and more worried, wondering what had happened at school that made her so emotional.

Unlike Jade, Hazel usually didn’t cry much. Jade started crying the moment Hazel's eyes filled with tears.

“How far are you guys?”

“We are about ten minutes away” you hollered so he could hear you.

“Don’t go okay? Stay on the phone until we get home?” Hazel looked at her dad through the FaceTime call with pleading eyes.

“Okay Hazey” he hummed and continued to make conversation as you pulled into the driveway.

When you got to the house, he waited outside as you opened the door for Hazel to greet him, before unbuckling Jade and helping her out of the car.

“Daddy!” Jade ran over and hugged his leg before he picked her up, Hazel still attached to him.

Jack looked at you with a face full of confusion and you shrugged, not having a clear answer for him.

Hazel hadn’t left his side since she got home, she followed him to the bathroom and waited outside of the door, he moved and she was his shadow.

You silently motioned at Jack, urging him to push her to explain.

“Hazel, sweetheart? What happened at school today that made you so sad?” Jack asked once Jade was fully distracted by a toy.

“My friend Ashley told me her daddy doesn’t live with them anymore and that he doesn’t ever want to again” she sniffled, her lip quivering as she told him the story.

“Did that make you worried that I wasn’t coming home?” His eyes softened listening to her explain.

She nodded before continuing to explain.

“Ashley said her daddy doesn’t love her anymore because he told her that.” Hazel started heavy breathing, and Jack knew she wanted to cry again. He leaned over and held her, giving her the biggest hug he could as she sobbed into his chest.

You were in the kitchen, opening the cabinets to look for dinner while overhearing the conversation and wanting to burst into tears yourself. You had known about Ashley's parents getting a divorce, but you didn’t know he had gone “no contact” or that he broke his daughters heart like that.

You knew tonight wasn’t a night for cooking, ordering takeout immediately.

“That would never happen with us Hazey. I love you so much, and I promise I won’t ever stop. You know that right?” He was trying his best not to cry, his lips quivering.

“You’re not going anywhere?” She sniffled.

“Never.”

You walked into the room, sitting beside them.

You and Jack took turns explaining what a divorce was making sure to explain to Hazel that you and Jack weren’t thinking about that at all.

“Daddy just has a busy job which means he’s not here sometimes” you continued to explain.

“But I’ll always come home” he booped her nose, reassuring her and making her giggle.

Jade realized you were still on the couch, climbing up on it “can we eat now?”

Hazel laughed, “Yeah, I’m hungry too.”

You checked your phone, “I have food coming, it looks like they are about 5 minutes away. How about you girls go wash your hands?”

That was usually yours and Jack's signal that you needed to speak to one another without the girls.

He urged them to go and stood up to speak to you.

“I think we handled that pretty good right?” He scratched the back of his neck nervously.

“Yes. But she needs some time with you. I ordered your favorite take out and maybe we can all watch a movie? I think they need an impromptu daddy date.” You looked around the corner to see if they were coming yet.

“You’re so cute. You really think of everything,” he laughed, scrunching his nose at you.

“I know you’re exhausted baby, but I think this will be good for them.“

“I know you are too” he smiled, leaning down to kiss you. “You’ve been here taking care of them all week without me. I agree this will be good for them. I’m not that tired.”

You knew he wasn’t being truthful about that, but admired it.

“I’m their mom!” You giggled shrugging it off, never wanting to make a big deal of anything.

“You know what I mean. I just appreciate you” he kissed you again.

“Did you like your flowers?” You smiled, taking in this private moment for as long as possible. You really did miss him when he was gone.

“You know I love them, I always do. How did I get so lucky? I married such a beautiful and thoughtful woman” he rubbed his hands down your lower back giving your butt a quick squeeze before the girls came giggling down the hall. He pulled his hands back quickly making you giggle.

“What if we had a daddy-daughter date girls? What do you two say?” Jack asked both Hazel and Jade who both jumped up and down excitedly.

You let him take the credit, he more than earned it.

The doorbell rang suddenly and Jack went to get the food, shaking the bag dramatically as the girls got excited.

“My favorite!” Hazel exclaimed grabbing the bag from Jack and running to place it on the table.

“You can thank your mom for that! She’s the one who ordered it” he winked at you, giving you your credit too.

[indigosunsetao3]

500 word no name COD Challenge by @the-californicationist

Linen and Lace

MDNI | teasing, lingerie, public

You had bought a nice new dress after the text, and accompanying bank deposit, came in. He had told you buy yourself something nice; he was taking you out on the town promptly at seven. He had been gone for weeks so it was a nice surprise and you had been giddy all day waiting.

Drinks and dancing had been been the start of the evening before he holed you both up in a corner booth at the small restaurant. Away from prying eyes but not totally secluded either.

You feel the blood rush to your core when he whispers in your ear how he couldn't wait to slip the little black number off you later while the waiter refills your waters. This was how he liked to play; to tease and rile you up when there was nothing you could do about it.

"Jittery lovey?" He asks quietly as you flinch when his fingers graze over your thigh. He had been giving you light teasing touches all evening but this was the first time he had ventured up your skirt. "We haven't even started the main course."

"You're killing me," you say around your wine glass and he just smirks and slides his fingers even higher. But you get the last laugh on that one when he finds the lacy garter and he runs his index finger between it and your skin. The near silent groan that leaves his lips makes you laugh, not so unflappable like he carried himself.

"What color is it?" He asks simply as the waiter drops your meals.

"Blue, your favorite shade," you answer light, smiling at the waiter as he sprinkles fresh parmesan over the dishes.

"Take it off and show me," he says under his breath as he thanks the waiter and dismisses him with a polite nod.

"What, now?" You ask cutting your eyes over to him and the dark look he gives you tells you he isn't joking. Or waiting.

This wasn't the first time he had asked you to do this in public, but it still gave you a thrill every time.

Leaning back a bit in your seat you spread your legs a bit wider, glad for the floor length linen tablecloth, before grabbing his hand to guide him to hike your dress higher. He follows easily, his warm palm resting on the soft exposed skin before you wriggle a bit more to hook the lace on your left leg and slide it down. The lace catches on your heel as you try to move as little as possible before you ball it in your fist and hand it to him.

He's brash with it. Setting it on the table where anyone can see to look it over like a trophy. The blue was the exact dark shade he preferred, with hints of crimson in the stitching and silver of initials embroidered in it; his initials. His smiles at you for a moment before his fingers curl around it and he tucks it inside his fitted suit jacket.

"Now the panties, if you think you can manage it without them seeing," he grins nodding his head lightly at the couple just a few feet away peering not so subtly at you both.

"Who said I was wearing panties?" You ask smartly as you pluck up a roll.

The side eye he gives you tells you that you aren't making it to dessert. At least not the dessert the restaurant served.

[ellieswrldd]

happy anniversary 🤍

pairing: modern gf!abby anderson x f!reader

summary: to celebrate your one year anniversary with Abby, she surprises you with a new toy and takes you out to dinner.

content warning: SMUT 18+ MDNI, remote control vibrator in public, strap-on use (r!receiving), car sex, multiple orgasms (r!receiving), praising, use of pet names (baby, babe, pretty girl), established relationship

a/n: first time writing for abby! was a lil bit rushed but i just wanted to write something smutty so…

It’s your one-year anniversary with Abby, one year since you started dating, and one year since you went from friends to lovers. Abby had been planning something nice for a few days now, clearly ecstatic to be celebrating such a milestone with you. So, needless to say, you were excited to see what she had planned. An hour before your date, Abby approached you, a smug look on her face. "Wear one of your pretty dresses, doll, you know how much I love those on you..." She mumbled and kissed your neck slowly. "I'll see what I can do," You giggled and hummed in response. She squeezed your waist gently and pulled away. "Left you a gift on the bed, put it on while you're getting dressed. I think it'll look great on you." Abby smirked and walked off. You studied her for a moment, wondering what she was up to. It wasn't until you went upstairs to change into something pretty for your date that you saw what Abby had left you. A bright pink vibrator, one that was curved into a C-shape. Thicker on one side, thin and oval shaped on the other end. A small note was left beside the toy. 'Trust me?' Your breath hitched slightly as you ran a finger along the smooth silicone of the vibrator and turned it over in your hands. Soon enough, you found yourself in the passenger seat of Abby's car, the vibrator buried deep inside your cunt. The thicker side stretched out your walls while the thinner part wrapped past your center and rested on your clit. "Did you see my gift?" Abby asked with a knowing smile on her face. One of her large hands rested comfortably on your exposed thigh. "Mhm," You bit your lip and glanced over at her. "Wearing it right now." Abby chuckled and turned her gaze back to the road, but you saw the pink tint coloring her freckled cheeks and the way her hand tightened around the steering wheel.

“Good.” Abby parked the car and opened your door for you once she arrived at the restaurant she had made reservations at.

It was a fancy restaurant, much fancier than what you were used to. With a glass roof displaying the beautiful night sky, candle-lit tables with white tablecloths spread throughout the dimly-lit restaurant. "Abs, this is..." You marveled at the beautiful setting as you sat down in the chair she'd pulled out for you. "S'nice, right?" She smiled and sat across from you. "Just, wow." You ran your hands along the soft tablecloth and looked up at Abby. She pulled her phone from her pocket and looked down at it for a moment. As her attention turned back to you, you felt subtle vibrations begin to course throughout you. They were gentle, just enough to tickle your clit and g-spot on both ends of the vibrator. Your breath hitched and you squeezed your legs together.

Abby reached out and took one of your hands. “You look so gorgeous, babe.” She gently pressed her lips against the back of your hand. “By the way you’re squirming, I take it you like my gift?” She murmured with a chuckle.

“Don’t be mean, Abs…” You said softly in response to her teasing. You knew where this was headed, she would stimulate you for the entire dinner, get you to the edge of an orgasm, and take it away before you could get your release. Remote control vibrators were nothing new in your relationship, you simply had never worn one out in public before. "I'm just having fun, baby, don't worry. If you're good, I'll reward you, yeah?" You swallowed and looked away, feeling hot at the thought of whatever reward she was planning on giving you. Abby smirked and tapped away at her phone for a moment before you felt the soft vibrations grow harsher and deeper. You let out a low whimper and slapped a hand over your mouth. "Abby!" The words left you with a hiss as you looked at her with wide eyes.

"You can take it, pretty girl. Anyways, are you ready to order?" She looked down at her menu with a coy smile. You huffed and fiddled with the hem of your dress. "M-Mhm," You nodded and looked for the waiter. You knew how much Abby had looked forward to this date, how much thought and planning had gone into it, but your mind was solely focused on how deep the vibrator was inside you and how bad you wanted Abby to make you cum. As she placed her order, you stared at her, thinking about what it'd be like if she bent you over this table and fucked you stupid with her strap. "And for you, ma'am?" The waiter's words brought you out of your daydream. "Oh, I'll just have whatever the special is today, thank you." You passed the menu to the waiter and bit your lip as you watched him walk away. Abby busied you with funny stories from work as you waited for your food, and while you laughed and smiled at her, she could see your hips rocking ever so slightly in your chair, searching for something to soothe the burning ache between your legs. She knew what she was doing to you, and she knew it was mean, but if you behaved...she would worship you for the rest of the night. The food came out soon enough, and Abby ordered an expensive steak which she started cutting up as soon as her plate was put in front of her. Your plate was full of mouth-watering foods, it all looked amazing, and yet you didn't feel hungry. You watched Abby eat, watched how she smiled softly after the first bite of her food, and watched how the muscles in her hands flexed as she cut into the meat with her knife. "What, you're not hungry?" She raised a brow as she looked over at your untouched plate. "I guess not," You hummed and crossed your legs. Abby narrowed her eyes slightly and set down her fork. "Fine, eat a little bit, and we can go home. I want to make sure you eat something." She crossed her arms over her chest and you suddenly wished she was wearing one of her muscle tees instead of the white button-up.

You took your fork with a shaky hand and picked up some of the vegetables on your plate. A sharp gasp escaped your glossy lips as Abby cranked the level on the vibrator to the highest mode on her phone, causing you to drop your fork on the table. A few curious onlookers turned to peer over at the table while you looked down at your lap and avoided their gaze. "Just one bite, baby." She whispered as she set her phone on the table once again. "One bite and I'll take you home." You took a deep breath and grabbed your fork from the table, slowly collecting some food and taking a bite. Swallowing, you placed your fork on the plate and sat back. Abby smiled and nodded. "Go get in the car, I'll be there in a minute." With a quick swipe on her phone, she turned off the vibrator and gestured for you to wait in the car. Waiting for her felt torturous, like every minute without her your body grew hotter and needier. Your breath hitched at the mere sight of your girlfriend walking toward the car. "God, I can't wait to fuck you," Abby groaned as soon as the car door slammed behind her. Your lips met hers hungrily, sliding along her bottom lip and tugging it between your teeth. "Put your seatbelt on, c'mon baby, the faster we get out of here, the faster I can touch you." Abby laughed breathlessly as she pulled away from you. "Turn the vibrator on again," You murmured as the seatbelt clicked in place. Abby looked at you and shook her head. "You are so needy..." "Please, Abs," You whined. She opened her phone up again and turned the vibrations up as high as they would go, drawing a loud moan from your lips. Abby grinned and started driving as you squirmed and mewled in the seat beside her.

It was like a scene out of a porno, your legs spread to reveal the lacy panties you wore beneath your dress soaked with your wetness as the vibrator buzzed deep inside your cunt and rubbed against your aching clit. Your hips jerked upward as you cried out, incoherently babbling about how close you were to your orgasm. Abby's hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly you would think it would break in half, it was taking every last ounce of restraint she had in her body not to touch you as she sped down the busy streets. "A-Abby, m'gonna cum," You babbled and clawed at the smooth leather of her car seat as you felt your stomach tense and your legs shake with pleasure. All of the teasing Abby had done to you in the restaurant brought your orgasm close embarrassingly quick, and every vibration from the toy stimulated that spot deep inside of you that made your eyes roll back with pleasure. "Oh my god," Abby whispered as her eyes flicked between the pornographic scene beside her and the road. "Gonna cum just from the toy, huh?" "Abs-" You let out a choked moan and shut your eyes as an intense wave of pleasure overcame you. Your body twitched slightly with your orgasm and your breathing was heavy as you came down from your climax. Quiet whimpers continued to spill from your lips while the toy continued to vibrate.

“Fuck this, I’m pulling over.” Abby practically growled as she drove down a secluded street. Surrounded by tall trees and a dirt road, you were positive the two of you were alone.

In mere seconds, Abby parked the car on the shoulder of the road and was climbing on top of you. Her large hand slid into your panties, slowly pulling the vibrator from your slit and setting it aside. You grasped at the collar of her shirt, whining quietly. "What? Begging for more already?" Abby cooed softly in your ear, one hand grasping the top of your headrest while the other unbuckled her belt.

You found yourself at a loss for words as you watched her tug her pants down just low enough to let her strap spring out from her pants. Thick and black, it was nothing new to your eyes, but you always felt a wave of excitement run through you when she brought it out.

Abby’s hands found your hips and pulled you upwards, flipping you around to straddle her hips while she sat in your place.

“I like these, you wear ‘em for me?” Abby murmured as she ran a finger along the delicate lace of your panties. Your dress was bunched up at your hips, the strap resting against your ass.

“Mhm,” You leaned down and kissed her slowly, sighing against her lips. Abby’s hands grasped at your thighs, rubbing up and down your exposed skin, and squeezing your hips every now and then. “M’sorry we had to leave early, jus’ couldn’t stand all the teasing,” You whispered.

“I don’t mind, baby, I just want to spend time with you, whether it’s in a restaurant or in a car, I don’t care.” Abby smiled and kissed your cheek. “Can barely restrain myself when you look this gorgeous anyways…”

Her hand trailed down from your hip to your clothed clit, thumb lazily circling the sensitive bud. Her grayish eyes half-lidded and focused on your face. You gasped shakily, your hips jolting at the sudden touch on your clit. Abby pushed your panties aside and slid her thick fingers along your wet cunt.

“Look at you, so wet and I’ve barely touched you.” You whimpered. “Bet you’re ready for my strap since the vibrator stretched you out, huh?”

“Please…”

“Please what, baby?”

“Please fuck me,”

Abby chuckled and pat your thigh. “Raise your hips, pretty girl.” You placed your hands on her shoulders and raised your hips so that Abby could align the strap with your slit.

Slowly, you sunk down onto the dildo, gasping as your walls stretched around the toy. Abby rubbed your lower back, whispering quiet appraisal as you took every last inch of her. Once you sat comfortably on the toy, Abby pat your thigh and nodded. "You know what to do," She breathed. You whimpered and moved upwards, beginning to carefully ride the strap. Soon enough, your hips moved at a frantic pace, desperate to reach your climax. Her strap just barely brushed your cervix and stretched you out in the most delicious way, it was all too much. It didn’t help that Abby was rubbing your clit so slowly as if she was trying to tease you. "Takin' me so good, such a good girl..." Abby murmured huskily. Soft groans escaped her pink lips every time the base of the strap rubbed against her clit. "Abby," You moaned and buried your face in the crook of her neck, senses overwhelmed by the scent of her pine soap and cologne. Your thighs burned and shook as your movements grew slow and lazy. "What? Getting tired already?" She chuckled and brushed her lips against your earlobe. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you baby,” Abby’s hands gripped your hips, pulling you up and then pushing you harshly down on the strap. You moaned loudly and tugged at the collar of her shirt.

“I’m so close, Abby, please,” You begged in between heavy breaths. Her hot breath fanned across your neck as she thrusted up into you and moved your hips with ease.

She manhandled you like you weighed virtually nothing, her sole focus being your pleasure. With her doing the hard work, now all you could feel was her strap slamming into you at the perfect angle. You were a mess, eyes squeezed shut, hair frizzy and sticking to your face, slick dripping from your cunt down onto the strap and spreading all over your thighs, but Abby thought you looked nothing short of perfection.

She thought you looked beautiful all fucked out while she pounded you with her strap, it was a scene she never got tired of seeing.

“I know, pretty girl, I know,” Abby huffed and let her head fall back against the headrest as her thrusts grew messier and more desperate, her hips rocking against yours. You could tell she was nearing her own climax by the way her once quiet grunts had turned into gasping moans.

Your body grew tense as you neared the very brink of your orgasm, choked cries escaping your lips that were glossy with drool. Abby rubbed your clit faster now, matching the pace of her thrusts, causing you to cry her name and jerk your hips against hers.

“I’m—” Your words were interrupted by your own moans as a white-hot pleasure flooded you. Your walls clenched tightly around Abby's strap as you came, your body spasming slightly with the intense pleasure. Abby came moments later, her fingers digging into your soft skin as she gasped your name and dragged your hips against hers. Her freckled cheeks were reddened and a few wisps of her golden hair were plastered to her face. You whimpered softly, your body still buzzing with pleasure and your eyes glued to her as she rode out her orgasm. Finally, Abby let out a long sigh and loosened her grasp on your thighs. She smiled softly and chuckled. "Happy anniversary, baby." She murmured as she rubbed your back and kissed your cheek.

[munsonluhvr]

MATCHMAKER, MATCHMAKER (DAY #3: LOVE LETTER EVENT)

contents: steve harrington x reader. nsfw! At a matchmaking event in Hawkins, you and Steve are introduced to each other for the first time and let's just say - the sparks fly. for clarification, steve is about 27, 28. word count - 2.3k

notes: welcome to day 3 of the love letter event; i hope you all have enjoyed it so far! i dont even care if this fic is hasty in the plot, i love a good hook up with stranger!steve. point blank period.

love letter event masterlist

“Could this get any worse?” A blonde girl with a name tag that reads ‘Anna’ says, shaking her head as her eyes scan the room. “I thought we would be meeting real men not these boys.”

You can’t help but laugh, feeling pleased that other’s feel similar to you. You’re at the first matchmaking event in Hawkins, standing in the gymnasium at Hawkins High School as you mingle with the opposite sex in hopes of finding a potential partner. However, the selection was less then subpar, and you were debating going home.

“I couldn’t agree with you more, the concept sounded a lot better when I saw the flyer, now I’m wondering what I’m doing here.” You respond to ‘Anna.’ The girl sighs in response, swirling the wine in her glass, her bracelets clinking together. A beat later, Anna speaks up again. “Happy Valentine’s Day to us, I guess.”

Your eyes look around, seeing the large group of people that mingle about the room. Cutout hearts made from red and pink construction paper are taped to the walls, adding color to the bland gymnasium. Many tall, standalone tables are scattered around the room, covered in tablecloths, host Valentine’s decorations in the middle of the tabletop, chocolate Hershey kisses scattered around. It looks like a high school dance.  

There must be a hundred people that attend the matchmaking event, you had overheard the hosts of the event that it was a bigger turnout then they initially expected; an even fifty men and fifty women. When you saw the flyer for the event when you walked out of Melvald’s General Store, you thought it would be interesting, something to get you out of your comfort zone and meeting people. An event created just for young adults to meet each other, spark conversation, and foster romantic connections; what could be better? Though, now you stand in the gymnasium, watching poorly dressed men, men who couldn’t even make eye contact, exert larger than life egos and flaunting how they’ll ‘get lucky’ tonight. It didn’t help that you got all dressed up, spent close to an hour picking out the right outfit, applying your makeup flawlessly, styling your hair just right. It was a bummer; the night had had so much potential.

 There wasn’t a single cute guy you saw at the event, and you had really tried to be open minded too. You let men sweet talk you, let them think you would give them a chance, but none of them peaked your interest, none made you curious. That is until Steve.

You are about to throw in the towel, standing against the wall with several women who were feeling identical to your feelings, but something tells you to give it one more go. “Wish me luck,” you whisper to Anna, pushing yourself off the wall. Anna offers you a sympathetic smile, lifting her glass towards you. You spy an empty table, deciding to park yourself there and allow anyone to approach you. You wobble in your high heels, the color of them pink to make your outfit cute and colorful, but you confidently stride over to the empty table that is at the other side of them room.

Once you reach the table, you take a sip of your wine, letting the liquid trickle down your throat. You wish you drank more when you walked into the event, it would have made the experience so much more tolerable.

You play nonchalant, casually resting on the tabletop. Instantly, Steve Harrington is captured by your presence as he notices you from the across the room. He notices you’re all alone and he is quick to get to you before anyone else. Steve rounds behind you, stepping off to the side to announce his presence to you. “What is a beauty like you standing all alone over here?”

You smile, a hot flush washing over your body. Not only is this man that stands in front of you the most attractive man at the event, he’s also the most attractive man you’ve seen in your entire life. “Waiting for a guy like you to come talk to me.” You say, a playful smile lingering on your mouth.

Steve laughs, running a hand through his hair. “Well, I’m glad I came over here then. You’re y/n?” Steve says, squinting to look at your small nametag. You nod, mimicking his glance, you squint and get a look at his nametag. “And you’re Steve?” Steve leans towards the tabletop, nodding. “Steve Harrington. Also known as your next boyfriend.”

You raise your eyebrows, amused by his answer. There was something that was different then the other guys you have met so far. He’s seemingly got an edge to him, something that makes you curious and want to get to know him. It also doesn’t hurt that he’s incredibly attractive, a sweet twinkle in his chocolate brown eyes. “Is that so?” you say, tilting your head to the side.

Steve nods, taking a sip of his wine. “If you let me.”

You smile, feeling a blush creep across your cheeks. You laugh softly, shaking your head. You like that he’s confident, playful, but not arrogant. “You’re just cute enough that I might let you.” You say, placing your glass on the table beside you. You decide in this moment that you’d let this ‘Steve Harrington’ ruin your life.

Steve smiles, amusement playing across his face. Steve is slightly mad at himself as he lets his eyes graze over your body. Steve had come to the matchmaking event to find a partner, a girlfriend, it was time for him to settle down. He had left his playboy habits in the past, trying to mature over the several years he has been single, but Steve can’t help but let thoughts of bending you over enter his mind; it’s hasty, Steve knows that. 

“Is that so?” Steve says, mimicking you. You smile, laughing lightly. You nod; giving it up easily was not part of your plan for tonight but as the minutes pass by with Steve in your presence, your plans change quickly. “Met anybody tonight that peaked your interest?” Steve asks, looking past you to the crowd that continues to mingle behind you.

“Just you,” you say, biting your lip.

“Ah,” Steve says, putting his attention back onto you. “So, there’s a chance I could ask you to dinner and you’d say yes?”

You shrug. “There’s a possibility.”

Steve continues to be amused by you, shaking his head. “Is there a chance I could drive you home before anyone else approaches you and takes away the small possibility I have?”

You laugh. You had already been ready to leave and you were grateful that you didn’t have to take the bus back home. “Certainly.”

After retrieving yours and Steve’s coats, you take a walk across the parking lot, instantly greeted by the brisk, February air. You close your coat across your body, attempting to conserve any body heat. Steve walks beside you, ushering your body across the parking lot to his station wagon. Once you approach the car, Steve walks you to the passenger seat but he pauses.   

Steve gives you a look, one that you received many times from men. His eyes exhibit hunger, a deep interest in getting to know you beneath your clothes. You debate it in your mind, though you already know you’re going decide. Should you ignore Steve’s inviting look, only accepting his proposal to drive you home? Where’s the fun in that? Sure, it’s a bit crazy to hook up with someone after you met him only a short while ago. It is Valentine’s day after all, love is indeed in the air.

You let Steve grab ahold of your hips, his mouth finding yours with ease. Upon contact, you taste the light flavor of the wine they severed inside at the event, his tongue swiping across the bottom of your lip. It has been so long since you’ve been touched, your body instantly obliges by making your cunt slick with arousal. Steve leans you up against the side of his car, his body pressing against yours. His strong hands cup your face, your arms wrapped around his middle, as you help bring your two bodies together. There is a sense of urgency in his movements, his fingers tremble with anticipation.

Maneuvering around your body, Steve pulls open the door to the backseat of his station wagon, gently pulling you to the side to encourage you to get in. You break your mouth from his, backing yourself into the backseat of his car. Your heart pounds against your chest, the anticipation beginning to take a toll on you. Steve climbs into the car after you, letting his body hover over yours. Leaning back slightly, Steve pulls the car door shut, and begins to pull his jacket off, tossing it into the front seat. You follow, your fingers fumbling as you unzip the side of your dress, shrugging it off your body. You’re left in your undergarments, watching Steve as he strips his clothes of piece by piece.

Once Steve’s shirt is off, exposing his bare chest, which your hands immediately explore, and he’s shrugged his pants off, leaving him in his boxers, you lean back on the seats, parting your legs. Steve positions himself over you, letting his mouth re-connect with yours. “You’re so beautiful,” Steve mumbles against your lips, his fingers toying with the straps of your bra, gently pulling each strap down. You hook your fingers into your panties, pulling them off swiftly. Your fingers move quickly to the band of Steve’s boxers, working to pull them off too. At the same time, Steve continues to work at pulling your bra down, pulling it further down your torso, exposing your nipples. Steve breaks his mouth from yours once more, planting kisses from your jaw, down your throat, to your chest. Cupping your breast with one hand, maneuvering your breast into his mouth, his tongue brushing across your nipple. Upon contact, your head throws back, your fingers moving from his boxers into his lush hair.

Steve can’t take the anticipation any longer, reaching down his body to shrug his boxers off. Before you have any time to process, Steve pushes himself into you, your legs tightening around his waist. You gasp, your hands gripping Steve’s biceps. Steve moves inside of you at an even pace, beginning to stroke your sensitive spot, encouraging your eyes to roll into the back of your head. You whimper, his large size asking your cunt to accept his size, though you had never delt with anyone quite as large as Steve.

Your grip around Steve’s bicep tightens, his cock stretching you out. With each stroke, you feel Steve immerse himself deeply in you, small grunts escaping his mouth. You moan softly, against Steve’s skin, as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, placing kisses in between grunts. Though it’s freezing outside, cold breezes finding its way into the car, the heat from yours and Steve’s bodies makes the inside of the car hot, fog beginning to form on the windows. The pleasure courses through your body, you reach up in response, your fingers brushing the cold glass of the windows. As Steve moves between your thighs, your legs part, your leg resting against the front seats of the car. “Fuck, Steve.” You whisper, your back arching against his movements. Steve’s name feels foreign rolling off your tongue, though you feel as if you could get used to saying it on a regular basis.  

Steve can barely contain himself as he ruts into you, taking glances at your face which enamors him. Steve has known you for a short while, in reality – less than half an hour, and Steve hopes he gets to know you mor just beyond sex in the back of his car, but at this moment, Steve has never experienced a cunt that wrapped so tightly around him. Steve leans up off your body, lifting your legs so he’s cradling your legs against him, as he strokes into you. He gazes down at you, watching your eyes flutter shut, your lips part, soft moans escaping your lips, your breasts bouncing rhythmically. Underneath the two of you, Steve’s vehicle rocks, reminding Steve that you are in a public place, and that your activities go unnoticed.  

Steve shortens his strokes, his breath becoming ragged as he begins to get closer to finishing. Your body craves him more, your skin tingling under his touch, as your core begins to tighten in your lower abdomen. You whine softly, the pressure building inside of you by the second. Steve’s slow movements aren’t curing your need for him, lifting your hips you grind against him, making up for his slow movements. Steve moves his hands down, his fingers locking around your hip bones, pulling your bottom into him. Steve groans, his eyes fluttering shut, his eyebrows knitting together, as he feels you move against him, at your own temp. And it feels heavenly to him, curing his intense lust for you. Without warning, Steve finishes deep into you, one last moan escaping his throat.

At the same time, your body tenses, an orgasm ricocheting through you. Your legs twinge, shaking around his body. You slump against the seat, your hair sticking to your sweaty forehead. You’re breathless, your chest rising and falling, as Steve removes himself from inside you. Steve inhales several times, attempting to regain his breath. “Wow,” is all Steve says, his limbs loose and weak, as he leans against the car door.

You sit up, noticing the handprint you had made on the window, the bottom of the handprint dripping down, similar to the horror movies. You smile softly; the sex had been that good.

“Can I still take you home and out for dinner later this week?” Steve says, pulling his clothes back onto him. You smile again, looking towards Steve. “Definitely, I’d love that.”

[halfmoth-halfman]

a designer dress from heaven and your dirty wedding ring - prologue

Pairing: Mob Boss!Price x F!Reader Word Count: 1.4k Warnings: none Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. A/N: it's finally here, the mob boss!price series! before we start, i want to give a special thanks to the fabulous @mvtthewmurdvck for letting me rant and rave about peaky blinders while i work on this series, to the amazing @valkyriesregalia and @bubble-dream-inc for reading and giving me feedback, and of course to @uselsshuman's discord girlies for hyping me up and giving me inspiration, i love you guys 💜!! || next

You’ve never been inside the famous club, The 141.

Your father had mentioned it to you a few times when you were a child; you remember the admiration— and jealousy— that laced his voice as he weaved tales of smoky backroom poker games and men who’d skin you alive for looking at them wrong.

You hadn’t believed him then, assuming it to be like all the other fairytales and war stories he told from that worn leather armchair— exaggerated tales meant to teach you lessons he himself never followed.

Now that you’re here, though…

You’d expected better security.

It’s almost laughable how easy it is to get inside. With no one at the front and the doors left unlocked, you waltz into a vision straight from your father’s imagination— all deep red velvet and hazy air carrying the scent of cigar smoke and danger.

It’s surprisingly modern with a vintage feel to it. You should’ve expected as much, but you still find yourself impressed. You weave through the round tables and plush chairs— elegantly decorated with brilliant red flower centerpieces sitting atop white silk tablecloths— making your way to the center of the spacious room.

You have the perfect view of the stage from here— directly in the center. It’s gorgeous: hardwood polished to perfection and bordered by thick, velvet curtains— even in the bright white of the blaring house lights, it’s a sight to behold.

“Um, you can’t be in here— we’re closed!”

The voice startles you, but you maintain your composure, turning slowly—non-threateningly— on your heels with a wide, unassuming smile. A long, half-circle bar stretches across the wall opposite the stage, just up a small set of stairs and past the various game tables, lined with golden railings. The wall behind it is completely covered in shelves of alcohol— some you’re well-acquainted with, some you recognize from your father’s private collection.

And there, gathered at the far right end of the black-quartz bar, are three men dressed in black, staring back at you.

“No one told me,” you smile, gesturing towards the front of the club, “and the doors were open.” The men groan to themselves, then mumble to each other. They glance back at you occasionally; you keep your polite smile taking in the rest of the club as they speak.

“Well,” one of the men— the American one behind the bar with a colorful sleeve tattoo and impressive facial hair— clears his throat. “We’re still closed regardless. One of the boys can see you out.”

The other two stand, the handsome one with light eyes and a brown mohawk making his way toward you.

“I have an interview-” all three pause, shooting glances at one another in silent conversation. You dig through the pockets of your denim jacket, pulling out the folded paper and holding it out to Mohawk. The room lapses into silence, so you add, “S’posed to meet with the owner about a singing gig?”

That takes the man behind the bar by surprise.

Mohawk takes the paper from you, unfolding it to read it over. His brows shoot up, eyes scanning the worn words. He turns, holding the page to the third man—the one with short, curly black hair and a scar on his left cheek— who takes it and skims over it. He glances between the paper and you, between you and the paper.

“I’ve got this,” he addresses the other two.

British, huh?

Not what you’d expected.

“This way,” he smiles at you, all charm and politeness as he folds the paper back up and leads you toward a section of booths tucked against the wall off the right side of the bar. You follow, smiling at Mohawk and Bartender as you go.

You slide in across from your interviewer, taking him in as he settles with his hands folded atop the table. He seems young, maybe a few years younger than yourself, with dark skin and kind, brown eyes.

But you can see the sharpness behind those kind eyes.

You know better than to trust a friendly gaze— your left shoulder aching at the reminder.

“Not gonna lie…I thought you’d be older,” you joke. He arches a brow, curiously narrowing his eyes. “You just seem a little young to own a club.”

“Ah, you caught me,” he laughs. “The owner’s my father, but I handle most of the staffing.”

“Oh! Well—” you extend your hand out to him, “—pleasure to meet you, Mr…?”

“Garrick, but you can just call me Kyle.” He shakes your hand, firm but not too strong—clearly practiced. You retract your hand, letting it fall into your lap. Kyle stares at you expectantly, and you give him your best smile.

It’s only a few seconds, but the silence is almost unbearably awkward.

“And you are?”

“Oh, shit. Right.” Heat floods your cheeks; you hope you haven’t fucked this up already.

“Canary.”

“Canary?” He sounds like he doesn’t believe you; you don’t blame him— you wouldn’t either.

“Yeah, like the bird.”

“I’m familiar.”

“It’s…it was an inside joke between my parents that they ended up liking a little too much,” you explain.

“That’s…sweet,” he smiles, a little less taunting now. “Is there a…last name too, Ms. Canary?”

“No,” you reply immediately, “just Canary.”

“Okay then, Ms. Canary-like-the-bird, do you…have a resumé?”

“Yes, I do.” You dig through your bag, pulling out your resumé and handing it to him. Kyle gives a hum of thanks, reading through it with those sharp eyes.

You hope it’ll do; it took you three whole hours to get it done last night.

“No references?” he asks, briefly glancing up at you.

Shit. You knew you forgot something.

“I…mostly worked solo,” you lie, “but I have a couple cards for people I’ve collaborated with.” You reach for your bag like you’re ready to dig through its contents. There are some cards in there; you’re prepared to give him those, but you’re not prepared to explain why a singer would’ve previously collaborated with a real estate agent and a tattoo parlor that’s been closed for years.

“That’s alright,” Kyle says.

Thank god.

“Have you worked in other clubs before?”

“Just one.”

He looks up, waiting for you to elaborate, but you stay silent, smiling back and adding a few bats of your lashes for good measure. He laughs, quiet and to himself, looking back at your resumé.

“I’ll have to run this by my dad—” He sets the paper down, eyes skimming over it once more, “—is there a number we can reach you at?”

“I don’t have a phone…not yet, anyway.”

Kyle looks up at you, surprise evident, but he masks it with impressive speed.

“Alright, Ms. Canary, one more question for you.” He leans back in the booth, arms crossed over his chest as he looks you over— taking in your appearance bit by bit and committing it to memory.

“What are you running from?”

“I— what?” The smile falters slightly, but you see his eyes dip down to your lips, and you know you’ve been caught.

“No last name, no references, no phone…”

“That doesn’t mean-”

“And we haven’t used these—” he holds up the flyer you’d brought with you, “—since I was a child.”

You drop the smile, hands slowly clenching into fists in your lap— your nails drag across the ripped denim of your jeans to dig into the meat of your palms.

“I’m not running, just…” you pause, searching your mind for the right words. ”Starting over.”

Kyle keeps his eyes trained on you, not moving a muscle. You can tell he wants more information.

If you weren’t so desperate…

“My ex was super shitty, and the divorce got real ugly—real fast,” you sigh. “In the end, I let him have whatever he wanted just for the chance to get out, and, as it turns out, he wanted everything. So…here I am.”

There’s a beat of silence before Kyle lets out a low whistle. “My condolences.”

You can’t help but laugh, a small weight easing off your shoulders.

“Well, the bad news is this flyer’s ancient, and we aren’t looking to hire entertainment at the moment. But the good news: we are in need of a cleaner.”

“You pay in cash?” you ask, noticing the twitch of the corner of his mouth as he bites back a smirk.

“We can keep it off the books, no problem. When can you start?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Perfect.”

[devilfic]

❝small favor❞

VI. growing pains.

parts: previously plot: you and peter are getting used to each other, but there are growing pains. pairing: mcu!peter parker x gn!reader. cw: mentions of several injuries, mildly suggestive content, hurt/comfort, peter being a problematic vigilante boyfriend (not telling you he got his ass kicked). words: 5k.

a/n: something a little shorter and sweeter (after the pain, of course).

You lift your head, heart hammering away, and meet the eyes of Peter Parker.

He fits him perfectly. The curls, his lips. But now there are eyes that fill in the gap, honey-color eyes that speak to that soothing feeling he gives you. He's leaning his forehead against yours now, looking up into your own eyes. You've thought about this exact moment happening before, but you had never gotten around to what you would say when it finally did.

Peter's thumb brushes up against your hip—having sneaked underneath the hem of his sweater during your reverie—and it jolts you back, "Well, come on," he nervously laughs, "don't leave me hangin'."

You take a handful of his hair in your grip, passing the silky strands between your fingertips and recalling the first night you'd ever felt them, "Why now?"

Peter's nose scrunches up, "I told you. I was never fooling you."

You shut your eyes, stretching your neck forward to brush your nose against his, "No, but... why right now? Why like this?

"It might be obvious but I really, really like you. I... I just kept thinking that I really wanted to tell you, because you're this smart, ambitious, funny—amazing at baking, by the way—person that I didn't want to miss out on, but you don't really know Peter Parker. You know Spidey. You know Spider-Man. And that's a lot to live up to which is weird to say because it's... also me? And eventually, the more comfortable I got with you, the more the lines started to blur together. But I just worried that if I dragged it out any longer, I might set you up for disappointment and I just... wanted you to see me. Really see me. At least once, before I told you. Does that make sense?"

And you do see him. You're seeing everything you imagined and more mystery yet. The pictures in this room could only tell a fraction of the story of Peter Parker, your time with Spider-Man telling another. You let the little voice in your head that drives your curiosity get excited at unraveling it. Just this once. "I told you at the gala, didn't I? That if anyone in that room was you, Peter Parker would be it."

You hear a low grumble in Peter's throat, "Mm, yeah. Yeah, you did say that. You also said that... I'd be shaking and crying if you yelled at me-"

"That's irrelevant."

"You say that whenever I'm right."

"I say that whenever it's irrelevant."

"Yeah, but you do have a thing for me, right?" Peter smiles, taking your cheek in his hand. The bliss on his face knocks you right out of whack. The dresser digs into your back as you try not to get lightheaded just looking at him.

It's so unfamiliar to put a face—a whole face—to Spidey, and now you can see it all. Every wrinkle, every flutter of his eyelashes, every brow-furrow. Everything, everything.

Your lips part to tease him, but Peter's door suddenly shakes under three firm knocks.

"Hey. Is Harry. You okay?" Harry Osborn is slurring over his words, and you can tell he's got his mouth pressed up against the door because it sounds a little muffled when he speaks, "I'm really sorry."

Peter's shoulders had tensed at the knocks, pulling you closer to his body for the fraction of a second when neither of you knew it was Harry. But once he recognizes the voice, his mouth drops to your shoulder to muffle his laughing. You press your face into his hair to stifle your own, barely able to choke out a sincere, "It's no biggie, Harry. Really!"

"Ya sure? I feel really awful about it. May's... May said I stained the tablecloth too."

"I'm so sure, Harry."

"I can buy you a new shirt. As many-" He pauses to hiccup, "-as many as you want."

"You really don't have to!"

A few seconds later, Harry mumbles, "Are you mad at me?"

You whisper to Peter who is biting his bottom lip to keep from giving himself away, "Is he always like this when he's drunk?"

"After the tequila mellows out," Peter snickers, "he won't let it go until he makes it up to you, you know."

Through the door, you can hear Harry say something like "you really are mad at me" to himself. "Seriously, it's not a big deal, Harry. Look, I've already got a new sweater on and everything!"

You kind of hear Harry's question, but you notice Peter's reaction first. He stiffens, tilts his head toward the door, inhales deep.

The door barely cracks open a hair before Peter's webbed it shut.

The look Peter gives you tells you everything you need to know: Harry doesn't know.

Your mouth falls open as you slip from between Peter and the dresser and rush over to the door. You slip two fingers between the web and the door frame, testing the strength, and the lack of give is impressive. "Uh, sorry Har! I'm not decent right now."

"But you... you said... a new sweater-"

"Yeah, but..." You glance over at Peter for help which ends up being the absolute wrong thing to do. You'd taken your eyes off him during the mere second it took to reach the door, and now he's half naked standing in a pool of red and blue and frantically pulling a shirt over his naked stomach. You stare at the ridges of his abdomen as they flex, and even a little longer after Peter pulls a "You Compute Me <3" t-shirt down over it. He gestures vaguely at you, even as his cheeks go pink watching your eyes dart to his boxers and back up to his face, "...it got on my pants too?"

You hear Harry whine a little, thumping his forehead against the door, "I'm really sorry."

"If you think about it, it's kind of like payback. I spill my drink on you, you spill your drink on me. We're even now." You peek at Peter who's now bent over digging through his drawer for a pair of shorts and force yourself to keep your thoughts elsewhere.

"I'll buy you new pants, too. I'll buy you so many pants."

"The stain isn't even that bad! I'm just spot-cleaning it, really. You can go back to the party."

"Oh... well, I was gonna, but I can't find Pete."

You open your mouth to dig up some reassuring lie when Peter presses himself into your back, snatches the webbing off the door frame, and opens it to reveal a flustered looking Harry on the other side.

Whatever embarrassment he felt over the whole drink ordeal washes away instantaneously. He frowns, blinks, stands upright at once. He stares between you and Peter.

Peter is the first one to say something, "Hey... man. Hey. I'm here. You found me."

Harry raises a finger to point accusingly at you two, but nothing comes out of his mouth for a bit. Like he'd forgotten to say what he was thinking out loud, "Have you been here the whole time?"

You look at Peter. His right hand rests on the small of your back like an awkward prom date, and when he meets your gaze, a nervous laugh tumbles out of his mouth, "Yes... yeah."

Harry's eyes narrow, "Why'd you change clothes?"

"Hot flash."

Both you and Harry give Peter a bewildered look this time. How he'd kept his secret identity a secret this long was truly a plot armor miracle.

"I can take a hint, you know," Harry's demeanor deflates, even though he sounds less sad and more disappointed, "I just wish you guys would've told me you were dating earlier. I know I've been gone but I still wanna be in your life, Pete."

Your heart softens at that. You feel kind of terrible about how clumsily you've all stumbled into this moment. You feel Peter stiffen and swoop in to save him, "No! You've got it all wrong, we're not dating. We just... kissed. For the first time, actually. That's why I didn't let you in at first. It was... you know."

You watch Harry process it for a moment. Then, as if all transgressions had been forgiven, he smiles. With a deep bellow the whole house can hear, Harry turns to yell down the hallway, "That's 20, Leeds! I called it!" He gives you both a fleeting goodbye, throws in a "congrats", and runs downstairs.

You let the door quietly glide shut. Peter runs a hand through his hair, letting out a rough exhale. "So, Harry, one of your best friends since college, doesn't know you're Spider-Man? But I do?"

"It's complicated." Peter groans, "I didn't tell anyone at first. Not MJ, not Ned, not even May. Then it all just kinda happened. With Harry, though... it's not that I don't trust him, I just don't know how to bring it up."

You watch him take a seat on the edge of his bed, dropping his chin in his hand to look at you. You press your back to the door, "Bet him 20 bucks you couldn't crawl on the ceiling?"

Peter snickers, "Nah. I'd bet him 80."

"Speaking of: you wouldn't happen to know anything about that 20 Harry was talking about, would you?"

Peter's cheeks go pink and he drops his head in his hands.

Boldly, you press off the door and saunter over to him, dropping to your knees at his feet and resting your folded arm on one of his legs. He peeks through his fingers to look at you and then quickly closes them again. You tug his chin toward you and his hands have no choice but to fall away, revealing his wobbly, embarrassed smile and the blush that had spread up to his hairline, "Parker." Is all you say.

He tries to hold out and bless him, he's really cute when he tries, but he turns to mush after holding your stare for too long, "The guys thought it'd be funny to make a bet on when I'd... give in."

"Give in? To what?"

Peter wails and throws himself back on the bed dramatically, flopping like a fish. You crawl up onto the bed beside him with a shit-eating grin. He tries to throw his arm over his eyes but you pin his wrist beside his head while he debates between looking at you head-on and staring up at the top bunk, "Hey, don't hide from me," you whine, "tell me."

Peter grumbles something sarcastic under his breath but it hitches when you throw a leg over him, straddling his lower half and blocking his view of the box-spring. You think his pupils blow a bit wider, "To you," Peter's voice is tender now, careful and vulnerable, "I... kind of told everyone I wanted to make a good impression on you. Or a better impression than the last two. And Harry's been teasing me about it all day so I thought I'd just spite him for it and... and then I... put on the suit. And something stupid happens to me when I'm around you, but if I hadn't, I don't know if I would have had the courage to kiss you."

You slip a hand up Peter's chest, "If it makes you feel better," you lean down to peck his lips, "it was a damn good kiss."

"Yeah?" Peter's voice pitches up a little, cracking on the word.

"I've gotta tell the Web-Blog about it now. Full disclosure."

Before you can even giggle about it, Peter has you flipped on your back, pressing his mouth to yours in a dizzying kiss that shuts you right up.

You have not heard from Peter in 12 hours.

For normal couples, 12 hours without speaking wasn't the end of the world. Jobs, family, friends, alone time; it was reasonable—healthy even—for normal couples. 12 hours was nothing.

But you and Peter were not normal, and 12 hours for you was four days in normal couple time.

It had started the night before. Peter had promised he'd swing by for your usual debrief, a little later than usual due to where he'd be patrolling, and you had reassured him it was fine. You'd made tea and prepped the couch for the possible (inevitable) sleep-over, and waited. And waited. At some point, you'd passed out exhausted on the couch thinking that he might swoop in around three a.m. with snacks and an apology, only to wake up hours later to sunrise and nothing. No one. Cold tea and a couch only you slept on.

You'd shot off a text (well-concealed concern, of course) hoping he'd gotten some well-earned sleep after patrol, dancing around the missed date. It was fine, you were sure. It was only eight in the morning and he didn't have a tight schedule like you.

But by the afternoon, there is no response to your text.

You just about gnaw your fingernails off before Jameson recommends you take a walk to gather your bearings, or "you're shaking like my wife's teacup poodle off half a shot of espresso, go somewhere I can't see you."

Halfway down the block and no less nervous than when you left, you call the only person you know who might be of help, "Hey, Ned. Are you busy by any chance?"

"Nah, you caught me on my lunch break. What's up?"

You press your back to a storefront window, letting the city pass you by, "It's Pete. He was supposed to come by last night for our weekly debrief but he didn't show. No text, no call, nothing. And he always does his best to let me know if he can't make it."

"Hm, that's weird. Did you try calling him?"

"I... texted him? Assumed he was just too tired last night and slept off patrol at his place. But it's been a few hours and he still hasn't responded. I didn't wanna seem like a clingy partner if he was just busy but I'm getting worried. You haven't heard from him, have you?"

You can hear Ned's computer chair squeak on the other end as if he'd shot up in his chair. "That's... not like Peter."

Your stomach turns to lead, "Ned, you don't think-"

"Hold on." You hear rapid typing on Ned's end, "I traced his phone back to his apartment." You would ask how he managed to do that so quickly, especially at work, but you supposed you'd rather not know, "He's there for sure. Or his phone is, at least. Log shows he definitely took it with him on patrol."

You frown, "Really?"

"It showed him returning home at one this morning. It's still on. Last location ping was half an hour ago. Doesn't seem like he's used it, though. No calls sent out, no texts either."

"You're scary good at this, Ned."

You can hear the pride in Ned's tone as he types some more, "Look, I'm gonna give him a call and see if he picks up. If he doesn't, I'll head over to his place and see what's going on for myself. I'll let you know if I get anything out of him, alright?"

"Alright. Good. Be careful."

"Hey."

"Hm?" You bite hard into your bottom lip.

"Don't pull an Aunt May on me."

"What's an Aunt May?"

"The whole pretending you're not freaking out when you really are freaking out thing. Classic May."

"Can you blame me, Ned? I'm... I'm new to this. I don't know the protocol for dating a-" You bring a hand up to your mouth to muffle the rest of your sentence, "-vigilante. I don't know what's too much or- or..."

"If it helps, I hear there's no protocol at all. Pretty disorganized system, if you ask me. Many a couple left asunder." You choke on a little laugh, "It's gonna be okay, okay? Peter likes you a lot. It's probably nothing. Don't stress yourself out. I'll talk to you later."

The phone clicks. You feel like you should be surrounded by silence after that but the city bustles about you as if you're not even there. It's overstimulating, but you don't think you'll find much refuge back at the Bugle either.

And you would go, you would if you could. You'd be meeting Ned halfway if you knew where Peter lived but it was embarrassing. You hadn't worked up the courage to ask and Peter had never invited you over, and so now you're stuck on a street corner twiddling your thumbs wondering if your boyfriend might be hurt or worse while you mull over being too forward.

You wait five minutes, but no updates from Ned. 10, and nothing still. A half hour passes and you think you might actually vibrate through the floor with worry when you get a single text from Ned. It's an address.

Jameson hadn't been too happy when you took the rest of the afternoon off, but you'd promised to edit a particularly scathing piece about Spider-Man in exchange and, well, he couldn't say no to that.

As you knocked on the door of apartment 215, you could hear quarreling voices behind it come to a halt. Then, unmistakably, your boyfriend asks, "Who is that?" Your saliva gets stuck in your throat. You have to force down a swallow, the pressure building in your nose and behind your eyes as footsteps draw near to the front door. You hated that this would be the first time you stepped foot into Peter's place: unplanned, uninvited.

Ned is the one to open the door. His disappointment is palpable but very clearly not aimed at you. He blocks the doorway, dropping his voice to a whisper, "I know it's a lot to ask, but please don't panic. Not yet."

What no one had seemed to tell Ned in his 20+ years of living is that prefacing something with "don't panic" often had the opposite effect. Your heart rate spikes. It stutters when Peter calls out your name weakly.

All the swirling fear you'd been bracing for hits you at once. Peter is curled up on his two-seater—a cramped, dingy thing—looking like death itself. He hadn't even taken off the suit fully, the upper half bunched up at his waist like he'd only had the energy to get it down that far. His chest and torso are littered with fresh scars, some more ghastly than others, few hastily covered in a concoction of ointments and bandages that sit in a pile by the couch.

You rush past Ned and collapse on your knees beside it, "Peter?"

He winces. His face is bruised, mottled around the eyes and mouth and nose. His hand shakes as you reach for it.

You turn to Ned, "What happened?"

"Fisk happened," his best friend grumbles, "a lot of Fisk happened, apparently."

You remembered what he'd said about patrol last night. He was over in Hell's Kitchen, checking on some suspicious activity by the rail yard. Your heart jumps in your throat. "Fisk was there?"

Peter lets out a shuttering breath, "Overseeing transport."

You glare at him with more heat than he probably deserves right now, but you're beginning to tremble with rage and you've nowhere to put it, "Did you know Fisk was there?" Peter does not answer. He doesn't even bother to look at you anymore. "Peter."

"I had a chance," he coughs, spit dribbling from the corner of his lip that you quickly blot away with your sleeve, "to catch him in the act."

"He could've killed you!"

Peter can't argue that. You want him to; you want him to tell you that it wasn't so much of a close call. It'd put your mind at ease, keeping every other possible scenario at bay. He can't even do that.

You hover a hand over his cheek but can't bring yourself to touch him, afraid to irritate the bruises there. "I'm taking you to a hospital."

"You can't." Peter and Ned's voices ring out in unison.

"Then we'll take you to... to somewhere. The Avengers facility, some top-secret resort on an island I don't know the name of. Something. Peter, you could've died."

"And I'll heal," you watch Peter press himself up on his elbows, but he wobbles under his own weight and drops back down into the cushions, "it's just gonna take a while."

"Tell him he's being ridiculous, Ned."

Ned frowns from the hallway, arms crossed over his chest, "He is. But he's not going to leave the city. I've... tried."

You bite your lip, "Then what if we get someone down here instead? They come to Peter."

You see the cogs turning in Peter's brain, trying to strum up some kind of excuse, but you're already stealing his phone from the coffee table and scrolling for her contact before Peter can stop you. If you weren't so worried about his health, you'd have hesitated before dialing her number. You jump up from the floor and to your horror, Peter tries to follow you.

He stumbles—of course he does, he's barely able to stand upright—and at the very moment he reaches for your arm, the phone picks up, "Peter? It's been a while. How are you?"

"This isn't Peter, this is... this is a friend of Peter's," Peter's fingers still on your elbow, his chest pressed to your side, and you can feel him struggling to keep his weight off you to stand. Both you and Ned force him down onto his bed. "Listen, I'm sorry to bother you, but he got hurt really bad last night and we could use any help we can get. Is it possible you could send someone over? Anyone who can help?"

"Um," Pepper Potts sounds stunned, "is Peter there? Can I talk to him first?"

You reluctantly hold out the phone to your boyfriend, daring him to ignore the determined look in your eyes. And, to his credit, he does try.

"He's recovering quickly, though it won't be as quick of a turnaround as he's used to. Make sure he takes these every six hours and keep an eye on his liquids," Dr. Said places a bottle in your hand, her tone just barely betraying the exhaustion she feels after working on Peter for hours, "I would recommend no heroing until he's fully recovered, but this isn't my first rodeo."

You wonder how many heroes Dr. Said has fixed up in her time. Pepper had said she'd send over an "expert", though she'd never had the pleasure of working on Peter.

You walk her to the door and lock it behind her when she leaves, and it's only then that you realize the sun has begun to set, the buildings across the street reflecting fleeting sunrays through Peter's living room window. You're careful maneuvering throughout the place: shutting blinds, flipping on lamps, picking up his suit and discarding it in the laundry bin. It's only one room—Peter's apartment—so he watches you the whole time.

You're thinking about what to say now that it's just the two of you (Ned had gone back to work after his lunch break ended), but Peter beats you to it, "I won that," you look at Peter sitting up in bed, then follow his finger to a shelf above his desk scattered with trophies, "at my middle school mathletes competition. The one next to it was for 2nd place at our science fair; I would've won first but the soda dispenser on my ice cream float machine malfunctioned and sprayed root beer in the principal's eye."

You snort, "Pity. You kept the trophy but not the machine?"

"I kept it! It's probably in May's attic buried under my basketball participation trophies." Peter smiles for the first time since you'd gotten here. He pats the bed beside him.

As you crawl into Peter's bed, he tells you about everything else; his rug is from a garage sale (and no, those weren't bloodstains, just a freak accident with tomato paste), he'd had his bed since college but splurged on a new mattress with graduation money, he paid a little less on rent now in exchange for letting the landlord's daughter take his bike to work sometimes (swinging was faster anyway).

The little details end up not being very little. There's so much of him here, packed into this tiny one-bedroom. The half-baked Spidey gadgets scattered across his desk and the science beakers in the kitchen sink... it's so much more than what you imagined.

You curl into Peter, laying flat on your side as he tucks his arm underneath your head. He must've run out of things to point at because it's silent between you both for a good while. The sun has fully set by the time he speaks again, "I wanted this to go differently."

"This?" You mumble.

"This. You coming over for the first time. I would've liked to have... don't know, vacuumed. Changed my sheets. Washed the blood out of my suit," you both laugh at that, "I would've made you dinner. I've got tons of recipes saved on my phone."

"Oh yeah? What would you have made me?"

"Ugh, there was this uh... this pasta chip thing? You boil pasta noodles, season 'em, throw 'em in the air fryer and they come out all crunchy. I would've borrowed May's fryer and went to town."

"That sounds really good actually."

"Yeah, I gotta-" Peter reaches for his phone on the windowsill but stretches himself too hard. You sit up a little to press your hand to his shoulder, worrying over his irritated stitches, and he sinks back into the headboard in defeat, "I gotta show you. Sometime."

Peter is avoiding your eyes but you can see the swirling pools of shame and embarrassment in his. While Dr. Said had worked on his injuries, he had said next to nothing. Just stared at the ceiling, or at her, or at you. It was unnerving. He never passed up an opportunity to joke—especially at his own expense—and yet... "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

Peter winces at your question. Still refusing to look at you, the arm around you tightens and loosens. You brush your fingers against his bandaged cheek and for a second, he instinctively bumps into it. "I didn't want to worry you."

"And Ned? MJ? May? You couldn't tell them either?"

"I... I just needed to sleep it off."

"Pete," You nearly growl his name, enough for him to actually look you in the eyes this time, "don't bullshit me. Not after today."

Peter swallows. He believes your threat unsaid, and buckles, "I'm sorry."

The tightness in your frown softens, "Why?"

Peter laughs but you can tell there's very little humor in it. A defense mechanism, maybe, or his feelings are just that absurd, "I never set out to tell anyone that I was Spider-Man. I mean, I thought about it all the time but it all just kind of... happened. Before May, before Ned, before... Tony, it was just me. If I beat up a bad guy, it was between me and whoever managed to catch it online. If I saved a little old lady, it was between me and her. If I got hurt, it was just me. I learned to handle that."

You think back to what Peter said, about how he'd been Spider-Man since he'd started high school. Imagining a younger Peter—the Peter in those family pictures at May's—beaten to a pulp most nights makes you sick to your stomach. "But you've had Ned, and MJ and May for years. Don't you-" You don't get the chance to finish your question. The look Peter gives you is your answer.

"I love them but they're not... they didn't sign up for this. I did. When I fuck up, it's me. It's just me. It has to be."

"And the other heroes? I'm sure the others would help."

"The others have bigger fish to fry than me," Peter chuckles, "and I swore I would take care of New York. It's my home. So that's what I'm going to do, even if I have to do it alone."

"But you're not alone." You take his free hand in yours, fingers intertwining despite the splint on one finger. "Pete, I'm not asking you to let me out in the field with you in a dollar store knock-off of your suit, I'm asking that you just tell me—tell us when you need help. If things get dicey, say something. I'd rather know than find you in a ditch somewhere because you were too-" and you want to say proud, but you fear it'll burn the wrong way, "-too worried about us worrying. We're here for you. I'm here for you. I care so much about you that I think my heart might explode."

"Whoa, hey," Peter's eyes prickle with tears as he laughs, releasing your hand to cup your cheek, "telling me that kinda proves my point, you know that right?"

You can't help but smile, "I can't help it. You do crazy things to my feelings, Parker."

Peter draws you in for a kiss, then two. Your shoulders sag with the weight of the day and you try your best not to lean into his bruised shoulder. "I'm sorry. I should've sucked it up and said something. Ignoring you was a jackass move."

"Yeah. It was."

"I'm really sorry."

"I forgive you."

Peter's eyelashes flutter open but he keeps your noses pressed against each other, "You wanna sleep over?"

You raise an eyebrow, even as your heart accelerates, "Easy there, tiger. Make me dinner first."

Peter wiggles his injured hand against your cheek, "Uh, chef's on sabbatical. Will takeout suffice?"

You press a kiss to his nose. "Sounds good to me, handsome."

[sink-me-in-your-ocean]

Tinderbox

Dewdrop/Sodo ghoul x demon!fem!reader smut

WC: 5100

A/N: @endhisbloodlineinmyesophagus ty for being my inspiration during these times of turmoil. Also - set in the roaring Twenties… for no reason other than fun.

Content warnings: fingering, p in v sex, biting, rough sex, marking, kn!fe play, kn!fe k!nk, blood play (towards the end) and consumption. 18+ only. Minors DNI.

NSFW below the cut.

The evening sparkled, there was no other way to describe it. Men in suits, women in sequins, feathers, and fringe-trimmed dresses.

You had one last evening to celebrate after gathering necessary intel on the earthly plane for the devious devils down below who employed you. Everything could have been perfect, had it not been for your choice of company and his complete and utter determination to ruin the evening.

You had spent the entire afternoon doing up your hair, placing the curls just so. Your horns were hidden perfectly beneath the human glamour you had chosen. The dress you chose was as low cut as you could get without being confused for a prostitute. You still had to look your part, after all. You shimmered like an effervescent glass of champagne, all golden and gorgeous from head to toe. The color complimented your human-shade skin so nicely. Even the undergarments you chose were golden, the garter belt holding your hosiery up and the unlined bra doing the same to your soft breasts.

Only one problem.

Dewdrop would not stop reaching under the table towards you. He couldn’t stop fidgeting since you left the hotel room, rather. First it was his shoes, dragging up and down your stocking-clad calves to get your attention, then he switched seats at the four-top, so he would be right next to you. Hands, feet, the backs of your knees, everything was on the table apparently. 

His tail snaking its way up the skirt of your dress was the final straw. You were at a nice restaurant trying - failing - to enjoy a nice dinner. Just one teensy weensy thing in your temporary masquerade among the humans. For fucks sake, the place had white linen tablecloths. 

Thankfully you were sitting at a corner table.

“Dew.” You said through a forced smile, “I’m being serious this time.” 

You took a purposeful sip of your white wine, narrowing your eyes over the rim of the glass. The crisp, dry taste of the chilled beverage kept you from completely scowling at him. At least it did until you felt his tail curling up the edge of your dress again.

You scolded him again, “You know you shouldn’t be doing that, ghoul.”

His face was smug, “I can do whatever I want.” 

“Just not whenever you want.” You shot back.

“You can’t deny me.” His gaze was intense, fuck, you wanted to give in to his whims so badly. You couldn’t though, not now. No matter how much you wanted him to bend you over and fuck you on top of this perfectly white cloth-covered table.

“I can, and I am.” Your resolve was firm, but for how much longer it would stay that way, you hadn’t a clue.

The two of you stared intensely at each other, his irises started shifting beneath his glamour, blood-red cutting through. 

“Hah!” You exclaimed, though not loud enough to draw any untoward attention, “Sloppy, as usual, Dew. As soon as you get your mind in the gutter you start slipping.”

“As long as you’re there to catch me.” He grinned devilishly, and you could see his fangs poking through.

“I’ll catch you alright.” You sneered, “Right between my teeth I’ll catch you, honeydew.” You ended the sentence calling him your favorite term of endearment while simultaneously dragging your tongue across the top row of your even teeth. The action pointedly reminded him how your glamour was perfectly intact.

What was meant to douse the flames only added fuel to the fire ghoul. But that was the nature of your, rather explosive, relationship. 

You opened your folding fan, the air in the room suddenly feeling stale and hot. As you fanned yourself his greedy, ghoulish hands made their way back to your thigh under the table. 

You struck his offending hand reflexively before your brain could catch up. Perfectly in time for the runners to bring your appetizers out. 

“Thank you.” You smiled graciously, Dew scowled, staring at the human food in front of you both. “Don’t even start now.” You warned him.

“Fine.” He sighed, looking around before scooping up his food and shoveling it down without tasting it. He sat back in his seat as you brought the first bite to your wine-red lips. “I want to play a game.”

“What did you have in mind?” You said absently, glancing around sharply to make sure no one was watching his abhorrent display of table manners.

“If anyone looks too long at you -”

You interrupted him, “Too broad, be specific.” You had another bite of the tangy appetizer. 

“Fine.” He huffed, looking around the room before a wicked grin crept over his face. “If that waiter comes over here for no reason again, I get to spank you.”

Touché, that was specific enough. “Oh, I see, and if he comes over here with a purpose?”

“Your choice then.”

“Nah, too boring.” He let out an irritated noise, but you ignored him, “How about this, if you get jealous of him flirting with me, I get at least one more orgasm than you.”

“That’s assuming he will flirt with you, which there’s no way he will do that with me here.” He seemed overly confident. “The human men respect each other way more than they respect women.”

The match was set. “Then you shouldn’t be afraid of being jealous.”

“I’m never jealous.”

“We’ll see about that.” A smirk touched your lips before you finished your plate of food.

You enjoy the rest of your meal, each course exciting your taste buds more than the last. Finally, it was time for dessert. Out came the most decadent looking chocolate frosted cake on a silver platter. The waiter, whose name you learned was Liam after you asked and batted your eyelashes, promptly served you a slice of the checkerboard cake. 

You took a huge bite, savoring the sweetness. Vanilla and chocolate, perfect for your indecisive self.

The waiter serves Dewdrop a slice as well before his watchful eyes look at your face again

“Miss, you have some, er, frosting on your cheek.”

“Oh, do I?” You played so innocently. “Be a dear and get it for me, would you?”

“With pleasure.” He plucks a dark napkin from the inside of an otherwise empty wine glass. The man leans in and dabs the cloth on your cheek, the side of his finger brushing your skin excited you. You didn’t break eye contact until you felt the whole table rattle as Dewdrop kicked it.

Moment over.

The waiter straightened and motioned to the bottle of champagne you ordered, averting his eyes from you. He picks up the bottle and begins to tear the gold foil from the top but Dew snatches it out of his hand. His chair makes a scraping squeak as he practically jumps out of it, commanding the room.

You watch wide-eyed as couples conversations at the few surrounding tables begin to die out, their attention turned to the two devils in disguise. Dewdrop removes the fastener with one hand and easily manhandles the bottle with the other. 

Damn those perfect hands of his. 

You thought he meant to pop the cork barehanded but he surprised you, as well as earned a couple light gasps from nearby tables, as he picked up a knife. He ran it along the seam of the champagne bottle and with a swipe of the blade he sliced the bottle open. It let out a loud pop, and the contents inside bubbled but no liquid spilled, rather, combined with the air in a hiss and left it like a smoking gun. 

The scattered applause in the space was no match for Dew’s smirk at you. 

Oh he had you. He had you so well. Who would have thought that sabrage could be so sexy? 

There was no point in flirting with the human anymore, but you did it anyway. You were already traversing a rocky path, but you wanted to set off a few more traps along the way. So you made sure Dew caught you looking the waiter up and down, raking your gaze over him as he handed you the glass of champagne.

The two of you sat in silence while you finished your beverage and cake. Then you reached for your purse, opening it to find the dark lipstick that needed reapplying. 

The waiter came back to your table as you brazenly applied your lipstick in front of the dining room. You did one of your signature moves, sweeping your eyes to look up at him, your lashes batting ever-so-slightly in that way that made mortal men fall to their knees.

“Can I interest you in anything else this evening?” His voice deepened, “Perhaps something off the menu?”

“Oh?” You played up your sweetness to tooth-rotting levels, “What did you have in mind?”

The waiter went to open his mouth and promptly closed it, his expression turning to icy fear. You turned your head to look at Dewdrop just as he hissed at the poor mortal, his eyes glowed red as he purposefully dropped his glamour.

You hit him with your fan again. 

It was well past time to leave. You didn’t want the mortal getting in any real trouble with your fire ghoul, so you collected your wits and coat and left promptly, dragging Dew behind you by his necktie. 

-

You both got in the lift to go up to your shared hotel room. Of course, you had to tell the clerk at the check-in desk that you were “Mr. And Mrs.” since this establishment was more on the high end and yet still cared that a woman couldn’t rent her own room by herself. 

Eye roll.

As soon as the doors closed on the lift, the energy changed. The light bulbs dimmed, the panel on the wall containing the floor numbers blinking and flickering before stabilizing. The liftman blinked and shook his head furiously, not understanding what had happened. But you knew, Dewdrop was absorbing power. But for what, you had not the faintest.

As if to prove a point, he snuck his hand behind you, running up the inside of your thigh closest to him and shocking you with static electricity. You tried not to jump, not to give him the satisfaction, but your body betrayed you. 

He snickered, causing the elevator operator to glance back over his shoulder, prying eyes turning to see what was happening. Dew growled at him, eliciting the same nasty behavior as he had at the dinner table.

You swatted him with your fan in the ribs, only to get no response. He was locked in a death stare with the poor soul. 

There’s only one way to remedy this.

You darted your hand out, nimble fingers digging into Dew’s side to tickle him. He made a high pitched sound that almost made you laugh aloud, turning his red eyes at you. You weren’t intimidated by his glare at all, at least not until the threat spilled like thick poison from between his clenched teeth.

“You’ll pay for that.”

Your stomach squeezed. Dewdrop made more threats than a hellhound has teeth, but this felt like a promise. It was the way he said it that sealed the deal. But you wouldn’t let him win, not yet at least.

“You don’t scare me honeydew.” You let your glamour slip slightly, baring your sharp fangs at him.

The elevator clanged and let out a ding. 

“Uh, e- enjoy your evening.” The liftman tripped over his words and opened the door. He was surely too eager to be rid of the both of you.

You slid the metal key from your tiny purse, unlocking the door. Dew grabbed you and opened the door, slamming it loudly behind you. The hotel room was a coffin now, and you were about to be buried alive. Your only warning was his heavy panting breaths and the tight grip on your arm.

Payback time.

He shoved you into the wall roughly, your shoulders taking the brunt of the impact. Dewdrop grabbed you, his claws creating divots in your glamoured skin, and planted his lips on yours. The kiss you shared was equally matched in ferocity and need, sending tingles to the very tips of your fingers. You felt your lust bubbling to the surface, equivalent only to your dark urge to mark him too.

Your hands went up to his cheeks immediately and from there to tangle in his silken white-blonde hair, not letting him go for a second. You couldn’t, holding him close to you was your greatest desire. His kisses smothered you in warmth and his scent of smoke and ash.

He kissed you fervently and rambled as his lips traveled to your face and neck, his right hand moving to the small of your back, long fingers pulling you flush against him while the other knotted itself in your hair. “I’ve wanted to have you since the second you stepped out in that dress. I know you put it on just to tempt me, to tease me.”

“Dewdrop, listen to yourself, I had to wear something. I can’t just go out in public naked.”

You could tell he was picturing it from the way his breath stalled, his teeth freezing over your quickening pulse. Gripping his tie and unfastening it, you broke him out of his wild imagination, snapping it as you tore it from beneath his shirt and jacket.

“No, no you couldn’t.” He managed breathily.

Your breath was just as tremulous, “Tell me why, my ghoul.” Your fingers tugged on the lapels of his jacket, pulling him back in. You were already lust-drunk from just kissing him, but you needed more. 

“Because you’re mine.” His gruff voice, the rushed kisses, and the scrapes of his fangs at your throat felt like a drug being injected directly into your bloodstream, and you felt your rational thoughts slipping away into nothingness. All that was left was him. Him and you. The two of you against the world in a time you didn’t belong to. 

His left hand grasped the inside of your thigh, which made you eternally grateful for the high-sitting fringe on the dress. You gasped, his warm, long fingers dug into your flesh almost possessively. His desire to mark you as his was as intense as your need to be claimed by him. And you needed to be claimed by him, completely. 

He played with the garter straps laying innocently against your legs and traced the seams of your stockings. You stripped his jacket off his shoulders, glad to be ridding him of the superfluous clothing but wincing when his hands left your skin.

His fingers continued to travel upwards, nearing the apex between your thighs. Now he was stalling, those digits you craved so much just hovered, occasionally tickling the crease of your leg. Dewdrop loved to tease you, it was all to get you back for teasing him so much. You knew you earned this, but you wanted him so badly to cross that threshold and touch you where you ached.

He moved his face back from your neck, meeting your eye line, watching you unravel before he’s even done anything to you. That smug look on his face made you unruly, and you flashed your fangs to urge him to get on with it. Dewdrop kissed you as his fingers slid under the seam of your panties. You sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, greedily biting at his lip. He growled in response as he stroked against your slit.

“So fucking wet for me.” He said in the midst of messy kisses, then he bit at your bottom lip, trapping it prisoner between his sharp teeth before drawing back. His eyes were dark as the void itself, “Or is this for him?”

That human? He couldn’t be serious.

“No, Dewdrop, only for you.”

“Fucking better be.” He pressed two fingers inside your aching center. 

He tilted your head with his free hand, kissing up your neck and ear again. Your ear which was now pointed, the skin he was kissing melting from an illusory human tone to a color wholly unnatural for a person.

Dewdrop pulled back again, admiring his handiwork. “Now who’s glamour is slipping?” He curled his fingers to punctuate the question, making your thighs fight to close.

Smug bastard.

“Show me.” His eyes glowed intensely. “Let me see you.”

“Are you -” a moan interrupted your question as he added a third finger inside you. Your nails dug into his shoulders. “A-are you sure?” He hadn’t seen you completely without your glamour before, and you felt nervous about bringing it out. 

He planted a passionate kiss for assurance to your lips, “Fuck yes.”

“Hmmm,” you hummed, debating whether you should. Then, you realized you could make it a game and a wicked, seductive smile had you goading him, “Make me cum and I will.”

“How can I say no to that?”

You had no warning as his thumb pressed against your clit. His fingers, fuck, they felt too good inside you. It was a curse, as they made it so yours could never measure up. 

He kept up his pace, and the stimulation between his fingers and thumb was making you weak. You felt your knees sagging slightly, but he kept you right where he wanted you against that wall. Dew didn’t let up for a moment, giving you all that you craved with the ministrations of his hand and kissed you deeply. You swear even your scalp tingled; you felt lightheaded already. And all the tension between you two earlier? That was the real foreplay. 

His fingers kept up their movements, in and out, in and out, giving you that sensation that had you at the end of a rope, hanging on a rope by a thread. Then he curled his fingers and you became flaming cinders burning the rope to ash. Your claws dug into his shoulders as your body tensed, teetering on the precipice of your orgasm. 

“Dew -” you whined, trying to hold on.

“Let go for me.” He whispered into your skin before sucking hard on the flesh of your neck.

You cried out in rapture as you shattered. His long fingers stroked you through the fluttering waves of your climax. You thought he would give you more time to come down from your high, but you were wrong. A moan escaped your lips as his fingers left your dripping sex and you looked at him. 

Dewdrop’s red eyes were intimidating, and filled with desire. You knew he wouldn’t wait any second longer. He gave you what you wanted, now it was your turn to sate him.

“Turn around.”

You did as you were told, obedient only for him. 

He brushed your fallen hair from the back of your neck to expose the top of your dress. His fingers hesitated with the zipper for a second too long before he let go of you. You were about to complain when you felt the cold press of metal skate up the back of your thigh. Your veins turned icy and made you go rigid as the metal glided up and under the hem of your dress. Far too close to your heat. Dewdrop grabbed the bottom of your dress in his other hand and with a swipe, shredded the garment from your body. 

“Dew! I liked that dress!” The shorn pieces lay in tatters at your feet along with the knife you recognized from dinner earlier. He must have pocketed it after popping open the champagne bottle.

“I’ll get you another one.” He sized you up, looking you up and down. “Drop your glamour. Now.”

You wanted to protest, but you knew he was just like you in this regard: Stubborn to a fault. It was his turn to get his way, and you had to give in.

You rolled your shoulders, removing your bra, then unclipping the garter belt from your middle. Concentrating, you closed your eyes, shifting into your true form, your hellish form. Your twin horns sprouting from beneath your thick hair, your tail appearing behind you, and your skin turning an inhuman shade somewhere between dusk and dawn. Your nails lengthened into claws and your teeth did the same, became sharper and deadly. 

Used to seeing so many parts of Dewdrop, it wasn’t anything new per se to have him do the same, but at the same time - it was. The air changed, it felt thick as you inhaled, taking him all in. Showing yourselves to each other shouldn’t have mattered so much. But this added a layer of intimacy to your tryst. Two demons in their true forms, finding temporary solace in each other's arms in this isolating earthly plane.

Ironically, it was a slice of heaven.

“You’re perfect like this.” He ran his tongue over his sharp teeth.

“Am I?”

“Yes.” He kissed you again, deeply, with a depth of lust you couldn’t place yet. His voice dropped low, “Now I think I might die if I’m not inside you. Get up there.” He ended the sentence with a chaste pinch on your exposed ass cheek.

You knew better at this point than to ask him if he wanted you face up or down.

It was a face down kind of night.

He didn’t waste a breath, no sooner had you “assumed the position” and he was behind you, bare, and pressing against your rear. 

An embarrassingly needy sound escaped you, but you couldn’t help it. You were like Pavlov’s dog and Dewdrop trained you exceedingly well. 

And he rewarded you even better.

He fisted your hair with one hand, pulling you back so you felt him right there. His thick cock rested perfectly against your wet cunt, and you wiggled your ass back and forth to coat his length with your juices. He twitched, hand reaching out to line himself up with your entrance.

This was always the part that made your toes curl and your breath stall. The calm before the storm with the tip of his hard dick against your lips. Every muscle tensed, your demon body roaring internally, needing to be taken by him, demanding to be claimed.

“Fuck.” He cursed under his breath as he pressed himself inside you, and you felt that familiar burning stretch. Your nails dug into the sheets for leverage, and you arched your back further, pressing back to ensure he buried himself to the hilt on the first go. Your mouth hung open as he bottomed out, then he immediately withdrew, leaving only the tip inside you before slamming his hips back against yours. His grip on your waist tightened as he started a rhythm that had you crying out for gods you didn’t believe in.

“You think that stupid, human, waiter could fuck you as good as me?” He was relentless, rutting into you like an unbridled animal. If there was one thing about Dewdrop you could always count on, it was that he would put all of his rage into fucking you. He held onto his emotions from the day and completely let go, only for you.

“Is that, fuck, is that jealousy I hear?”

“Maybe it is.” You felt his claws coming out, digging into your soft hips. 

You growled, the feeling of your ass cheeks vibrating with every thrust of his hips meeting yours was spurring you on more. Just then, an idea in the heat of the moment hit you. You craned your neck to rake your gaze over him, distracting him with your pleading eyes. “Give me more, please Dew. I need more.”

He took the bait. His dark eyes locked on yours, “You’ll take whatever I give you, harlot.”

You used his distraction to snake your tail up and behind his back, careful to avoid his in the process. The spaded end of the appendage dragged itself underneath his arm, running along his ribs with a feather-light touch.

He jolted, not hesitating to give you a hard smack on your right ass cheek before pulling out of you. The feeling of being empty made you clench, alarm sounds ringing in your feverish brain. You sat up, playing innocent even though he would never buy it, “It was an accident.”

“I don’t care.” He shifted himself so his back was against the pillows along the headboard.  “You want to misbehave then you’re going to have to work for it.” His red eyes flicked downward before landing back on your nude frame and he crossed his arms. 

“With pleasure.” You purred, mocking the sentence the waiter had said to you earlier. Only now, it was to further goad the fire ghoul. Moving to straddle him, you kept your gaze on him, your throne to sit and satisfy yourself upon. Just you wait, ghoul, I’ll make you scream for me.

Your shoulders moved like a feline predator stalking its prey as you crawled up onto his lap. You rose up on your knees. He remained in his unhelpful posture, arms crossed. That’s fine. He never could keep himself from touching you for long. Your hand touched his length, stroking him lazily several times while watching his face closely, his only reaction being a slight purse of his lips. You knew he was probably biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself so stoic.

You moved to be above him, lining his cock up with your entrance and sinking down on him. You bit your lip to keep from moaning and Dewdrop hissed in response. Fuck. It didn’t matter how many times you did this, it felt so fucking good every time.

You lifted yourself back up, wanting to start slow, but Dew had other ideas. He swiftly grabbed your hips and forced you back down on him hard, punching the air from your lungs with the strength of his thrust. A cry escaped from your lips.

He was never able to help himself from manhandling you, especially when you were on top. But, it was unusual for him to lose his patience so quickly. He bucked his hips up into you as you tried and failed to establish a pace. He wouldn’t let you go, his claws digging into the plush skin at your waist possessively.

“Dew!” You gasped his name as he claimed the flesh of your neck, biting and sucking everywhere he could. 

Frustration and pleasure hit you right in your middle. No movement was your own. He was relentless. And he was not loosening his grip on you for a second. He was so out of control it seemed, like some part of him had woken up and seized authority over his brain. 

It was because you dropped your glamour.

The realization hit you right as you began to see stars once more. It was so good. Too good. Just his cock inside you and you felt yourself barreling towards another orgasm. His pace was almost cruel, dragging you up and pulling you back down, feeling every inch of him.

Another heavy breath escaped you before you could speak, “Dewdrop?”

He cursed again, “What?” His hand fisted your hair, catching your lip between his fangs and tasted you. 

You broke the kiss, biting the inside of your cheek to ground you. The pain helped you find your words, “You want me to be yours?”

“Yes.” He growled, “Fuck.”

Your voice was barely a whisper now as you fought harder to stave off your climax, “All yours?”

“Yes.”

You snaked your tail up again, this time caressing the side of his neck with the spaded end. You dragged it back, brushing his long hair away from his neck, exposing the skin peppered by smudges of your lipstick. 

“Then let me mark you.”

A sound escaped him that was between a breathy laugh and a scoff. “I knew that’s what you wanted.” His pupils nearly completely enveloped his red eyes, and you knew yours were blown just as wide. “Take your pleasure from me, temptress.”

Without hesitation, you sink your teeth into the pale grey flesh of his neck as you reach ecstasy. You taste him in your mouth, then everywhere all at once. His blood is a liquid inferno on your tongue, igniting your senses. Your cries are muffled as you feel every muscle in your strong demonic body clench simultaneously. You hold him tight, claws taking root in his skin, as though he is your very life force as you ride the waves of your pleasure. 

Feeling your orgasm is more than enough to put him over the edge with you. You felt his dick twitching as he spilled himself deep inside of you and filthy words of lust leave his lips.

“Fuck. You’re all mine. Now and fucking forever.”

You release your mouth from his neck to allow him his turn, admiring for a slim moment the mark worth your canines. A breath barely passes your lips before he yanks your hair to the side and bites down on your neck, marking you back, his cock still pulsing inside you. 

Your eyes close tightly and you roll your hips, following the rhythm of each lap of his tongue on your neck until he breaks his hold on you. Both of you groan from the overstimulation, but your body fails you, feeling too spent to go another round right now.

You don’t waste time. Dewdrop is not one for cuddles, usually, but neither are you. A discomfort fills your body when you pull yourself off him, but you brush it off as the true nature of your hellish form overstaying its welcome.

Standing from the bed, you made your way to the vanity. Spying your glamourless self was not new, but it stirred something within you. Seeing the bite marks, hickies, and scratches he left gave you a tingling feeling.

You never came out from a tryst with Dew looking unscathed, but this was different. You brought a hand to your swollen bottom lip and ran your other hand through your hair, touching your pointed ears. Sighing, you went to change back, concentrating on changing your skin, your patterning back to human-like.

Dewdrop seized your wrist, “No.”

You jumped, whirling towards him. You hadn’t realized he even got out of bed. “No?”

“Just stay yourself a little longer.” His fiery gaze dropped almost timidly to the floor, “Please. I like you like this.”

Words failed you. But how could you possibly ignore his plea?

The answer?

You couldn’t. 

Anything for your fire ghoul.

[talesofesther]

is it too late to call you mine? | ch 3

Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Summary: In Sebastian's prettiest dreams, you'd wear a gown of a color that matched his tie, he'd take your hand and dance all night until morning came. But those dreams felt like a farfetched reality. Would you even consider going with him? As more than a friend?

A/N: This is the last part of my story for @spaceyaceface's HL Writing Challenge. I loved how this story turned out and loved writing it, hope you guys like it as well. <3

Masterlist | Read ch 2 here

Sebastian didn't want to be here. At least not in these circumstances.

He would be happy to be tucked away in his common room, or in the Undercroft. But for some reason, Ominis had insisted that he'd come, saying something about you being happy if he were to be there. And honestly, when it came to you, Sebastian never needed much convincing.

Students were steadily making their way inside the Great Hall, which was meticulously decorated; snowflakes fell from the enchanted ceiling and landed on the leaves of the many Christmas trees near the walls, blue and silver lights shone against the white tablecloths, and a band played a soft tune to fill the silence. The young couples held hands and smiled through the blush on their cheeks.

Sebastian paced back and forth beside the doors that lead to the ball, a permanent scowl on his face. Against his own better judgment, he wore black suit pants, a dark grey shirt with a black vest on top, and his dark long coat to chase away the cold.

"I still think there's no reason for me to be here, Ominis," Sebastian huffed.

Ominis, leaning back against the wall, raised an eyebrow at his friend, "No one's forcing you to stay, but I still think you would regret not being here."

"Why?" Sebastian stopped his pacing, shaking his head slightly, "She has her date for the evening, it's not like there's any hope for me to-"

The words suddenly died in his mouth then, for his gaze drifted up the stairs in front of him, up to where you now stood. Sebastian could feel all the air leaving his lungs, his breath running shallow. He couldn't pull his eyes away from you even if he wanted to. You wore this dark dress that hugged your body to perfection, expensive fabric glinting under the candlelights; light makeup framed your already breathtaking features, and your hair was styled up in a messy bun.

Palms sticky with sweat, Sebastian tried to swallow as you came down the stairs and towards him. Each step of your heels against the stone floor were two beats of his frantic heart. Sebastian thought it impossible that he could ever be more in love with you, but you always adored proving him wrong.

For a split second, there was no faint music coming from the Great Hall, no other students walking past him and wondering why he looked at you as if you hung the stars in the sky. No; there was only you and him. Your eyes met his then, with a hint of surprise in your features because of his presence.

Sebastian took a single step forward, his body in a trance. He hadn't seen much of you in these last few days, and now felt like the first time all over again.

Your eyes drifted away from him once you walked down the last step of the stairs, a smile that felt just a little rehearsed coming to your lips when Garreth suddenly met you in the middle.

Reality was a shot straight through Sebastian's heart. He watched helplessly as the ginger took hold of your hand and placed a kiss on top of it.

That should've been him, Sebastian thought, his chest feeling tight. You should be coming towards him, and not Weasley. He should be the one to hold your hand and tell you how beautiful you are. He could be. But it was his own fault that he wasn't.

The anger left his body with a sigh, leaving room only for the all-consuming regret to stay.

You allowed Garreth to intertwine your fingers with his, and as you walked past Sebastian you gave him a soft smile and a shy wave in greeting.

The Slytherin couldn't help but give you a smile of his in turn, even if it didn't hold any happiness at all.

── ·❆· ──

The Ball itself was nothing short of a spectacle, headmaster Black made sure of it, going far and beyond to impress the other Headmasters of the visiting schools. This year's Triwizard Champions opened the dance and soon enough the Great Hall was filled with couples doing their best to not step on each other's feet.

Sebastian chose to sit at a table tucked in a far corner, where the blue and silver lights barely reached. He mindlessly twirled his half-full glass between his fingers, a permanent pout sitting on his lips.

He hadn't missed the many girls whispering to each other and throwing glances at him, with teasing smiles on their pink lips as their eyes beaconed him to get up and ask them for a dance. Maybe he would have, in the past, he would be pleased to indulge as many girls as he could. But today, when his heart called for only one other, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

As Sebastian knew you would, you took to dancing as if it was second nature. As you did with anything you put your mind to. Your dark dress swirled smoothly across the dance floor, movements all fluid and graceful, your smile all pretty and easy.

Ominis was there too, Sebastian noted, features soft as he held onto Poppy's waist and she led him through the dance.

Downing the last of his drink in one big gulp, Sebastian got up. He grimaced when whatever it was that had been in his glass burned its way down his throat. Blending well with the shadows, he made his way outside, in desperate need of some fresh air.

Tiny snowflakes were falling from the sky, coating the viaduct courtyard in a thin layer of white snow that shone brightly under the moonlight. The cold air bit at Sebastian's cheeks and brought a shiver down his spine, but it was a welcoming feeling.

He'd felt alone many times in his life, yet here, as he stood amidst the snow without a soul nearby to witness, might be the loneliest of all.

The tip of his fingers started to become numb, snow steadily collected on his shoulders and clung to strands of his hair. He buried his hands in the pockets of his pants, huffing a breath of white air through his nose.

Sebastian wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there when he heard hesitant footsteps crushing the snow behind him, coming closer. He didn't turn around, part of him knew who it was.

He recognized you by the way you hissed when the gelid air easily seeped through the thin fabric of your dress. The ghost of a smile appeared on his lips.

You came to stand right beside Sebastian, personal space forgotten when you looped your arm around his and snuggled closer, your cheek pressing against his shoulder as you chased his warmth.

That's just how you two could be sometimes, no words because there was no need for them; only existing in each other's presence, souls entangled.

Sebastian exhaled shakingly, his heart threatening to escape his chest when he turned his head to you. His lips touched your hairline in a faint kiss before he leaned his cheek on top of your head.

The 'I missed you' had no need to be spoken out loud, you both knew it.

Maybe you were just two fools in love, clinging to each other under the falling snow, yet too stubborn to ever admit it.

"Why are you standing out here in the cold?" You whispered after a beat.

"You're here too," Sebastian reasoned just as quietly.

"Came to get you back inside," you told him with a grin, making no effort to move away.

A low chuckle escaped Sebastian, he bit at the inside of his cheek before speaking, "But it's much nicer here." He pointedly looked up at the sky then, and you followed his gaze. The moon was bright, with a few clouds hazing its light, and snowflakes glinting under it.

"I thought you didn't like the Ball."

Your soft words brought Sebastian's gaze back to you. He watched as the moonlight reflected against your eyes and shaped the outlines of your features while you looked up, worthy of a painting.

There was a question hiding behind your words, one that made Sebastian's stomach twist and turn with anxiety.

"I didn't-" Sebastian hesitated, and you turned to look at him, watching as his lips hovered for a moment, "I didn't exactly mean that," he glanced away from your eyes.

A soft crease appeared on your eyebrows that Sebastian wanted to smooth away. You regarded him with a mix of curiosity and longing. "Why would you say it then?" More than anything, you sounded hurt.

The guilt weighing down on Sebastian's chest only worsened. He couldn't have you thinking he had said that only because he didn't want to take you, when it was the exact opposite.

Subconsciously, Sebastian took hold of the hand you had around his arm. "I only said that because I was too much of a coward to ask you to the Ball myself, and… Guess I didn't want you going with anyone else, hoped maybe we'd skip it together instead." A soft blush dusted his cheeks and he avoided your gaze again, a bittersweet smile coming to his lips, "but it backfired immensely," he chuckled then, happy to have managed a soft laugh out of you as well.

A beat passed and his smile faded. He added quietly; "selfish, I know."

In the same heartbeat, you answered, "I would've said yes."

Chocolate brown eyes met yours, they were glinting under the moonlight as Sebastian looked at you, not daring to breathe. Snowflakes clung to his hair and lashes, freckled cheeks dusted pink. He looked like your favorite dream too.

"If you had asked, I would've said yes," you told him again, voice all soft and sweet as honey. You raised the hand he wasn't holding and brushed away longer strands of his hair so you could see his eyes clearly, "in a heartbeat."

You thought you saw tears pooling in Sebastian's eyes, but he blinked them away, pursing his lips before he spoke; "more than anything," he choked on his words, "I wish I had."

In the distance, you could hear the music still coming from the Great Hall, you couldn't make out any words but the melody was sufficiently clear. You grasped Sebastian's hand tighter, taking a step forward and tugging him with you. "Dance with me?"

He frowned, but a smile threatened to show on his lips. His feet followed you of their own volition. "Out here?"

You nodded softly, your hand came to rest on Sebastian's shoulder then, and his rested comfortably on your waist while you clasped his other hand in your own, fingers intertwined.

With a rhythm much slower than the one you'd followed when Sebastian was teaching you, you swayed gently from side to side, almost as if the cold wind was guiding you. Your heels and his shoes scrunched the snow underneath, Sebastian hugged you closer when the falling snow got a tad thicker.

The night suddenly belonged to you and him, a moment tucked away in a courtyard of Hogwarts. Two hearts beating in harmony.

A song or two passed with both of you allowing your bodies to do the talking, one following the other like you belonged just like that, wrapped in each other's arms.

Sebastian eventually released your hand so he could rest both his hands on your waist, his fingertips slightly digging into the fabric of your dress as he pulled you to him. You in turn brought both arms around his shoulders, gently playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck, while you rested your head on his chest.

Feeling the shape of you in his arms, your perfume clouding his senses, Sebastian realized then, that you were the sun for him. But not the sun that comes on a warm and clear day; you were the sun that came during the cold, when he hadn't felt its warmth in a while and everything looked gray before. That's what you always had been, a source of light, of warmth, of hope. Maybe that's why Sebastian's love for you almost hurts to feel the longer he keeps it tucked away in his chest.

He wondered if you were able to hear just how fast his heart was beating right now.

"I'm sorry," Sebastian mumbled, his lips grazing your hair. He cleared his throat in order for his voice not to come out as tender as he felt. "I still don't know how to get to you, how to… be someone who's deserving of you."

You pulled away from him and Sebastian's breathing stuttered. Your gaze found his, and in his eyes, you could see the regret, the guilt. You knew he blamed himself for much of what happened during your fifth year, no matter how much you tried to make him see otherwise.

With a delicate touch, you cupped Sebastian's cheek, watching with your heart in your mouth as he visibly leaned against your hand, closing his eyes momentarily. "Why don't I be the judge of that?" You whispered, your eyes drifting down to his lips just before you leaned in.

Sebastian breathed in sharply through his nose when your lips touched his, eyes widening in surprise only to close in bliss right after. You kissed him softly, your lips mapping his as if you were trying to memorize each part of him. Both your hands cupped his jaw and you held him to you, showing him anything you weren't able to put into words.

He suddenly couldn't get enough of you. Sebastian's hands were warm against your back, pressing your body to his. He pulled away then, his upper lip just shy of grazing yours as he turned his head, nose bumping yours only so he could kiss you again, again, again.

Snowflakes were melting onto his clothes, his skin. Yet Sebastian felt warm. He whispered confessions of love and you kissed the words. Promising you could never not love him.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Sebastian’s taglist: @milkiane @v1ci0us @auxiliare @arawai

[zoeykallus]

Hey I really like your writing and wanted to ask you if you could write about the batch, Howzer and Rex when the reader learns for there finals and doesn’t have much time for there clone boyfriend but cooks them a romantic dinner

Aloha!

Let me see what I can do for you 😊

The Bad Batch/Howzer/Rex x Reader HCs - Make Up For Lost Time

Mostly Fluff/Slightly Suggestive

______________

The finals keep you in a tight grip for a long time, pure stress consisting of studying, writing exams and hours of preparation for those very finals. You hardly see your beloved clone anymore, you have neglected him very much, inevitably.

A romantic dinner, prepared with love, should be a small consolation.

______________

Howzer

"When you called me yesterday I almost didn't believe it, then when you invited me to dinner today I thought I was dreaming at first," Howzer says with a smile, standing in your doorway in his dress uniform.

You smile at him, he's looking gorgeous as ever.

"I know I haven't had much time for you lately, but that will change soon," you assure him.

You let him enter and, being quite the gentleman as always, he wipes his shoes on the mat in front of the door first. He enters, kisses the corner of your mouth gently, and pulls a bouquet of flowers in your favorite color from behind his back.

Howzer is observant, noting such things as favorite colors, songs, dishes, and so on.

He lets you lead him to the dining room table, sits down and watches you put the flowers in a vase, next to him on the windowsill.

The table is beautifully set, your best tablecloth, your best china, candlelight. The light in the room moodily dimmed.

"You're a little early, but dinner will be ready soon," you say, disappearing into the kitchen.

You're so busy tasting, setting the stove and oven to the right temperature, and re-seasoning that you don't hear him come into the kitchen behind you. You let out a startled cry as his hands gently, but surprisingly, come to rest on your hips.

Howzer laughs softly, "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you".

He kisses your neck, wraps his arms around you and looks over your shoulder.

"That looks good, and it smells amazing" he says softly.

You say with a soft sigh, "Now if it tastes like it smells, it should be perfect."

When you're done, Howzer insists on helping you apply it, not taking no for an answer. He scurries around you, taking things from you to bring to the dining table himself, stealing a little kiss as he passes.

On the one hand he steals your nerves with it, on the other hand he is so adorably affectionate and tender that you have to smile again and again and can't be angry with him.

Rex

He appears on time, as always, to the second. He has appeared in his dress uniform, he knows that you have a weakness for him in this outfit. Of course, he comes with flowers, chocolates and a bottle of wine. Rex never shows up at your door empty-handed.

The kiss he steals from you at the greeting is very tender, but also very sensual and, above all, long. You stand there in your open apartment door for a full five minutes before you finally make your way inside your apartment.

As always, your heart beats faster when he is near you. You are so in love with this man, his closeness and attention give you wings. Rex is quite a wonderful gentleman. Decent, but also sensual.

Again and again your eyes meet over the dinner table in the candlelight. The food is great, you've outdone yourself, and Rex lets you know it. He savors every bite as if it were a gift from the gods. For someone who subsists almost exclusively on protein bars and military rations, this meal is probably some sort of divine offering.

"The food is almost as good as you are beautiful, almost," he says with a smile.

You laugh softly, pleased with his reaction, and say, "Wait for dessert."

His smirk gets a little perkier, "Dessert? I thought that was you?"

You roll your eyes and grin.

"Maybe later, but I made dessert too," you say, affectionately reprimanding him.

He smiles back, but sighs softly as he says, "I can't wait for your finals to be over, you probably are too. I know this time has stressed you out a lot. I miss you. I mean, between my job alone, we don't see each other very often, now even less. It's almost unbearable."

You reach across the table for his hand, and he gently clasps it with his.

"I know, Rex, I feel the same way. But I can't let myself get distracted, that's important"

He nods.

"Of course, I know that. That's why I never complained"

You smile at him gratefully. Rex really never pressured you, quite the opposite. He supported you in your every decision and action as best he could.

He brings your hand to his lips and kisses it gently. With a little twinkle in his eye, he asks in a smoky voice, "Now what about dessert, my dear?"

Hunter

For him, you have thought of something special. A picnic outdoors. You rented the roof terrace of your apartment building for the whole evening. You've spread out a blanket on the lawn and set up garden torches. Everything should be atmospheric, romantic, relaxed.

Your picnic basket is full of delicious things that you have made yourself, hearty but also sweet, and of course drinks.

Hand in hand, you come to the roof terrace, and you see with satisfaction the bright smile on Hunter's face when he discovers what you have prepared.

"Sweetie, this is wonderful."

You lead him to the blanket and sit down with him. The torches cast romantic, flickering light on the scenery as you enjoy the meal you've prepared.

"You've outdone yourself," he says as he takes a bite with relish.

Your heart beats faster, you are so happy that he likes it. With pride, you wear the bracelet he gave you. A leather strap with filigree figurines made of Nabooian cedar, which he carved himself. You will proudly show it to your fellow students when you have to go back to university.

You have been envied many a time for having Hunter at your side. He's attentive, eye-catching, decent. He's so much more mature and decent than most of the guys your friends go out with.

Hunter makes you happy, very much so, and with this dinner you want to show it to him and also return the favor, for his patience, because you've been so busy and barely had time for him these past few weeks.

You end up feeding each other dessert. Of course, Hunter doesn't miss the chance to kiss you and gently lick the chocolate from the chocolate fruit at the corner of your mouth.

He smiles at you. Hunter knows exactly that you are under his spell.

Echo

He is very much looking forward to this meeting. It's been far too long since you've seen each other face to face. He shows up at your door with flowers and a little figurine, hand-blown from glass, your favorite animal. When he passed by a stall and saw the figurine, he couldn't resist, immediately thought of you. He tied a very small, delicate bow around the neck of the figurine.

"How pretty," you say dreamily, "That's very thoughtful of you."

Echo beams at you, "I immediately thought of you when I saw it. But what have you prepared?"

His eyes roam over the set dining table.

"This looks fantastic," he says, smiling at you.

"A little compensation for me having so little time for you," you say, lighting the candle on the table.

Echo beams.

"Surely that wasn't necessary"

"Yes, it is. I've been so busy these past few weeks, we've hardly seen each other. I was starting to feel guilty" you say apologetically.

Echo laughs softly and reaches for your hand.

"My dear, I know you have important things to do. I missed you very much, but I didn't feel neglected. You don't owe me anything. This was important, for your life, your future, I would never be offended by it".

Echo is so incredibly considerate and understanding, a real godsend to you.

You look at him gratefully and say, "You are absolutely wonderful, Echo. I've missed you so much."

He kisses your hand and says with a dreamy smile, "I missed you too. But now I'm curious, let me taste what you've conjured up there."

Wrecker

He stands in front of your door, with a bouquet of flowers and a bag of chocolate fruits in his hands. Wrecker beams at you as you open the door.

"Hi sweetie! I missed you!… Oh maker, what smells so good in here?"

You laugh and say, "The food I cooked for us, I told you I was making us a romantic dinner."

He grins at you.

"Perfect! I'm hungry as an animal"

He basically always is.

You grin back, let him in and accept the gifts he brought. The flowers are your favorite, in your favorite color, of course, Wrecker wouldn't just get any bouquet for you. He knows you, he knows what you like.

"How sweet of you"

Wrecker kisses your cheek, your forehead, your nose and your mouth.

"Missed you" he says, sighing in relief as if your absence has caused him real pain.

" I missed you too, big guy."

You put the flowers in a vase and place them near the nicely set dining table. Wrecker wants to help you dish up the food, but you insist that he sit down and be served.

"You spoil me, beautiful."

You say softly, laughing, "That's exactly the purpose of tonight."

Wrecker enjoys, holds back a little, he doesn't stuff as fast, but he still eats plenty. Pleased, you see the satisfied, enjoyable expression on his face.

"That was fantastic" he says as you finish "Exceptional".

You smile happily and say, "I hope you left room for dessert"

His eyes get big, dessert is his favorite part of the meal.

"Hit me!" he says happily, rubbing his hands together.

Of course, he still has room for dessert.

Tech

"Maybe you should unwrap the present after dinner, we don't want your lovingly prepared meal to get cold," he suggests.

You agree with him. Tech enjoys the meal so much that for once he doesn't talk and explain as much as usual. You can see how much he enjoys this special meal with you. Every bite is enjoyed with all senses. He smells it with relish every now and then. The sauce seems to have done it to him particularly, he takes again and again a small addition of it.

When you are finished he says, "My beloved, this is by far the best food I have ever eaten, and I have already dined in the royal house of Naboo."

You beam happily at him.

"You're not just saying that to please me, are you?"

Tech shifts his goggles, looks at you seriously and says, "You know me, I don't lie, even in cases like this"

You laugh softly, remembering that of course he's right, if he hadn't liked the food, he would have told you that rather bluntly. You breathe a sigh of relief, pleased with yourself and how the evening has gone so far.

He picks up the package again and presses it into your hands. He looks a little nervous, like he's on hot coals.

"Unwrap your present," he says softly but with gentle emphasis.

You do as you are told and finally have a small device in your hands, a cube with a projector lens and a few buttons. You have no idea what it's supposed to be.

Tech smirks.

"Let me show you and explain what this is," he says, gently taking the device from your hands and walking to the closest of one of your living room walls.

He sets the device down on the floor and says, "You keep saying you're missing decorations, like just this one big bare wall here."

You blink thoughtfully, but nod in agreement.

"I built this projector with the latest technology. It can project lifelike images on your wall, or on several walls if needed. You can, for example, create the illusion that you are in the Jungle, or in the old city of Naboo. I have already saved a few dozen projections on it, but there is still room for more, should you have any wishes.

He presses a button and projects a familiar place onto your walls. You are surrounded by wildflower bushes, trees in full bloom, and gently swaying grass.

"Tech, I know this place"

He smiles, and you see his cheeks blush a little.

You say with a certain undertone, "That's the grove on this moon where we first made love."

He nods and says quietly, "Yes. I went back there to take those pictures, so I could save them for you".

You smirk and look at him.

"This is a great gift Tech. Now we can make love in my living room as if we were back there on that moon"

Tech's cheeks get even more flushed.

"We could, indeed" he confirms.

Crosshair

He's five minutes late, and he's annoyed about it.

"Sorry, Kitten, traffic was terrible. Some idiot managed to block two lanes with his transporter, I had to take a detour"

"It's okay, dinner just got ready, you're just in time" you say, kissing his chin.

He smirks, holds out a long-stemmed single rose to you and a bottle of excellent Nabooian wine, then kisses your forehead.

"Missed you," you say softly.

"I missed you too," he hums into your hair as he kisses the top of your head.

Finally, he sniffs the air and says, "Smells good in here, did you exaggerate cooking again?"

You laugh and lead him into the apartment.

"Of course I did," you say amused, "You know me."

He smirks, "Good thing I came here hungry."

"I should hope so too"

You dish up the food, on the beautifully set table with your best china.

"Fancy" he says with a grin.

Crosshair is a very picky eater. But by now you know him and his preferences well enough, and he likes you enough to try something new now and then when you cook something new. Today, the two flow together beautifully. He likes the food, a lot, and you breathe a sigh of relief. Of course, he notices.

"Relax, the food is great," he says with a smirk.

The two of you enjoy the meal, swap stories a bit, tell each other what's new. Crosshair, as always, has a funny story or two about his brothers.

After the meal, you go out to your balcony with the good wine that Crosshair has brought with him, sit down on the big wooden swing between the thousands of potted plants that make your balcony a cozy little jungle.

Crosshair puts an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close. You toast with your wine glasses.

"To us, and to having more time together soon," you say dreamily.

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

@allsystemsblue

@palliateclaw

@either-madness-or-brilliance

@ortizshinkaroff

@andy-solo1

@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@extrahotpixels

@hated-by-me

@hunterxcrosshair

@malicemercy

@bebopsworld

@echos-girlfriend

@cpnt616

@dangraccoon

@jediknightjana

@pb-jellybeans

@antishadow2021

@sleepycreativewriter

@starwarsnerd111

[babayagakeanu]

outer harbor sunsets*

pairing: Shane falco/reader

Summary: Shane takes you out on the water for your third date, and even against the cool breeze, Shane doesn’t fail to heat things up.

Warning: smut, NSFW 18+, fluff, water play, literally every other smut warning

Washington in the summertime is hot, with the glaring sun beating down against pavements and waves, it’s almost impossible to stay cool until nightfall. At night, there’s a slight breeze that rolls in from the west, fluttering against your cheek, kissing you coolly, and it’s cold enough to wear a light shawl. That’s what you’d worn tonight, on your date with Shane. You donned a distressed white shawl, and it looked like that of a fishing net, wrapping around your shoulders, providing ample room for the breeze to roll in. Underneath the shawl, is a beautiful, silk and sapphire-colored, slip-dress, which against your soft skin, felt amazing in the subtle heat of the night. Strapped sandals were your choice of footwear tonight, you didn’t wanna take your chance on the dock to Shane’s boat.

Shane’s boat, your destination tonight, is where you’ll have your third date with him. You’d admit that you are a little nervous, as things between Shane and you have grown more serious. He’s incredibly kind, keeps you guessing in the best possible way, and best part of all, he’s always made you laugh like never before. Shane, with deep eyes, always seemed to relax you at the sight of them, and you’ll find solace in looking at them every chance you'd get. Ever since he quit football and the fast-track life, he’s slowed down in life, enjoying everything it has to offer, especially with you by his side.

He’s busy at the dock right now, he’d said in a text early, and said to meet him later on this evening wearing something pretty for him. Even through text, he never fails to make your cheeks heat up. The sun was setting slowly as you walked the short distance to the pier where Shane’s boat rests. Wind flying past you, shuffling your hair around, Shane catches a glimpse of you and calls out your name. In the far distance you see him, waving his arms with a wide grin on his face.

“Y/n! You made it!” He exclaims as you grew closer, and he embraces you in a tight hug that makes your heart flutter. “You look and smell fantastic.” he smirks, and enjoys as your cheeks turn as red as the sunset.

“Thanks, Shane.” Your soft smile makes him grin even wider his cheeks might hurt. Your wandering eyes take note of the table topped with piping hot Italian food and large glasses of wine, even glancing at the candles he placed around the boat. “Sure the candles won’t be a fire hazard?” You crack, relishing in the sound of his deep laughter that rumbles from his belly.

“Even you, Y/n, can’t resist poking fun at my romantic schemes. That’s what I love about you, girl.” The sentence makes your heart jump in your throat, and you clear your throat to cover your surprise.

“Well, I guess you’ll need to plan on me sticking around more often, huh?” You tease, and he gives you an equally teasing look of his eye.

“Maybe I already did.” He states, pulling out your chair for you as your mouth catches flies. You sit with a sly grin as he takes the seat across from you. Somehow, you felt hot under his heavy gaze, and maybe it’s the way the candle light warmed your skin, or the way the light teasing flickered and danced across your skin for him. Either way, he’s staring at you like you derived from the stars, placed down onto this earth just for him. To be his, and only his.

“I can’t believe you did all this for me!” Your smile is uncontainable as you take everything in again. “This is just so beautiful, Shane.” Looking at him, his eyes grow soft. “Of course I did this for you, y/n, I feel really good about us, and sorry if it’s too crazy, but, I can’t stop thinking about you.” Your hand pauses in front of your mouth, hiding your giddied smile. His hand grasps onto yours that rests on the tablecloth, and plays with the delicate Pearl bracelet you adorned, gifted by your grandmother a few summers back. Little things like this, made life so much more intimate that us as humans know—how close we can be to another person, to be able to share the same breath with that person.

You could tell Shane was it for you, and you were beginning to think he’s feeling the same way. “Shane, I’m so glad you said that. You are a constant track in my mine, and it just plays on loop.” He smiles at you, giving your hand a soft squeeze, his index finger running along your palm. As you finished your dinner together, he never let go; he needed to prove to you he was here to stay.

About ten minutes went by since you’ve finished your meal, and your leg occasionally brushed along Shane’s as the waves slightly rocked the boat, he stood up, not before sneaking a quick kiss on your cheek, and grabs the dishes and walks them downstairs into the boat’s lower deck. Suddenly missing his presence, you follow him downstairs where you let out a short gasp at the sight in front of you; rose petals scattered around the bed and floor, candles lining the bed’s shelves, and Shane, standing against the counter with a smirk on his face.

“You didn’t—“

“I did,” he shrugs, “but it was supposed to be another surprise.” he states, tsk-ing you as your giggle fills the room.

“I’m sorry,” you pout, stepping down the stairs and throwing your arms around his waist, where you then rest your chin on his chest looking up at him with big doe eyes. He sighs, smiling and rolling his eyes, annoyed at how quickly he gives into your charms, how weak he is for you.

“Luckily for you, with a face like yours, I can’t even be fake mad with you.” Another giggle from y/n, and the sound of it fills something he didn’t know he needed in his heart.

“Y/n?” he asks after a moment in silence. To which you hum in response. “Will you be my girlfriend?” Your heart almost leaps out of your chest as you nod fervently, allowing him to press his lips to yours. It’s like a dam breaks, and he’s on a mission to taste you. The wine leaves a sensual bitterness on your tongue in which Shane savors, his tongue dipping in to caress yours, and his hands are seeking purchase on your body. First, they land on your back, splaying and smoothing circles as his lips continue to work with yours, and a small gasp leaves your throat as he bites your lip.

“Tell me you want me just as much as I want you.” he breathes, his hands snaking lower to grab at supple flesh through silk. With another gasp, you reply, “God, please Shane, I’ll always want you.” Another smirk forms against your lips from Shane, and his knees slowly back you up, before you’re met with the soft sheets of Shane’s bed. Your hair lays around your head like a halo, and gravity has worked on pushing your breasts further into his view. You look like an absolute vixen before his eyes.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he breathes, and dips down to kiss you again. You’re on cloud nine, still reeling from when he’d asked you to be his girl, and you’re about to fuck each other’s brains out right now!

“Shane!” You gasp, grabbing at his chocolate locks, “Please,” you bed, and he hums. He discards your shawl with about the same ease as trying to fit a square peg in a round hole, and you laugh again. The comfort you have with Shane, scares you and surprises you, but with the way Shane has been nothing short of a gentleman with you, you shouldn’t be worried.

“I got you, baby.” He smiles up at you as he kisses the middle of your clothed-stomach, “Jus’ want you to relax and let me pleasure you.” His calloused hands, from years of football and working on his boat, remove your dress, and you’re naked for the first time in front of Shane. Heat festers in your cheeks but your shyness evaporates when you look at him and he’s looking at you like you’re the last giant stuffed prize from the carnival.

“My God, woman.” He stares at you hungrily, “Can you get any hotter? You’re killing me, here.” Giggling, you pull at his shirt, desperate to get it off, and when he does, your hands are finding their way around his body as he kisses you. Your hand dips lower and finds he’s already hard as a rock, and you can tell he’s big.

“Fuck, your hand on my cock is almost enough for me” he breathes, and he stands up, unbuttoning his jeans that you forgot to mention, looked sinfully good on him, and his cock sprung free, red and angry at the tip, and leaking too. Your mouth waters as he stands there in all his naked glory.

His lips find yours again, only this time staying there for a quick second before dipping down to leave hasty and hot kisses on your neck, getting drunk on the scent of you. Warm vanilla and amber. The waves lap against the boat sides as Shane’s lips finally land on your nipples, nipping and sucking and teasing gasps and moans from your throat as you get lost in the feeling. You’re unraveling before him and it’s the most sexiest thing he’s ever seen; needy and begging for more of him.

“You’re so fucking sexy, my girl.” Words are mumbled from being preoccupied with your nipples, and all you can do is mewl and paw at him. “Gonna make you feel so good, make you feel so loved.” Lips travel further and they dance across your navel, sending shivers up your spine and goosebumps litter your skin.

“So sensitive there, little girl?” The statement ended more like a question and when he doesn’t get a response, a light smack lands on your inner thigh. You jolt, unbeknownst to such pleasure from slight pain, and you whimper. “Shane,” you beg and again, a slap on the inner thigh.

“No, baby, I asked you a question.” He states, a teasing look on his face. A finger lands on your clit and presses down, causing you to moan loudly. “Yes! It’s so sensitive there!” You whimper like a little brat, and in your drunken haze of pleasure, you fail to notice him grab from a bucket of ice. His finger remains on your clit, slightly wiggling around and adding some friction.

“Shane!” You gasp as you feel the ice on your clit, the mixture of cold and the heat from your dripping cunt are almost enough to send you over the edge as he marvels at you.

“Does that feel good, princess? Am I making you feel good, baby?” He asks as the ice travels lower, and rests against your hole. This i something foreign to you, but you’ve never felt hotter.

“Yes, fuck!” You squeal, and the ice is flung somewhere and your waist is pulled towards the edge of the bed, your cunt meeting face to face with Shane’s devilishly-smiling mouth. His eyes latch onto yours as his tongue dips in, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. His tongue expertly dips into your hole, while a finger plays with your clit.

“Fuck, you taste so fucking good.” he moans into your pussy, and your hand flies to grab onto his hair. He switches his rhythm, his fingers replacing his mouth, two digits slowly pumping into you. You can feel the familiar knot building in your stomach, and you warn him. “Shane…!” You cry.

Speeding up his movements, “Let go, baby, that’s it.” He states as you peak, your orgasm hitting you hard. His name falls off your lips like a mantra as you come down from your high, and you feel his kisses against your forehead, bringing you back down to earth.

He shifts you two, so you’re laying back up at the head of the bed, and tugs on his cock in front of you, which pre-cum has soaked the tip. “Shane, I need to fuck me, now.” Your words are breathless, but he gets the point. You feel his tip teasing at your hole, before slowly and deeply entering you. You moan at the fullness of him, and he can feel your cunt tighten around his cock, a groan rumbling in his chest.

“Fuck, y/n. You’re so fucking tight, shit,” he breathes as he slowly pumps into you. You can feel him sliding inside you, that fullness never leaving and the burn of his cock stretching you is fading fast, pleasure soon replacing it.

“fuck, Shane, please fuck me!” You cry, as he’s driving into you now, his tip hitting your g-spot perfectly. You’ve never felt so full, and his lips press against yours sloppily and greedily.

“Yeah, I bet you feel so full of my cock, probably already addicted to it.” His words are filthy in your ears and it only heats up the moment more.

“Shane, fuck, you’re so big!” You whine, whimpering as his hips snap against yours at a bruising pace.

“Shit, I’m not gonna last long, baby,” he states, and you can feel the falter in his hips as your orgasm sneaks on you, the tip of his head hits your g-spot just right and sends you over the edge. You cry out his name as his orgasm follows shortly after, feeling him fill you full of his cum. Slumping against your body, his eyes find yours and he offers you a smile that’s so lazily in love with you.

——

Post-coitus, your legs are entertained with each other’s under the covers in Shane’s bed, an old Seinfeld re-run playing on his laptop, but you’re too lost in each other’s embrace to even care. You’re Shane’s priority now, and he’s going to make sure you’re only his for the rest of your lives.

———————————————-

YALLLL, I’ve literally sat and did this in maybe like two hours??? record-breaking if you ask me! Anyways, I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

[ronearoundblindly]

The Root of All Ransom (2)

Ransom Drysdale x rich!Reader, Part Two (see previous or series)

Warnings: so. much. cursing. It's all from Ransom's point of view, and since he's a disturbing(ly sexy) asshole, that translates to language. Explicit sexual content (protected and unprotected sex, brief to full detail, oral (m rec), fingering, no kink technically). MINORS DNI. 18+ ONLY. WC 6k

Summary: Ransom has no idea how to read you and no idea why he wants to so badly.

His mother is too smug about the damn Birkin. She treats it like it really is her own, and it’s pissing Ransom off.

Three Sunday brunches in a row, Linda waltzed into the country club’s restaurant and set it on the table. He narrows his eyes and stares at it in between boring topics she chooses.

“Dear, if you broke up with her—“

“We were never dating,” Ran says flatly, for the umpteenth time this month, and it’s true.

He doesn’t consider Linda’s birthday a date, the overnight at your mansion wasn’t a date, the Kennedy fundraiser wasn’t a date, and the sex in his car afterward was definitely not a date.

Hot though. Hot enough to haunt him just a little. He fantasized once or twice since with whatever nameless booty call, thinking about how your hand slapped the roof of the Beamer while you rode the fuck out of his dick in the backseat. Your head tossed back, your quiet, breathy gasps, drowned in moans he couldn’t contain because, damn, you felt fucking fantastic. Then you just shimmied your dress back over your thighs and called your driver. Condom again, however, so not perfect.

No, you two didn’t date, but shit did you fuck.

“Let it go,” Linda continues more smugly, “and if she’s asked you for it back, then either don’t respond or tell her…well, I don’t give a rat’s ass what you tell her.” His mother drains her mimosa, flagging down a waiter to order more champagne and no more orange juice. “I love this bag, and she gave it away. I would never—“

“It’s her favorite color,” Ran blurts, though he can’t imagine why. His mother won’t care obviously. “Did you know she volunteered for five-hundred hours a year to feel like she earned that?”

“Ransom, dear,” she whispers, leaning forward to pat his tapping hand on the tablecloth, “I understand what work is. You’re the only one of us that doesn’t.”

Ransom sucks his bottom lip into his mouth to avoid saying something distasteful, or rather, more distasteful than what comes out.

“You’re a little old for it, is all.” She pulls her hand away, and he shrugs. “Thought you should know.”

He’s pleased with himself, but Ran also avoids checking his phone again. He’d feel the vibration. You’ve been globetrotting for work, answering texts sporadically at best, and the last message—from over a week ago—said you’d be back in the city today.

He reminds himself that you aren’t dating and that his mother is a cunt.

Linda pours from the fresh bottle of bubbly popped table side.

“Don’t take your sexual frustrations out on me,” she coos over the black rim of her glasses.

Ran simply sneers. “Why not? That’s how I was raised.”

All-in-all, it’s not even among the worst of their brunches. Hatred and spite are par for the Drysdale course. What it does, however, is highlight that you handle his family almost better than Ransom does. That morning after he slept over? You walked back to Thrombey Manor in old boots you got horrifically muddy.

Even with very little sleep, you accompanied him and spoke some more with Harlan about non-profits, wiggling your toes in damp socks while your shoes sat on the porch. Ransom drove off before you even left. Fine by him. He worried you’d get the wrong impression when he awoke spooning you—not tightly, of course—your bed is just smaller than his, that’s all.

He should feel relieved.

Yes, he feels relief that you didn’t make a big thing out of it. He never even texted again until after the romp in his car, so that’s hardly eager. Goodness knows he has no interest in dedicating his abundant free time to someone running a company and volunteering with the needy.

The thought of it is simply awful. His eyes narrow at the Birkin again, wondering absently where you were flying back from and when you might be landing. He thinks about the small pile of condoms once kept in that bag and sips his own drink.

Even if you aren’t dating, the mere whiff of potential sets Linda on edge, much to Ran’s delight. His mother was told by one of her faux-friends that you and Ransom went missing around the same time from the fundraiser, and there’s a new development that kills both Linda and Walt at the same time. He can’t help but rub it in.

“Did you hear Harlan put her in the acknowledgments for the new novel?” He sets down his glass with a shit-eating grin, and Linda pours even more.

He shops until he can’t shop anymore, knowing he won’t drive all the way back downtown from his house if you text, so he kills time spending money. The sun goes down with no vibration from his pocket—well, none from you. Ransom ends with his purchases in the car and his ass parked at an upscale, overpriced bar, a sizable pour of Blue Label sitting on an embossed napkin in front of him, scrolling through his phone.

He refuses to search your name; he gave up on that after seeing one too many news blurbs about your events overseas, always with a different male model, arm-candy type that Ran is convinced you fuck also. If he’s right, shit is he glad you had him wrap up.

In the middle of another boring sunset video of an acquaintance ‘manifesting his chi’ or whatever in Maui, a text attachment from his cousin Meg comes through.

I love her, it says. Are you bringing her to the next book launch?

Ran taps the link, and sure as shit, it’s you.

Actually, it’s a video of you and a fellow entrepreneur passing in the airport, this airport, hugging with the bold letters ‘GIRL POWER’ across the bottom. It was originally posted four hours ago, has been liked by ten thousand random fucking nobodies, and Ransom is goddamn done waiting. He slaps cash down on the bar top and storms out.

He’s been approached by three women and said ‘no’ to all of them in the short time he’s been sitting there. What the fuck are you playing at?

Sure, one of those skanks had buck teeth and one had the worst laugh he’s ever heard, but the third was passable if he’d bent her over. There better be a good fucking reason you’ve ghosted him.

Thing is he hasn’t been an asshole to you; there might not be a woman within fifty square miles that he’s been nicer, too, including his own fucking mother, and you think it’s cool to just…not respond?

That’s fucking rude. Fuck you.

He’s punching the button to ring your flat at the garage entrance before long, and you buzz him up without a word. You’re goddamn home and what? Ignoring him? What a fucking bitch.

Before he can let out some frustration by banging on your door, he realizes it’s cracked open with the latch turned and fully closes it behind him, muttering “hope you get fucking robbed” under his breath.

You’re cooking and on your Bluetooth at the same time, motioning for him to sit at the breakfast table or couch or wherever while you finish talking to someone about—nope, he’s bored. You don’t mention of how he’s imposed without invitation because he’s never set foot in here until now.

Ransom looks around critically.

This building is exclusive beyond belief, and you live on the top floor with vaulted ceilings. That’s about the extent of ‘status’ visible in your surroundings. Not cheap but not custom furnishings dot sizable rooms.

Ran scrunches his nose. Even he can decorate better than this. The food smells fucking delicious, spicy, and warm though.

Linda never cooked. There was furniture he wasn’t allowed on growing up. Then he bought nice things for his own place, and every single chance he got, nearly every time he went to his parent’s house, he made sure to fuck some bimbo on that forbidden furniture.

Ransom sometimes thinks to himself that he is a real piece of work. He already knows he is an actual son of a bitch. Revenge is a dish best served without a towel underneath your sweaty ass.

Your couch is okay. Barely used and still springy when he drops down to the cushions. He’s just scanning the walls when you chirp over the island.

“Hungry?”

He snaps back to attention, opening his arms wide to rest across the back of the couch.

“Yeah.” He’s not actually sure though. He’s hungry and a bit horny and a lot irritated, but he doesn’t want to talk about it. He never does. Explaining himself only ever makes Ransom feel childish and judged, so he buys new things and throws others away, buys new people and throws others away, and takes whatever else he wants, just so he doesn’t have to talk.

When all else fails, he drinks instead—which he’s already done—so now, he eats.

Your food is delicious. Ransom takes pride in your abilities and cages your achievement like a feral animal in his heart, smug that he has a good girl wrapped around his finger. He can just drop by. He can not call you, ask how you are, or bother to get to know you after fucking twice. Most importantly, it seems he can avoid talking even during a one-on-one meal with you.

All he says is the food is good, and you launch into a monologue about your mother being a fantastic cook even though your parents both worked full-time. All he does is grunt like he’s listening, and you explain how you meal prep whenever you can because otherwise, you’d have to eat out for every meal.

You hate doing that.

Ransom does that. He’s never thought about whether he loves or hates it.

“Now then,” you add at the end of your little speech, “my ploy has worked. You’ve enjoyed the spoils of my labor—” your smile makes him nervous “—and so you get to do the dishes.”

“Fuck off,” Ran snorts, half-revolted, half-amused. As if he would ever.

“Aw, do you need a trophy for encouragement?” You sweep your hand out to the far wall of the living room and its full shelves. “I have a few to spare.”

“I’m not doing your damn dishes.” He doesn’t know how to go rigid and determined without looking petulant, so he overcompensates by spreading his legs and folding his arms over his chest.

“Hugh, do you even know how to wash up?”

He shifts. “Yes, of course.”

“But you still want a prize?”

Sharp blue eyes find yours, and he nearly growls, “I’m not doing that.”

He should just walk out. He doesn’t have to be here. The door is right fucking there, but he sits completely still.

You lean back and cluck your tongue. “Shame,” you sigh, “I would have done you while you did them.”

And that’s how Ransom Drysdale ends up wrist-deep in sudsy water with your velvet mouth stretched around his dick. No chore has ever held his attention like this or been so fucking distracting.

Your nails pinch at his thigh briefly when he pauses to lean on the sink’s rim, your nose brushing his trimmed hair, your drool running down his sac.

“Fuck, that’s it.” He fishes around in the water with one hand, eyes squeezed tight. There are no more utensils floating about, so he rips out the plug. “Finished. Fuck, let me finish.”

With an obscenely wet noise, you pop his cock out of your mouth and trace your tongue down to his balls.

“Where do you want it?”

“Pussy,” he breathes before your words even register. “Wanna come in your tight pussy.”

You giggle. You actually fucking giggle while getting to your feet, hand stroking him gently—too gently to tip him over—as you rise.

“Dry your hands,” you order.

He does, practically panting in frustration. He could jerk himself for three seconds and be done, he’s that close, but he just clutches the rag that much harder.

“Close the dishwasher.”

Ran kicks that damn thing up so fast—

“Is there a tab inside?”

“Fuck,” he yells, painfully ready to burst. Why he still fucking looks under the sink and actually fucking places that tiny cube in and closes the fucking dishwasher again, Ransom cannot fathom. “I’m gonna destroy you, bitch,” he mutters, but there’s no power behind it, only pure need.

His reward is you, stripped naked beside the couch, open condom in hand, and you roll that shit onto his length at the same time he rushes you back and down to the cushion. Ran’s so strung out he can’t give less of a shit if he hikes your leg up too far or grinds against you too hard. Who fucking cares? He has to come, and you egg him on the whole way.

His hips piston so fast that his glutes are on fire, and he doesn’t fucking care. Your nails dig into the back of his neck, and he doesn’t fucking care.

It’s right when he sees your eyes roll back, right when he hears your low ‘OH, fuck yes’ that Ransom explodes, crying out in the desperate heat of the moment. They are not coherent words. That’s not the problem. The problem is that he fucking babbled without any control whatsoever.

Ran enjoys sex, no doubt, but he can’t remember a time he ever got fucking lost in it. Sure, it felt good, but he didn’t like it.

So he recovers silently, not saying a word before escaping to your bathroom.

It’s sparse. He would hardly know you lived here. Every toiletry is travel-sized and stashed in a cosmetics bag. Peeking out of the bag is a bubble sheet of birth control pills, and for a split-second, he fumes. Once his post-nut brain settles and he remembers all those photos of your ‘dates,’ he calms, not willing to ask you a fucking thing about it. He just wants to know everything so you aren’t interesting anymore. It’d be easier if you bored him, but you fucking do not bore him at all.

He’s got a whole excuse planned when he leaves the bathroom, though it’s for naught.

You’ve changed clothes, something skimpy and casual, something showing off that expanse of skin he did not get to see much this time.

You announce you’re going out to drinks with your head of R&D, a planned thing you didn’t fucking mention once before, but apparently, that bitch has been working so hard and deserves fun. While he—what—deserves to be tricked into cleaning and then kicked out?

Yes. Your actual answer is ‘yes.’

He’s handed his coat with a genuine smile and watches you adjust your boobs in the flouncy top with a giggle. Jesus.

He’s surprised it’s this easy for you, being intimate and then being done, not inviting him to stay. It’s odd. Ransom has known women who don’t cling, women who get off and get lost, and so this should be the same.

It’s not feeling the same; he’s bothered by it.

In the car home, he’s salty about being manipulated. You got him to clean. You got him to work for a decent blowjob, and that is fucking ridiculous. Hot though. Even hotter than you cowgirling in the back of this very vehicle. But why? Was it better because he ‘earned’ it or because you’re just really fucking good at sucking dick?

A tiny voice in his brain tells him to show up again, get more head, test that theory, and he tries not to get hard in the car. He gets home and tries to handle himself. Then he really, really tries to stop thinking about it altogether because, fuck, he just wants to know.

Again, it’s like nothing happened.

You don’t travel nearly as much in the next few weeks but you also do not contact him. Not first anyway because sometime—sometimes—you will respond to his messages. For example, you did answer that you’d be in attendance tonight, but that’s all.

He’s drinking and scoping out his prospects when his phone vibrates. It’s you.

That makes no fucking sense, and it makes even less sense when he reads it.

:Act like you like me.

What the fuck?

He hasn’t even turned all the way around to spot you before you’re right there, leaning down close, you hand petting the sleeve of his blazer.

“Hey” is all you say before you fucking kiss him on the lips, slowly, sweetly, and Ransom neither knows nor understands shit right now. That is an actual kiss. That’s genuine. That’s fucking heavy, and he bristles instantly. He absolutely seizes up at because it feels real and not at all like how you two actually are together.

Ransom’s been thinking about when he can fuck you again, not this, never this, yet his hand still grips at your hip because you’re so close. Your skin is still soft as ever, and your lips still work him up like it’s nothing. He groans into your mouth by accident while thinking of what else your lips do.

Finally, you explain that someone odd has been aggressively hitting on you. He suspects the guy is made up.

“Don’t make me point him out. Just,” you slide you fingers down beneath the lapel of his jacket, “just…thank you, Hugh.”

Fucking gross. You sound so genuine and grateful this his gut goes warm and gooey. This shit works on people? He’s not a god damn fluffer or beard, for fuck’s sake.

Then he does see the guy shooting his shot later in the evening, and he notices you do not and have not had a drink in your hand all night. You’re afraid to because of this prick. That’s even more disgusting to Ransom. Only psychopaths and microdick fuckers should rely on getting a girl drunk or drugged. This guy needs to go.

Ran sees your phone poised in your hand and simply texts “Hallway. Now.” He stands casually and brings his drink with him, catching your look down at the screen before he rounds the corner. Within a count of five you emerge to see him, relief washing over your stressed features until you squeak in shock. He’s pinned you to the wall.

In a low whisper, Ran starts, “tell me if he’s there.”

Your face is a mere inch from his, your eyes wide and darting between his piercing blue gaze and his parted lips.

You glance over his shoulder, your own mouth going slack but saying nothing before another once-over of Ransom’s proximity. Then your focus flickers back and your breath catches.

“He’s—“ but you don’t get to finish.

Ran’s lips crash down to yours. You’re stunned. Fuck, he’s stunned, groping your ass with his free hand and letting you pull him closer by his lapels again. He’s not at all sure you aren’t taking this the wrong way because you whimper after the initial momentum subsides, and you keep going. Isn’t that guy gone yet? Does the perv want a fucking show? Are you even looking?

And suddenly, your hands go rigid and push Ran away. That’s good though. That’s a good sign. You understand that this was just a bit of help from a friend who also hates people who can’t take a fucking hint.

Ransom offers the glass of whiskey he’s kept safe in one hand and smooths your gown with the other.

“You’re welcome,” he grunts.

You just sip at the liquor while composing yourself again. Ran’s never seen that look on your face. Just for an instant, you seem scared, but it’s gone as quickly and that very small, very genuine smile returns, directed at him.

Weeks later and Ran’s been keeping an eye on you at the few events you’ve been in town for. No suspicious assholes but he’s nearly an expert on your body language by now. He’s even more annoyed—no, still just a passing curiosity—that you do not ask him to accompany you as your date and continue to have someone on your arm at any out of town shindigs. He doesn’t understand, and it makes him simultaneously convinced that you must fuck them, too, and that there is no way you also fuck them.

He’s been drinking to suppress a lot of passing curiosity.

What he forgets to do entirely is look for someone to take home later. Doesn’t matter. The contact list is always there at night’s end.

He sees you listening to an older couple by the bar, looking exhausted and bored, but they won’t shut up. You’ve kept hold of an empty champagne flute for ten minutes, unable to even turn and order another in the face of their relentless blabbering.

He grabs around your waist and tucks you to his side, offering his hand in greeting once you take your drink, flashing his ultra-fake, glowing smile.

“Hi, Ransom Drysdale.” He shakes their hands and couldn’t give less of a fuck what their names are. “Wonderful, well, why don’t you two just write a check and shut up? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“Hugh,” you sputter over a sip of bubbly, “good lord.”

He’s still staring down the couple who are paralyzed in shock.

He gives a nod. “Seriously, fuck off.”

The woman gasps and clutches her actual fucking pearls while her husband tries a sad defense of her honor or what-the-fuck-ever. Ransom doesn’t care. He just cares that they walk away, and he wins.

Before he even looks at you, he mutters, “you’re welcome,” proudly.

He expects to be chastised, at least a bit, but when he turns and releases his grip on you, you’re simply sipping on champagne, still exhausted.

“You can go home now,” he says, thinking that’ll be some comfort.

Your shoulders sag, and you cover your face with a bejeweled hand. Yellow diamonds. That pleases Ransom. Rings and a bracelet, too. He’s glad you aren’t just half-assing the dress up with a designer gown and nothing else. The clutch you’ve set on the bar beside you is Chanel, and now Ran is plain delighted. That’s multiple trips of retail therapy, that’s you spending that new money, and that looks good on you.

“There’s nothing fucking there,” you mumble. “I’ve been at that apartment a grand total of thirty minutes in the past two weeks.”

“Ah,” he teases, “so Suzie Homemaker doesn’t have any food to cook?”

You wear a guilty smirk. “You’re right. I should go though.”

“Come to my place.”

Ransom’s eyes bug out when he realizes what he’s blurted, but he lets the offer lie.

You stare silently for a long beat, waiting for him to correct himself or throw a lewd comment on the end, but he keeps his cool. Eventually, you pick your clutch up and say, “okay.”

You actively bitch about others in the car, and Ransom is flat-out grinning from ear to ear. It’s perfect. You hate people as much as he does. From the sound of it, you barely tolerate the rest of the regulars on rotation at those stuffy things.

What would that woman who called you ‘a breath of fresh air’ think now? Except this is actually the moment he believes she was right.

He laughs—a real-life, genuine laugh—at the fake speech you practice in the bathroom mirror before accepting an award, the one where you say you’ll melt down the gold in the trophy and use it as a face mask to keep yourself from ending up like the shriveled hags. Ransom adds that they are not all shriveled; some of them have their own trophies shoved up their asses.

You giggle at that.

It’s the first time Ran has made you giggle on purpose, and he likes it even better that way. You continue to rant, stopping yourself just before he ever gets irritated. That ability is a fucking gift, and he appreciates it, too, because very few people can read him well enough to avoid his ire.

He realizes you two have this in common: he can act nice but he doesn’t fucking care to, and you can and do act nice but your caring is wearing thin.

You’re so complimentary of his house. You seem to like the most expensive of his furniture, which makes him want to force you out shopping with him to fill your shitty apartment with things you actually enjoy, but you don’t invade the space with tons of looking, touching, and questions. You don’t argue about leaving your heels by the door. You don’t wait for Ransom to take your coat.

He doesn’t have a guest room. His house is for him, and others can go fuck right off. Normally, no one but him sleeps here, so it’s…disconcerting that Ran is so at ease.

He shows you to the bathroom, sets a plastic-wrapped, new toothbrush on the counter, looks at you, squinting, and then pulls forward three (full-size) skincare products from his neat lineup. He taps them in the order you should use them.

“One, two, three,” he says, cheekily relishing your annoyance at his babying.

That face is cute. You’re trying not to smile, you’re trying to look mad, and it doesn’t fucking work.

With a roll of his eyes, he leaves you to it.

The one thing Ransom is not around you is bored. There are people who try so damn hard, thinking whatever makes them likable is good, but none of it is real. At best, they turn out warped and misunderstood because no one knows fuck-all about them. Everything’s been curated. Everything’s been forced.

That behavior has always been brutally obvious to him. He grew up surrounded by people faking everything about themselves, disingenuous people. Harlan is the only person who did not put on a front for him. They’re the same that way, but his grandfather allows people to play their little games in front of him, using the intrigue in his novels; Ransom simply tells people to fuck off and does whatever he wants.

What occurs to Ran now is you don’t do anything for him. You don’t tailor your behavior to appeal to him in any way, and in fact, you seem to deliberately refuse to be appealing. You’re so obviously uninterested in most of the things Ransom spends his days (and nights) on that he wonders. He rethinks every encounter trying to pinpoint where something changed for you because why else would you pay him any mind whatsoever.

He’s searching for warning signs that you’ve taken this the wrong way. He can’t let you expect something from him.

Expectations are predictable. Predictable is boring. You are not boring.

It should not surprise him that you emerge butt-naked from the bathroom and ask which side you can sleep on. It’s not sexy. It shouldn’t be sexy.

You’re exhausted and get comfortable without fuss, clicking the light off and adjusting the pillow. He thinks it will help prove his point, prove that you think this is a relationship it isn’t, if you say no to sex. It’s clearly a circumstance when normal, boring people use the ol’ “I’m too tired” bit, and if you say that, he’s found his warning sign. Sure, he invited you here, but you’ve misinterpreted the whole deal.

So he turns over to face you, laying on your back, and teases the blunt tip of his middle finger down your body until he reaches between your legs. It’s nothing more than a graze, an exploratory touch with no pressure. When you part your legs slightly, he traces along the seam of you but nothing more. He listens to your breathing change, watches your chest start to rise and fall more urgently, and takes a nipple into his mouth.

What he doesn’t hear is ‘no,’ and Ran’s gut pinches, unsure which reaction he truly wanted out of you.

His standard MO is to keep lazily teasing you until you beg, but he’s not impatient like he usually is. His finger softly catches between your folds, smearing the wetness he finds there all around, over and over, using only enough pressure to push skin, not enough to push inside.

His tongue’s been playing with your pebbled flesh just as slowly, sucking and biting lightly every so often. The teasing finger flicks over your clit, and your legs spread wider. That same whimper from when he kissed you creeps from your throat again, and Ran’s sliding that finger in you so fast.

Those noises—your genuine noises of pleasure—just really fucking get to him.

Your hand dives into his hair to pull him off and up you. This kiss is sloppy but neither hard nor fast. He pumps his finger in languid strokes.

“I don’t have condoms,” he admits, pulling back. He expects to have to go rummage through your Chanel for one, but he's surprised.

“Don’t care,” you gasp, pawing at him to climb on top of you, and he’s fucking thrilled. By now you’re drenched for him, but Ran wants to savor the feel of you all over his bare cock, slippery, tight, and warm like a custom happy ending.

Fuck, it’s nice to feel your tits bounce against his chest. Fuck, do you get handsy in this position.

He’s purposefully dragging his pelvis so you make more noise. He leaves your mouth free and nips at your neck instead, the perfect view down your body whenever he wants.

You grip at his shoulders for leverage, and he feels your hips rocking faster than his to chase your high.

“Hugh, uhh, fuck, Hugh,” you pant, walls tightening like a vice around him.

Ran growls, about to correct you, when you laugh.

You goddamn laugh.

Sure, the joyous sound is broken up by the force of his thrusts, but you’re calling him ‘Hugh’ intentionally to piss him off, in the middle of sex, you bitch.

He hates it. He absolutely hates it. He absolutely is about to come.

You do first, shouting a breathy ‘yes’ that Ran cannot concentrate on because he’s fucking furious. He’s about to erupt like a volcano, all that building pressure shoved to the base of his spine while you were lazily humping. He wishes he’d been pounding into the mattress this whole time instead. Fuck you.

Fuck him. He can’t even take out that frustration on you because he’s there.

Ransom pulls out, raises to his knees, and aims his cum and anger at you. 

Waves of ecstasy roll through him. Spurt after spurt of sticky, white rope glazes your skin until his balls are empty and his whole body is drained of feeling. He can’t even maneuver over your leg before collapsing, arching his back to avoid his own mess, his face buried in the crook of your neck. 

“Shit,” he groans against your sweaty skin, as beautiful to taste as it is to look at.

Your hands cradle his head for a few long seconds as he recovers, but he needs to get up. He needs to go to the bathroom. He needs to not be stuck between your legs or held in your arms for a minute.

He has no words. He has no thoughts. He just has emptiness. It’s far more peaceful than it should be. It’s more peaceful than he deserves.

So once clean, Ransom goes back to bed.

He makes a point to act asleep when you return from the bathroom, and you don’t bother to touch him in any way. That’s good. That’s a good thing, he reminds himself. Slowly, like everything tonight, fatigue overtakes his anger, and Ran falls asleep.

You wake before him in the morning. The bed is already cold beside him, so Ransom has no idea how he ended up being positioned overnight. He thinks he would know if he accidentally spooned you, but he would have thought so last time, too. Your gown and clutch are still in his room, so he expects to find you around. Since you cook, he half-excites at a homemade breakfast until seeing your blank stare over tea.

You’re wearing one of his sweaters, mug warming your hands, curled up on a corner of his couch with your phone by your side. Outside the wall of windows is plain greenery, thin woods that appear lush with leaves.

He likes that view, too. He likes watching you view it. He likes that even though you clearly found things to make you comfortable, you haven’t left an imprint on his space. He likes that you aren’t needy, really, and that you’ll leave soon because you’ll have something to do. 

Ransom doesn’t have to take care of you. He doesn’t have to care.

He’ll never get sick of you when you’re gone this much. There’s a weird benefit in you being admired by—and being slightly intimidating to—his family. You’re Harlan’s neighbor, for fuck’s sake.

He’s been standing, watching you watch out the windows, in his boxers for who knows how long when the doorbell rings. You jump up, an apology on your lips, and scramble to the door.

“Dubois, I told you not to make noise,” you hiss at your driver. You called your own car service to pick you up before Ran even woke up.

“I did text you, ma’am.”

After checking your phone, you sigh. “I see. I’m sorry. I must have missed it. Thank you for bringing these.”

Your driver hands over a garment bag.

“I’ll only be a minute,” you say, but to whom, Ransom isn’t sure.

He eyes you retreating to the bathroom and only turns back when Dubois clears his throat.

“Your paper, sir.”

“Right,” Ran mutters, snatching the bundle away.

You weren’t fucking kidding. You’re out of his room with all your stuff in hand in record time. Dubois dutifully takes whatever you hand him to the waiting car, and you’re left holding his sweater.

“I can have this dry-cleaned and sent back, if you want.”

“That—“ Ransom looks you up and down. You’re in a black pants suit, a pale pink blouse, with the yellow diamond jewelry from last night on again. It works. “—won’t be necessary,” he finishes.

You don’t put your golden heals back on. You carry them to the car while walking down his drive on your tip toes, smiling as Dubois helps you in.

Since it’s right there, Ran puts on the same sweater you just handed him. He can smell your perfume though you weren’t wearing it long. He wonders how the scent didn’t bother him yesterday if it was strong enough to last the whole night.

He finds the one thing you left behind and out of place, a half-drunk tea, and takes it as a sign. You aren’t perfect. That, and you didn’t mention a single other thing than whether or not you should clean his clothing.

He doesn’t know if you’re going to work or to the airport. He doesn’t know where or when he’ll see you next. You didn’t even thank him, but he’s not sure what he wants to be thanked for.

Ransom makes his own drink and sits at the same spot on the couch, his favorite spot, ready to read the paper. He flips through the pages, a sweetly scented sleeve tucked up to his nose while he leans forward.

Nothing interests him until a photo, a photo of you obviously. The announcement is for your charity’s third annual soup kitchen event. You’ve never mentioned it, and it’s two weeks away. Ran’s salty and grumbling into his own mug that you didn’t ask him to participate.

Why don’t you ever ask him to do anything? He’s proven just as useful as whatever pay-by-the-hour model has been out of town. Ran’s been diligent about remaining welcome in most circles, even if he’s not well-liked.

He can spoon soup into a fucking bowl, that’s for damn sure.

So it’s settled. Ransom will go to your event. He’ll just say Harlan asked for the publisher’s presence to be noted. This way, he can keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t burn yourself out on caring for those people, and make sure you don’t give away the shirt off your back simply to please someone.

You’re wrong, and he’s right. That’ll show you. That’ll prove his way is better.

a/n: Hoooo boi. I am ridiculously proud of this but also so exhausted this week...and it's only Monday. I also need you to know that I puttered along and then said these exact words: "Oh, fuck. It's 6K."

[Last Part *Ro is a liar. Just a huge fuckin' liar.* Part Three]

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