#and RItzy's just rolling with it

[astralnymphh]

stuff you up ౨ৎ

aestras thanksgiving smut special

' so who's getting stuffed, you or the turkey? '

HELP PALESTINE . DO NOT BUY TLOU2

♡. summary; fuck the festivities, who actually cares about all that sappy shit. instead, embark a newly founded festivity– fucking your girlfriend up in the dusty memory of your old bedroom~ ♡. a\n; late af as fuck but just a fun little smut, nothing too serious, a bit rushed but here y'all go ♡. CW; groping under the table, fingering (r), clit stim (r), strapping (r), horndog!ellie, dom!ellie, tipsy!ellie, risky sex (joel almost catches u), cock referred as 'her' + referred as ellies, cocktip teasing, ass grabbing, some ass smacking, some plot, jokey bickering, readers a bit bratty, a slight brat-taming moment if you squint, mouth muffling, squirting, petnames; babe, baby, babygirl, princess, good girl, (lmk if i missed anything)

♡ WC; 5.5k ♡ masterlist ♡ thanks 2 @fleshunger 4 proofreading the intro ♡

Paired minds savor the embellishing glow of lit stick candles settled before them in a ritzy manner– shedding light over plates of arraying colors. Marination that glistens, crispness that scrapes, and mushy mesas' of garlic herb potatoes that delicately slump in the cradle of a spoon. Consume with your eyes first, then your cameras– and conclusively, your rumbling tummy. 

Rather to consume what's meant to be, than to gorb the scruffy haired girl next to you– at least for now, yes? 

It's your first Thanksgiving with Ellie, being that you two only linked heartstrings this year.

You, the possibly innocent angel that you are– right now, serve clement smiles to whomever talks to you, be it Joel or some random relative who’s name only just surfed your ears this night, it doesn't matter. De rigueur, wear it well.

A baser mind– I mimic regret while telling you this– tumbles far from the garden of Eden and slips away into a daunting realm, the underworld. By under, I mean downstairs, below the button, the internals. Ellie straight up, served hot, was just bursting with hormones. The tender meat oozing with buttery slick melt fell short in maintaining the contact of those chartreuse eyes, instead, suffering the envy of them rooted to your thighs beneath the oak. 

Noses immerse themselves in salty goodness, eyes feast before gobs could, rolling molars gnaw turkey off the tines of forks, but her, her cunts' the only organ thinking right now.

Especially while seated adjacent to you, her clit was throbbing past the hard material of her jeans.

"You both settlin' in your new apartment?" Joel's bellowed drawl carries over the other muted chatter, low in the background.

"Mhm," your hum slopes and rises behind lips sealed to a glass rim, then part with a smack, "Ellie’s definitely settled more than me." ending with a giggle.

Her ear pivots from you, dirt–dappled nose at the fore, "Oh? What's that 'spose to mean babe?"

"Can't keep your hands off that shiny new Playstation, hmm?" 

"Tchh– you bought it for me." replied her with a skosh of sass.

"That I did."

"Uh–" Joel bumbles.

Els drones out, "Andd all my video games–"

"Where's my thank you?" you pout in frolick, forwarding your face for her view.

Hmph.

Her miffy eyes bounce around her skull hence to piloting back on yours, her own pout puffing, "Okayy, here," she sighs lowly, nosing her lips down to pucker a peck– smacking together.

A shared hum in approval vibrates between the bond of skin, half–approval, a kiss was meager in your book of play, and you felt particularly playful this eve.

With a finished kiss, leaves your mouth to mouth a sneaky little quip, fruitful in a whisper, "Didn't hear a thank you~"

"Hmm?"

"Els.." 

Faces still bathing in transferring warmth, her breath hitches on your mid–face, a sigh to end all worries, "You'll see, just wait." Her voice cracks a bit, silken on your ears.

Waiting wasn't even on the table. 

Not when a brawny hand suddenly gropes your inner–thigh, squeezing the fat in little wags.

Give thanks to whomever, thank fuck for being at the tables edge, where nobody else could witness this.

"Anywho–" Ellie grogs her throat clear of those debaucheries, returning to her normal seated poise, "yeah, like, we're settled– thanks for helpin' us find that place." her pitch heightens, flowing into a nosy chuckle.

"Course, kiddo." softly spoken off Joel’s sentiments, but minding less attention and returning his mouth to something more, toothsome. Foodsome.

Goddess, her grip is mighty.

Devious fingers– they found their way, quick. Fingers such as hers, waxy and pale, rigid and calloused, stamping up your hip and giving firm pressure to the bone. Knuckles flushed of pigment, they dig around the crest wanton, nudging you slightly.

"Seriously?" you spit through grit teeth, wiggling your hips in reaction.

Ellie harks your mutter, tugging those smug corners into a cocky smile as her nervy nature would plant her in, naughty–toothed smile, "Huuh?" that bastard coos, "what's wrong babe?"

"You dickhead." 

"Me, dickhead?"

"Yes, you, dickhead."

"That's a lot of dicks n' heads, what is it with you and dicks n' heads?" she creeps her face closer, squinting dumbly– which only made her onslaught of 'heads and dicks' more peeving now that you really loured at her.

Grimacing at her dense brows queller than a storm, blushy nostrils taunting in a wiggle, it subtly made sense– impish coquetry. The kind of shit you toss like a game of ball, prior to the main event. An event, to be seen.

"Why you givin' me that look, huh?" she squints lower in return, flaring her nose, "Do I have a dick for a head?" 

"I would not kiss you if that were the case," you claim advantage of her closeness and peck her goofish scowl, forcing a crescent to spry on that mouth, "Dork."

Hooks on your hip palpate harsher on the jut, her thumb swiping where the cushion and your butt cleft. Pressure given, when words pique her interest.

"Babe," Els murmured with fry in her chords, "d'ya want it?"

"It?" you gulp.

"Mhm.." thrummed she, eluding, "c'mon, you know.." said with that chilling husk, whew.

Okay, maybe it's clearer–than–a–midsummers–noon clear, that Ellie was a tad tipsy. Pink worm of hers just couldn't resist the samplage of some bourbon, sweet oakey notes that evoke memories of bourbon skies hence, quite the beautifying thought. Skies where you play a shrouded silhouette to her line of sight, tapping thumb to chin in ponder. Ponder, pondering.. for what were you pondering those sunsets?

Yet now you lacked a ponder on whatever the hell she was hinting to, only for it to ferment suddenly.

"Ellie, what are you on–"

"My fingers," a blurt wets her whistle, cocking her head dear to your poor ear, "do you want.. my fingers– in.." you feel her dual digits dive in the crevice of your thigh and groin, curling snugly.

"Ellie.." you hiss, pinching your brows in honest bewilderment.

Her pinkie roves over the bulge of your crotch and punctures the inseam right above your clit, stinging the little bud– which throbbed at her press.

"Do you?" her breath wanes, speech sedated with the aim of persuading you.

Contemplation was considered– maybe too carefully, maybe not. Problem one, legitimately most if not all of your family was within spitting distance of you, but on the other hand, the gutsy hand, weighed her offer slacker than a greedy businessman. In precis, her puppy eyes of coveted sanction, rears triumph. Dickhead.

A caught gulp squeezes down your gullet, puffing your chest out, "Mhm.." 

"Okay.. mhh–" she giggles with husk, creasing up as her lithe fingers trace and wrest your fly open, skulking her hand beneath the hood, "Just focus on dinner baby, I got this.." wisped soft, kindred to cashmere.

The unyielding stretch of your denim fastens around your hips in the act of her palm ramming inside, yanking you forward. Pursing your lips in elated exhales, you try, try to winch meat to mouth and void the tamping of your clit, try as you might– the pleasure is dire.

Ellie’s prints depress a lewd discovery, the stub of her smaller knuckle thickens itself in leaky panty, secreting from your eager hole. A discovery, worth a hushed gasp, "Ooh? Wet already babe? God damn.."

"Shut.. up.." choked you, only reaping a laugh from her.

"Fuck, I do all this?"

"Duh."

"Hehe– fuck that's hot.."

She withdraws her fingers half–way, to slither them under your panties. And without a foraged bit of foreplay, dilates your labia with her furled digits loading inside of you.

A squishy nub brushes your sweet spot.

Your pipes in turn swell with sharp intake, wall of your throat cooling instantly. Fuck, bona fide fuck. Enormously fucked when her pumps wreak gentle squelches from your dewy core.

"Jesus, mhphh.." a gruff of air susurrus from her, starkening her torso in an 'appeasingly normal' angle so she may, blend in, bemusing your mother with small–talk, "So, d'you always have a gathering this big on Thanksgiving?"

Out of all people, really, Els? 

She indulges with a smile, purely answering, "Oh yeah, every year– whole family, too many relative I suppose." fading erratically into a giggle.

"Heh– ‘least you got a big house, shitt– I mean," In spite of sounding casual, slips into a grit curse when your wet walls clench her in, "–dang, what I wouldn't give to live here, right babe?"

A mere butt of her elbow nearly dips you into the waters of appearing– deviant of natural, those slender digits, twisting a tender knot inside. She pumps at a canter, lesser than brisk, swifter than a slug. Beat, beat, beat to your g–spot, akin to the pitter, pitter, pat of your whizzing heart.

"Y–yeah, soo jealous, even though I did as a kid.." laughing it off awkwardly, a bask of 'Please let that be the only time I talk.' relief uplifts your sunk gut, momentarily.

"You still eating well livin' on your own?" your mother queries, tuning that time–old maternal charm.

"I mean, d–decent, enough–"

Ellie thrusts her fingers faster, fashioning a trickle of ooze to froth out onto your underwear. Pacified by the sensations, you clamp tighter, knocking a winded hitch to your staggering speech. Fucking inconvenient. Olives of her eyes binge a glint so bawdy, yet inlaid in a bad case of puppy–face, bullshit purity on her glossy lips. She knew the consequences, and consumed them like nothing.

"Pshh– decent? Babe, please, I'm like the microwave master!" exclaimed she, feigning a biggety tone atop her rasp.

You scoff, "Ah–" shuffling your thighs in light see–saw motions, "again, decent."

The knot squeezes as she finger–fucks the tranquility of mind from your pussy, staring knives at you when her supple thumb drags your clit in flicks.

"Sure it's not good?"

"Mh–mh.."

"Like, really good?"

No way she was referring to the microwave meals anymore.

Your mother intrudes softly, "Honey I can start bringin' you my homemade food if it's not–"

"It's okay, she's just playin' around–" Ellie replies before a vowel can flutter your lips, proceeding to eye–fuck you with a smug visage, "she loves my cooking." she rasped, eyes slimly showing.

All you can spotlight on is her gropey hands, jerking you like some toy, it felt too fucking good. Too pleasant to snuff, too divine to scold, exhilarating to your veins sore with salaciousness. Then, you route back to a ponder, what more could she stipulate? 

"M' gonna go to the bathroom," you swat her hand out and jostle your fly up, netting a coo of amusement from Ellie– secretly.

"You good babe?" she vocalizes after, keeping her pussy–prune digits free of smear.

"Come with me." purred you, hoisting from the oaken chair.

Ellie's lids arise with tangible hots– an aphrodisia densely potent of kindiling her eyes. No anointing of sanctity will ripen her intentions, nor anchor the even throb of her cunt. For a throb is a hymn, to you. She wants you, and she's going to have you. Moments and minutes hence, falter to compare in energy.

Cue her cheek pleating smile.

"Okay–" a light snort prances off her open lips, whirling her lap aside to skim through the tight wedge and stumbling to you, "which bathroom we doin'–"

"Just follow me," your voice aspires over, cusping your hand and snagging her calloused ones in the curve of it, "gonna' show you somethin'."

"Heh–" she chuckles dryly, tailgating with a gentle pull of your forearm.

You two whip around a door nook, glide through the foyer and advance upon a staircase. Your cotton–clad heels stroke wood planks beat by beat, soft wallops that carom off skyscraping maroon wine walls. Ribbons of lunar light dangle on and off your heads, crafting gauzy shrouds that mix and mingle off the corners with a bobbing ascent. Every wall laid reminiscent of a ritzy manor, a lacquer of lavish. 

The flight of stairs then ingress into a much thinner hall, in a much quainter space, and fitted to each doors awaiting enigma. Duller light spills through, glossing the path you took towards a fawny brown door– your bedroom.

Ellie espies the cleave of an abutting door, aiming a bead on with her index, "Wait– isn't that the–"

"Shh," you gingerly rustle air on locked teeth, shifting your arm towards the gilded rotund knob and twining with metal clicks and clacks, "bathroom was just a cover up."

"Oh~" 

"Hmm hm~" you kittenly croon.

The barrier pendulates sideward from your stride, only to be elbowed soundly back to a wisping shut.  You pinch the little knob's notch and, click, lock the door. An amused flit of breath pours from her agape lips, catching your wordless gist bereft of another second.

Ellie thrums that same old rasp, sweetening you up, "Real smooth babe, takin' us up here.." her feet coast her closer to you, kitty–cornering you to a rearwards stumble.

Plaster bumps, a welting sharp ridge– they trench in your ankle and up as your calves butt the wall, inevitably backed up. Trapped, positively trapped. 

"Well–" a scoff enlightens your latter words, "couldn't just stay there with you two fingers deep, hm?" and your 'hm' asks for her agreement, pitch yawing.

"Was 'gonna make it three, but.." 

"But?"

Her head shrouds yours in a gray penumbra, orangey–tint nose a scant whisker from brushing yours, and sends you into a conundrum with a mere utter, a tepid utter, "got uhh', something better for you." tying off with a willed lip bite.

"Oh really?" you moon with pep, hooking a calf around hers.

She smokily coaxes, "Fuck yeah– look." her knotty digits then cruise around her hips, meeting at her denim zipper and tugging that metal tab down. Fleeting as starlight, she thumbs the belt–band and chucks her jeans just beneath the ruck of her asscheek, chafing fabric to fabric with her lax boxers.

A lone brow quirks, expressing the fact that with the way she juts hers hips forward and palms her crotch weirdly– it reared too obvious, "Ellie, don't tell me–"

A springy mass wiggles against the front inseam, held in her teasy tauty grip– veins popping of course, "Tell youu whaat?" her words muff in hoarse laughter.

"Baby.." you exhale, adjoining a whiny moan. Ellie's such a goofy tease.

That simple mass in her crotch, was a sign– a clear, lucid, taintless and foretelling, that you were getting stuffed like a turkey tonight.

In counter, her exhale fuses with yours in dancing particles, so gentle, finer than purity made flesh, "Babe.." and such gentleness caresses your ears, a pureness forgotten in those divinity forsaken puppy eyes– pout moist.

You can't rend your pupils elsewhere, trapped like mice, you gape with encroaching arousal dowsing out your nerves– and drenching down below. Markedly, where you gaze now– her fingers tug the waistband down, exposing the bulbous green head of her cock in her boxers tight band, barely, literal orb of luster dabbled on the tip.

Now your eyes truly cannot escape.

Cotton tenderizes in lines around the bulge, her hand stroking above the shape. And the way you stare, fucks her mind good, speaking throatily, "God," a gulp bubbles, "can't stop starin' hmm?"

"Hehe– couldn't help but wear it?" you snap back.

"Yes ma'am," said off a grunt, pushing said bulge to your curious hand, pleading for a rub, "you gonna' suck her?" soothing is her tone, a breathless moan.

You coo, "Want me to?" and weasel your palm in circles, watching her pelvis follow.

"Uh'huh babe– mhh, need it.." she rolls the hem of her shirt up to her ribs, flaunting that strapping waist– perfectly toned.

Appetent with sure appetite, you nod, a nod that tows her lids down, down.. down, till the green born of her eyes rely on a thin horizon hawkeyeing you. A sliver of sparkle, eager in you. It only takes you dual bends of the knees, stamping chiffony flesh to cold oak and your fingers tucking in her underwear– to excite Ellie.

"Yeah, m'gonna suck her, suck that cock." you mouth in broken vowels, steeping breath on her firm navel pouch.

"Fuck.." she nimbly grunts and tosses her head back, tightening skin on the jounce of her adams apple, swallowing.

Giving tender pressure on her boxers, you slither them netherward until they sojourn atop her bunching jeans fixed above the knee. You swear, those quads of hers clench at your brushing touch, causing your sights to skip up on that dangling cock. Wow. The fat head pokes your nose–tip, curbing up as she cradles its silicone girth to palm.

"Hold uh'," what you expected to be 'up' erupts as a tiny grunt snuffing, eyeing her other hand concealing her lips with a muffled 'puh' to top, "there we go." that hand draws down to smear her spit along the length, squelching mildly.

"Mhh–" you hum shorn of audible sound, batting keen breath on her strap, "–so big.."

You tell her that, everytime. And everytime, she revels in that negligible fact, shutting her eyes in skin–sheathed darkness– pinpointing on how too–too hot that seems. And the way you say it? Oof.

Ellie tacks five fingerprints on your head's crown and coaxes in flits of force, easing you on, "My god, babygirl– oooh.." she relishes an oval–mouthed moan, watching your lips wrap her cockhead.

And it's warmer than anything you've gobbled so far this eve.

Balming a heat like that, tucked in her boxers so neatly and snug– it tickles your gums. Soft and pliant, your lips are, they crease and roll under as you swallow her in, impressing a pit on your tongue when they meet.

"Hhmmm.." you moan a mouthful on the frothed up silicone, dragging your lips back over to motion a bounce of your head.

"I know~" she coos to your bumble, pucking her hips with an equal piston to her pelvis, "them' lips feel goood– fuuckkk.." as if you can feel them, dork.

You clasp her thickness in hooks of your tongue, sending splotches and globs of spit to pool around your oval–ringed mouth, courtesy of her tip bumping your throat in, "Guh- guh, guh, guhh–" prods. 

Ohh, that birdsong. The quaffing of your vocal bands subject to her humps, producing a rhythmic beat to alight her hormones. Your song worthy of hearing. You wimp the swelling sink that her nails wreak, a flicker between cuspate tapering and a meek love– a calling for more.

Enlighten me a morsel of those twisted, dirty thoughts, auburnhead devil.

Leathery wads of her free digits roam hot on your pulping cheeks, chiseling out as you suck. Her fingers then find themselves arcing a tuck behind your ear, thumb printed to your temple. A dash of encourage, she presses, a truer than blue visage, she contorts ran by pleasure. Squelch, suckle, drag spit, and repeat.

Due to your stretching spread of lips taking her well, likeness of a blockade in your mouth, you couldn't speak. Obviously. So over the wish–wash of saliva, Ellie tunes you in with her filthy comments.

"Suckin' my filthy cock.. fuck–" she pauses with a gruff moan, baking in your brain deep, "gonna' make me cum so goood–" her vowel strains, clenching her pussy lips around nothing except the cool, cruel air, "yes.." 

A reed of cold nips your chin, seconds hence realization settles; you're getting sloppy. A manifestation of Els actually fucking your noggin to slosh, wouldn't spark surprise if liquid poured from your cranium at this point.

Her own arousal rots you further down, too.

With the feeling of her cock climbing near hellward down your throat, smacking on the gummy walls, and the husk her moans endure, crucifies your pussy with an ache of want. Fabric of your jeans suffers a beat, your clit, throbbing. It hurts so good and it stings so right, so tight, you need her now.

A faster bob you give, the more Ellie can't take it either. 

"Babe–" she hawks out, but fails to halt your bopping movements, "babe, fuck–" the digits parked behind the conch of your ear skip and push your jaw up, staking her cock out with a spring. 

"Ghh– schhlp, huh?" a chuck of spit muddled your words, unfurled tongue lapping up every web left by your messy, messy mouth.

Nook of her hand like a cusp to your jaw, she beckons you with a nudge, and rasps, "Up– c'mon, n'turn that ass around." 

Ass. Something about that word reverberated in you, bothered you hotly, made a tepidness leak from your cheeks. The rasp she rung it with, eyeing you with twin fern flames for irises– an approaching engulfment to marry your skin with ashen blessing, more consuming. Ass, Ash, haha.

A flutter in your hips spreads like fire across your legs. It weakens the muscle you bend, standing upright challenged resemblant of a feat, especially when Ellie's grabby gropes found purchase in the crevice of your hips, spindling you on a quick axis. It wanes the composure you hold like a goblet, dwindling to shattered shards across the floor, primarily as those bedeviled claws slot under rough woven denim and remove them false of trouble and trick– ruching to nothing at the root of your ankles.

Where happy hubbub clamors downstairs, pleased pandemonium moans upstairs.

A jut of two knobby hip bones thump into each asscheek, denting the skin into a gully. Warmth, a ligature of it rides through your backside, making you shake. Not like her hands would let you tremble, one being so immovably returned to your hip.

"Fuuck that pussy 'been waitin' for me, huh? Can just tell.." mumbles her with vocal fry, pupils ogling bare of shame at your cinched folds, clasping nothing.

"Your fault."

"Oh really?"

"Mhm.." you hum timidly.

"Gonna call me dickhead again, or–" a fat ball teases the dripping lips of your pussy, spreading them slightly and sloshing the skin around, "Is this enough?"

To give way, was a mistake, buckling your pelvis deeper on her cock which faces a grip ardent to shaft– teasing with rolls of her wrist. The cockhead, or literal dickhead, warps and smooshes against your clit as she toys with it. A whiny, "Huuh– Els.." mangles in your larynx, pitching.

"Yeah, you like that? Know you do." that damned smirk lives in her curving tone, sweet with a dash of tang. Her cock dilates your delicate folds further, exposing the velvet flesh to cold air and an intrusive visit. 

Your fiendish pussy kisses her cocktip and ceases its movement, clamping her in place, whimpering, "Mhh, ahh– ah.." 

"Hey, 'lemme go– was just getting started babe," she laughs crisply, landing a fine plume touch to your ass, "c'mon.. loosen up.."

A flux of slacken tires the muscles that clamp her in, hugging your entrance more softly around her tip.

Ellie winches weight on her knees, crouching her groin into you with a slow swerve, "There we go.." she purrs with tension in her tune, relieving a sigh when her cock pops in silkenly.

You seize up, gasping sharply, hips begging to break brittle in her grasp of iron– but iron does not deform easily. Pressure stays pressured, and digits knurl over the hill of your hip bone to prop it upright. With walls expanded on her cock like your pussy was made for her, it humbles you, belittling you to sludge in her metal caress.

"Fuuckk yeah–" she broadens her sigh of bliss, abrading on the 'K', like a crackle. Pleasure kills neutrality in the smoothest way, gathering grooves in her forehead, "y'feel so warm baby.. mhmm–" 

"That's not even your dick.." you half–way give a giggle, suppressing the moans you choke up.

A tense whistle of air sounds from Ellie's nose, a reaction of vague irritation, "Swear to god.." her tongue smacks after and a sudden thrusting of her fat cock catches your mind astray, winding those choked moans out. 

"Uhn– uh fuck, huhh–" you babble.

"Not my dick huh? Who's fucking you? Tell me, fuck– yeah?" Her words warble where skin smacks, wetness palping in obscene squelches. 

Does she really expect you to answer when her cock continually swells your cunt and abuses your g–spot? Yeah. Ellie will fuck the answer from one hole to the other, if she so feels compelled to.

But of course, you don't answer.

"Baaabeee," she taunts, "baabyyyy," and tortures, "who she getting fucked by right now, tell mee.." and fucks, cooing purer than vernal spring washed in the rain, mushing globs of pre–cum all over your cervix.

"Y-you.."

"That's right."

This feels almost violating to your vagina, to be stuffed like this. Did she size up? Get a new strap? Whatever the case presents itself as, it felt fucking good. Made you woozy, each bop she played like a drum on your sore ass, summoning a white ring of creamy sap to veil around her cock's girth. White droplets failed to envelop her cock, though, each jiggle of your muck bodies lashing beads of it onto the oak boards, your thighs, her pretty auburn bush, etcetera. Attempting to grab the wall, duh– that fails, then you scramble jittery digits across said wall, awkwardly finding a rigid door trim to grasp at long last– speak of the devil, Ellie laughs at that.

"Haha– aww, too big for you princess?" she utters to you like a dumbass, ego brimmed with the pumps her cock skids on your gummy walls, smirking with thinned lips.

Vulnerability loathes humility, "Fuck y–you."

"Sure."

Her perception of sight, harboring verdancy, drops low to your bulging hole that swallows her good– as you should, tender milk that pools inwards as she slides out, and froths a flood of slick when she humps it back to the same hole it spilled from. 

Might she indulge more sampling?

Ellie's hell–sworn index traces your swelling folds mellowly, togging a cap of pearly cum on her finger pad. Scrutinize, then she licks. Her peach lips kiss her finger softly, puckering wrinkles as she sucks the sleek off, "Sssmhpt–" her lips zip, "yeah–ha, that's what 'm taking about–" delighted, she is.

The knot in your womb begins to coil and fill, a rapturous sting impaling inside. Your folds, springing on her friction, sends a ripple to fluctuate in your ass cheek. Enticing. So enticing, Ellie grabs a handful, bloating fat strokes of your buttcheek between the webs of her delirious fingers.

"Ghh– yes.. yes–" she growls, deep in her lungs. The harness in return rubbed her clit in all the right ways, electrocuting her legs with a twitch, "arch that bsck f'me baby, c'mon– arch on my fuckin' cock–" 

Harking her, you heed. Heed with a convex draw of your back, protruding your ass out for her messy usage. That– that was the last straw, her only straw. You being so keen. Something less than a mutter of, "Good girl." was the last audible voice you could pick up, her game swapping to a faster ramming into your sloppy pussy.

"Ellie!" you wince, praying on a star, "So g–good.." you gape and fall forward, smearing slobber on the drywall.

Her cock was too much. 

A tear soaked upon that very wall, gifting it a taste of your salty heaven.

"Mhmm– god, fuck fuck fuck! You're so good, s'good t'me.." a breath shuddered, she limps forward onto you. Her pale hips still punishing with a litany of humps, now scores deeper on your gushy cervix, her drenched chest marking hot on your clothed back.

"Needa' cum– Els, babe.." why you were even asking, might flummox a future specter of yourself– purling on her thickness, feeling the endless tension pull from you in strings of cum, kissing the head of her cock, you were on the train track to cumming already. Dumbified questions really egged Ellie on, luckily.

"Yeah baby, want'chu to– all over her, she needs it, mhm–" she assures you, two foam–spit lips stamping your lobe, "feel that baby?" her elbow mounts like a belt to your hip crest, ducking under and tamping your womb, palm to pudge, and intones, "She's so fucking deep– shit.." 

Spade of her cock punching your walls, over and over, you finally snap. The added hand to your belly, sought it done. Done well, pronto. 

You convulse in tight vices to squeeze her dick, orgasm shaking you to the literal core, "Huunhh– Ellie, Els! Ssuhh– Ell–" a clammy paw wedges your mouth from splitting the walls with your uproar, fingers tender on your lips cushion.

"Shh– shh.. not so loud babe, take it easy–" snuffing you, she talks clemently, little grunts detailing you on how close she was, too, "that's it.. don't hold back baby– uh, fuck."

Her cock fucks you just right, blows you fried so easily, with every heavy lunge– you weep.

A pang twisting inside averts a sightly gaze to the beautiful coastline of darkness, pure oblivion. Fuzzy dollops of faded splotches prance your vision like a sick joke, mocking your high. You can't even croak, not even a peep, just sit back and let cum dribble from your hole, plashing her filthy cock in a sick mess.

Right on a dream–like cue, a snarled groan mauls from the deepest depth of her diaphragm, fresh on your ear, "Ghhodd– fhmm, good fuckin' pussh– mhh!" 

Splash.

Her lids squinted tight, nose flared wide, she came. In waterfalls you couldn't observe, but swore you heard. A geyser to the floor, hyaline ribbons of her precious flavor taint the floor so disgustingly, so vividly, it shines.

Guess the wine loosened both of her lips.

She usually does not cum like that.

Damn.

Muggy exasperation fans your neck in ghostly hands that wrap, a recalescent mist baying for some kind of relief in dramatic swells and shrinks her chest pushes into you. Then, something moreso flobbed, a chuckle.

"Heheh–" her fingers slip from your lax lips, tapping kittenly on your chin.

"That's was, mhh– um–" you huff, dead of air just like her.

"Good?"

"Yup, just– couldn't.. oof.." 

Her lips purse and plant a kiss to your scruff, grinning against the flesh, "Did good for me," moist smacks besmirch further, rasping, "felt so good t–"

A beating of hardy steps peals through the door's underside, sending a wash of shock over both of you abruptly.

"Fuck." Ellie's voice muffles sotto voce, darting grips to your folded hips, thumbs tacking on the streched knoll your ass provided.

You perk your ears in tune of this noise, gut instinct curls and kicks your body to move, bucking back on Els– who mind you, was still sheathed inside you.

That knocked another grunt from her, "Hmmph– don't do that– god, babyy.." she whines, runting back into you.

Hole stuffed back up, you clench your fists into a ball. This idiot.

"Ellie? You in there?" A familiar, dense, Texan drawl aptly known as Joel's, beacons from beyond the door.

That's bad.

"Shit what do I–"

"Get off, for onee–" a tense on your chords, you huff, bucking her muck sweat thighs off your hind and skidding out her cock pronto. The sudden emptiness was jarring, but, no time to waste.

"Fuck! Again–" she hisses.

You crouch your bare bum inches from the floor and swoop up the pooling pile of denim and cotton panties, rearing them up and fiddling with the metal button. Ellie followed suit, the best of her abilities– sex really fogs up her faculties, and pressed her cock plumb to her stomach as to tuck it properly her boxers, letting the band snap in place on waist– gently.

Triple knocks erupt, and then his bellow, "Kiddo?"

"We're good, we'll be down!" she calls back, eyes far from not studying your scurrying silhouette, just has to comment, "–fuck that ass." like she wanted more.

A grumbled 'Hmm' vibrates on the oak, trailed by fleeting footsteps that trudge away, thump, thump– you get it.

"Oh?" you kink your whisper, foxily, "second rounds?" and pivot around to face her.

"Mphht– not what I meant, dickhead." her voice deepens weirdly at the brink her sentence plonked upon, cocking her head with a smirk.

"Whatever." your eyes roll, capering off the room's corners.

"Hmph–" gruffed in amusement, "Cutie." gingerly steps huddle you right against that wall again, two biceps meeting warmth–to–warmth with your soaken shirts waistline.

Scoff, just scoff, "I think this is how second rounds start, liar." 

She goes all bumbly, furrowing those bushy orange brows and frisking her eyes in a roll, copycat, "Don't get me started, pleasee." she begged fakely, cadence dense.

"Too late."

"You're right." her lips, wisp to yours so perfectly timed, interlocking one pink bud under your top lip and butting noses, plushing together in tide. Even plopped a little smack to the clad meat of your ass, how sweet.

A scant hint of dinner lingered on her breath, passed to you like a spill. Makes you want to slink those stairs in one go for a different palate of seconds. But, alas, you two bet smooches on the hope of no further interruptions, scarfing up kisses like hungry dogs.

(pls lmk if u wanna be added to the perm list, some mentions didnt work!)

@whore4abby @aouiaa @ellieslittlewhore @baumbii @tlougrl @mina-281 @beabeebrie @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @nicolicht @cosmikoo @xinyaya @sawaagyapong @reinersbigolboobies @brunettedolls-blog @syrenada @fairyysoiree @p4ison1vy @nil-eena @hi2647 @disaster-bi-suki @rarestdoll @narieater @hrtmal @eudaemoniaaaa @ellie-07063 @luvfaeri @carleenaelaine @kissyslut @ellieswh0r3 @beemillss

[mrslankyman]

Failed Mission

Montague (fortnite) x (fem) reader

-> smut / unsafe sex

-> gun use

->idk shit about guns

->Montague forgot his tripod stand. Maybe your ass would work better

->2k words

(request)

Too bad working for the Society meant going on missions with the most annoying man ever. 

Montague. 

His french accent: annoying 

His outfit: ugly

The way he nitpicks everything: infuriating 

He never wanted to listen to You. He never got the right things on the list for the mission. Always forgetting something. Last time he forgot the sticky bombs. Wonder what he will forget this time. It was just a steak out mission. 

There was a rumor that The Under Ground would be attacking Lavish Lair today. That’s how you found yourself on top of one of the snowy mountains that surrounded the mansion. Montague right next to you. His supplies are back in the Jeep. The two of you were just watching below. Trying to see if anything suspicious or off was going on. 

You both just sat in the snow. You mentally hated it. Back at your mansion there was no snow. You lived closer to Ritzy Rivera. So coldness wasn’t something you cared for. Montague on the other hand? He must be as cold as his heart. 

“Wait.. I see something.. I think it’s that Hope girl Valeria talked about.” He got up spraying snow all over. Some of it landed on you, letting out an annoyed groan when you got up. He walked over with his Sniper Rifle. 

Here we go. 

He loaded it and held up the gun. Until he noticed one thing. 

He had the wrong scope. So aiming to hold it up wasn’t going to happen. He shook too much.

Mistake number two.

He didn’t even bring the tripod.

“What now? Did you forget something again?” Your voice was laced with annoyance already. 

“Yes, in fact I did. I have the wrong scope.” He looked over at you as he spoke. Eyeing you up and down in thought. 

“So? Get the tripod and aim the best you can.” You rolled your eyes as if it was obvious. 

“I didn’t bring it.” His voice was lower now. Almost menacing. He was obviously annoyed at you too but he had an idea.

“So what now? I only have my AR that isn’t going to do shit from up here.” You practically yelled at him. He did this too often. 

“I’ll tell you what we're gonna do. Get on your knees.” He demanded pointing near the edge of the cliff. “What the hell, why?” You questioned glaring at him. 

“Just do it, trust me.” He kept pointing at the spot. He was far too strong to deny. He could just shoot you right now if he wanted too. So you listened and groaned as you let your knees sink into the cold snow. You mentally thought of ways to get him back. Maybe on another mission you could dump cold water on him or-

You were cut out of your thoughts when he shoved you down to the ground completely with his foot. Your face shoved into the snow and your arms slid down.

Your back end was arched up, ass in the air. You spit out snow as you lifted up your head. Using your hand to wipe off the snow. “What the fuck is your idea?” You looked back at him as he got on one knee. Laying the barrel of the sniper on your ass.

“Put your head down or i’ll blow it off.” He warned and watched you slowly lower your head.

“Hurry up.” You groaned. What the fuck kind of idea is this. 

Montague on the other hand was having a hard time aiming right. One reason; you were moving too much.

Another?

He was staring at your ass. The position he got you in so easily. You both always got annoyed at each other and got into fights. Yet you both always chose to do missions together despite the hatred. With hatred comes tension. Sometimes the tension feels a little too sexual. 

His eyes wandered from the target below to you to the target.

Once he finally focused in he got a good aim. His hand on the trigger ready to blow this Underground agent's head off you moved.

“Fuck!” He yelled pointing the gun's muzzle at your head. “Stop fucking moving.” He growled as he watched you freeze. You knew his dumb ass would never pull the trigger. But it did scare you slightly. 

“My bad i’m in the freezing fucking snow with an idiot using my ass as a tripod for his fucking gun!” You yelled not even looking at him. Keeping your face forward as you felt the gun move from your head. It was replaced by his hands gripping your hair. He pulled you back to his chest. He dropped his sniper and leaned into your ear. 

“Stop talking back.” His accent slurred most of his words when his voice was this low with anger. His other hand laid on your thigh.

“What are you gonna do if I don’t? Shoot me?” You smirked as him tugging on your hair didn’t make you scared. It makes your mind wander to other things. He was also losing his focus on the mission. His eyes looked down at you, how your lips slightly parted and you looked up at him fully. His hand tangled in your hair. 

“No, I might do something else though.” He warned his eyes were half lidded now. The feeling of you pressed to his chest made him feel things he tried to ignore when around you. Now he was letting those feelings go freely. 

“What is something else, Montague?” Your voice closed in a whisper as you got to his name. If only you knew how that drove him crazy. He could feel himself hardening. Dick straining against his dress pants. 

“You really wanna do this?” His question was almost a whisper as he leaned his head down closer. His stubble looked so much better up closer. His blue and brown eyes looking into yours. The scar made him look menacing despite the blush on his cheeks. 

His frosted tipped hair moved with the motion of the icy wind. 

“Maybe I do.” Your hand moved on top of his hand that was laying on your thigh still. That gave him the answer he needed.

He closed the gap between you two and let his lips engulf yours. All the feelings of anger, annoyance, and sexual tension went into the kiss. All the times you two argued and got into each other's faces now came to a close. Any time you two argue after this it is surely going to end the same way this mission is going to end. 

His hand moved yours off his as he slid it further down to the inside of your thigh. His hand in your hair pulling your head back further. He didn’t really like his angle of kissing. He wanted to grab your face and shove his tongue into your mouth. 

Despite that desire he kept you in this position. 

You pulled away from him and gasped slightly. He went to lean back in wanting, no needing more of you. He wanted your lips back on his. He actually wanted them all over his body. 

“It’s too cold for this.” You sighed, you could feel his hard dick against your ass. Or was it his belt? Either way it was extremely hard. 

“Why not?” He practically begged. His voice was still low but it had a desperate array to it. He wanted you now. He didn’t wanna wait. 

“Let’s go to the Jeep.. come on. Je veux te baiser.” He cooed in your ear his french accent even more prominent as he spoke in his native tongue. “What does that mean?” You asked, laughing slightly.

He got closer to ear his hot breath tickling your neck. 

“I want to fuck you.” His voice was so low and husky you could feel yourself throbbing. 

“Then take me to the Jeep.” You whispered back and without a second thought he had lifted you up and was trudging through the snow to the Jeep. You littered his neck with wet sloppy kisses before he laid you down in the back seat. You scooted to the other seat as he crawled in. He leaned up to the passenger seat and grabbed the lever. Shoving it all the way to the front to give himself more room. 

He loomed over you and smirked. “I want you on my lap now.” He growled and sat back in the seat. You crawled up to sit on his lap. He spread his legs out a little more. His diamond belt buckle really added to his outfit. 

You leaned closer and kissed him. His medallion hitting your chest as you got closer. He kissed back. His plump lips moved with yours in such a needy fashion. He wanted you so badly. He wanted to fuck you so hard you’d forget about any other man who ever pleased you. 

He pushed you back and took a breath. You took this pause to unbuckle his belt. Undoing his dress pants and just pulling out his dick from his boxers. You didn’t bother pulling his pants down. You just pushed the flaps of his pants to the side and his belt. He helped you slide off your pants quickly and underwear. He stared at you before leaning his head back against the headrest of the seat. 

He grabbed your hips and lifted you over his perked up dick. “You ready?” He asked as he slid one hand down to line himself up with your entrance. 

You nodded and slid down on him. You bit your lip holding back your moan. Montague on the other hand? He let his moan echo in the car. He didn’t hold back on the noises. He hadn’t fucked someone in so long. 

He was too busy keeping the Society in order. He loved how your pussy tightened around his dick. This feeling was better than any successful heist he had ever been on. Money made him have a happy feeling but this pussy made him want to live. 

He wanted to wake up every day knowing he could fuck you when ever you wanted. 

He wanted to please you instead of annoy you. 

He made a mental note to forget the tripod again.

“Montague..” You let his name slip out of your mouth in a high pitch moan. He grunted and slurred out random words or phrases in french. You didn’t understand them but you assumed they were good. 

He held you still by the hips and slammed his dick up in you. Letting his hips go up and down ramming his dick into you. You both let out moans of pleasure. He slid one of his gloved hands down and used his thumb to make slow circle motions around your clit. 

“Fuck.. I’m gonna cum..” You squealed as you felt yourself coming undone with each thrush of his dick. He groaned in agreement and grabbed your face with his free hand. Slamming his lips to yours in a passionate kiss. He moaned as he felt you cum on his dick. His motions became sloppy and he moved in and out at different paces. You watched his face scrunch up in pleasure and a low “oh fuck” came out of him before he pulled out and came on his vest. 

Good thing he had 500 others.

He looked you in the eyes as you both calmed down from your highs.

“Oscar can defend himself.” He chuckled and pulled you back to him.

[ofc-vi-writes-too]

so all ive been able to think about is gotham for the past several days, and more specifically how gothamite culture has to be SO drastically different and jarring to literally anywhere else in the world. Like even other super cities like metropolis, or central city, or wherever else are at least KINDA normal. Like yea u have superman or wonderwoman or the flash but they dont really have to deal with the same level of bs as Gotham.

That being said here are a list of things that I think are extremely normal to Gotham, and other things that happen in thay horrible little city:

• the episode of Hot Ones with Brucie Wayne where no one thinks he’ll even be able to stand the 2nd or 3rd wing but he eats all of them with no reaction, and Sean Evans (or the in universe equivalent) just sits there like “wow no one has ever had literally no reaction before this is really crazy, and Bruce Wayne of all people?” Afterwards Bruce has second thoughts and realizes that maybe he should have played up his reaction to the spice a bit more. People Inside of Gotham are a little shocked because everytime he eats in public it is the most boring, bland, flavorless food imaginable. (he handled the spice so well because Batman is ready for all potential threats and forms of torture. Ridiculous levels of spice included)

• Gotham schools offer courses in self defense. In some school districts its actually mandatory, thats usually in old gotham or downtown gotham. In more affluent areas, self defense is still taught in schools, but most kids are sent to some ritzy trainer to make sure they can defend themselves.

• No one even blinks when theres a new vigilante by the time Damian comes around. Theres still a little buzz but by the time Duke shows up, people are like “Oh cool another one. HEY BRO WHATS YOUR NAME.” I saw someone post here about how when the Wayne kids get mad at Bruce, they go to Selina and make public appearances as Stray, Catwomans sidekick. I personally believe that Tim was the first one to do it but Dick does it the most, and gothamites didnt even need to get used to Stray showing up sometimes, nor did people really care that Stray was always wildly different heights, shapes, colors, etc. the additude is kinda like “I have taxes and job security to worry about. If a new vigilante is what were doing then so be it.”

• People tend to think that Gothamites aren’t smart, but that city is home to the Richest, smartest, most creative people alive. They mostly just lack morals. Like Dr. Freeze, Harley Quinn, hell even The Riddler are all insanely intelligent. Half of Gothams Villains have at minimum 2 Doctorates in something or other. Gotham generates a lot of cash as a whole, and small businesses thrive there. They have high employment rates, and most citizens have their associates despite everything happening around them. People who have never been to Gotham before expect to have to talk down to the citizens but Gothamites just kinda roll their eyes at them and carry on about their merriment.

• Gothamites CONSTANTLY says “because I’m Batman” when they don’t want to explain themselves. Kids hear it a lot from parents and they also get “If you don’t go to sleep, Condiment Man i gonna come and cover you in stinky relish.” Because truly what else is condiment man good for.

• Gothamites who work at BatBurger and typically work the night shift are used to visits from Batman, Robin, Red Hood, Cat Woman, Harley Quinn, etc. Sometimes they remember the workers and ask about their family, and how life is, and other things like that. Theres some barely 18 y/o who just graduated high school who worls at Bat Burger, and asked Red Hood to help him impress his gf by saying theyre friends. He like fuck it why not and tells the gf that the kid helped him save an old lady’s cat in a tree and now theyre bffs. She totally believes it. Score.

• I see the Gotham thinks Batman is Bruce Wayne’s boyfriend theories and raise you: Its pretty common knowledge that Bruce Wayne is Batman, just no one has the heart to tell him. Also theyre scared he will quit if anyone brings it up. So from this Gothamites created the joke that BW and batman are dating and when asked about it in an interview, dick grayson is like “……yes! My adoptive father is dating the guy who dressed up like a bat every night…!”

• this cuased and arguement between Bruce and Dick because no! Bruce isnt dating Batman! (stray was seen again that week) HE IS BATMAN! But fuck now the public thinks theyre a couple so now bruce gets asked about it and hes like “haha yes my spooky bat bf is who i love very dearly!” As punishment He makes Dick bring him flowers in the batsuit because “as far as he is concerned, this is his shithead son’s fault.” Thats a direct quote btw. Little does he know this somehow ties back to Tim Drake before they met.

[liveontelevision]

Tap Out Vox X Reader

Ok, I am in LOVE with this god dam TV head lookin ass, so here's a quick one shot of him being an absolute Sub! Mess!

------

The All-Mighty Vees were the central powerline for entertainment and technology in Hell, but even those three dorks liked to have fun. Sometimes, they would play poker games on their rare nights off that miraculously lined up. Of course, money means nothing to these business partners, so they like to bet on favors. There were times when Valentino would lose to Velvette, who would get to use his studio for a day, or Valentino would get to borrow some of Velvette's actors for a shoot, little things like that; things that would be considered a minor inconvience. Until tonight, that is.

•••

Velvette created a sort of dancing competition program, and it was booming in Hell. The show was spiced up with a stage covered in landmines, falling spikes, randomly shooting arrows, etc. Contestants were judged by their talent and if they came out in one piece by the end of the routine. The season finale was fast approaching, but Velvette was lucky to get a quick game of poker in between her packed schedule. With her cunning and wit (and some cards under the table), Velvette managed to weasle a win from Vox. He was never one to complain about carrying through with these favors, so Velvette took the chance to bring her program to the next level.

"You have to compete!" She declared with pride, her hands slamming on the table, with a sly smirk. "It'll be easy, i'll get someone to train and. but i need a hook for this finale, and your dashin' face would be perfect. And! I'll pair you with my best dancer, eh? How's that sound, love?" She explained, showing no sign of wavering. She clearly had this planned ahead of time.

"Fuck me, Velvette." He squints, throwing his cards behind his shoulder. "Fine.. i guess the publicity will boost viewers on both our fronts- " He groans and crosses his arms over his chest. "- Hate to admit it, but i haven't been tuning in, doll. So, who's this dancer i'm stuck with?"

•••

You arrived in hell after a life of drugs, sex and booze. You always joked about going to Hell. It was obvious you wouldn't make the cut into heaven. What you definitely werent expectingbwas for Hell to look just like the busy and messy streets of the ritzy cities you would party in. With absolutely no shame or doubt, you were quick to work your way up in the industry to work for the Vees. You started with Valentino, working up quite an audience in that field. And he didn't even make a contract! You said yes to anything, so really, there wasn't a point. That grew to helping Velvette with some small rolls in some shows, then moved up to you, performing and acting often. You were the lead singer of a band in your life, and you had quite a few talents hidden up your sleeve. Truly, a perfect byproduct of the Vees. Once Velvette pitched the show to you, you immediately auditioned as always and were quick to get in.

Weeks pass, and you're finally in the top 3 of the show! You were a solo dancer throughout, but with the routines provided, you were required to find a dance partner. Velvette to the rescue, somehow managed to bag the other Vee, Vox himself. You'd be lying if you said this didn't get you excited.

During one of the dress rehearsals, you were finally able to work your routine with Vox. Sure, you've met him before and said hi in passing, even going out with the Vees for some press events, but you never expected to get this close to him. Velvette would provide some amazingly embarrassing footage of his dance lessons. The two of you couldn't help but giggle at the powerful demon, getting so frustrated to music. Still, seeing his towering figure made you siddently nervous to have such intimate contact with him.

He came into the rehearsal space with a black turtle neck and pants, going along with some heeled boots that he'd have to wear during the performance. No matter how nicely those tight clothes hugged his figure, it was immediately disheartened by the scowl on his face. You couldn't help but hold in a laugh, picturing the compilation of videos that Velvette had previously shown you of his many failed lessons.

You weren't wearing much, a lilac cropped tank top and some yoga shorts that almost seemed too small, as well as strappy jazz shoes that you had to wear doing the final performance. This get-up made Vox look you up and down when he finally meets with you face to face. His unethusiastic expressions made him look more childish and grumpy than intimidating.

To you, at least.

"So! Pleasure to work with you, sir. Can't wait to see how you keep up with me." You commented smugly, reaching a hand out for a formal handshake. He scoffs and brushes your hand away before simply walking off to discuss something with Velvette. You crossed your arms across your chest and huffed, letting some random assistant tie your hair up as you glared in his direction.

After Velvette scolded him on something you didn't hear, the rehearsal began. Since your usual style was fast pased and almost always involved some sort of sexual overtone, the plan was to choreograph something intimate to create a sort of power couple for people to route for. This involved a lot of close contact that you and Vox were immediately struggling with. With movements that involved swinging you around, dipping you, and generally keeping you close to his chest, it was no simple task for two demons with a competitive streak.

After hours of eventually getting the choreography down, the main notes involved the constant glares you two were giving each other.

"Hey! You owe me this, I won game night! So make this work, fucker!" Velvette was getting fed up with Vox at this point and there was a scheduled photo shoot for some promo images coming up, so you had to break anyway. You went into your dressing room to change into your costume for the shoot. A slinky red sequence dress with a tightened corset that hugged your hips and stopped right at the point where you had to pull it down every so often as to not flash anyone. Paired with some fishnets and black shiney jazz shoes. It was simple compared to some of the stuff Velvette's had you wear, but it'll definitely draw some eyes when plastered on a big enough billboard.

Finally reaching the studio after hair and makeup battered your face, you got a look at Vox. He wore a white button-up that was neary opened down to his clavicle, where the red belt of a tuxedo hugged his waist, tying your outfits together. He cuffed his sleeves while waiting for some kind of direction. You couldn't help but pause to take in some of his features that you've never seen before. The bare skin of his chest and the strong arms that led into the same blue claws that were just around your waist during rehearsal. He caught you staring and knew exactly what was going on in your head. His first response was to send you a smirk that you couldn't decipher as harmless or not. You both snap out of your gaze when Velvette yells in some directions to push you into the camera's frame.

You were menuvered physically, someone essentially adjusting your position until it looked right. The final pose had your chest flush to his, and your leg hiked up his body as you swung backward to look at the camera. Vox was there to hold you in place by gripping underneath your thigh and having a tight hold onto your waist. It was difficult, but after multiple other provocative positions, the shoot was finally done. The two of you quickly pulled away from each other, smothered by the clashing energy.

"This'll have to do, i guess. Okay, flat face, you're good for today. The next rehearsal is tonight, now shoo." Velvette doesn't even look up from the screen in front of her as she nearly throws the two of you out of her studio. The door shut with a slam after you stumbled directly into Vox. He had grabbed onto your forearms, forcing your hands to lay on his chest to brace your fall. You quickly pushed off of him to stand straight, crossing your arms and stubbornly looking away. The tightened laces of your dress pushed your cleavage up a bit, giving a lovely show for the TV demon that towered over you.

He lets out a sigh of disgust after snapping his gaze away from your body. "Knock it off, will you? You're acting like a brat." He hissed at you, beginning to walk towards the hallway with the dressing rooms. You quickly stumbled in the same direction, attempting to keep up with his long strides.

"Fuck you, Vox! I'm just trying to do my job!" You quickly retorted, finally walking alongside him, your arms crossed again. He takes another quick glance at your body, unfortunately getting caught. "And stop that, you freak! You'vs been eyeing me up all day, you might as well fuck me in the dressing rooms if your so interested in my tits." You snapped at him, but your last response gave Vox a wicked idea. He wasn't one to refuse a challenge.

"Sure, we've got time, doll." He shrugs off the comment as you start to turn into your room. You quickly turned your body to face him, an angry yet reddened expression on your face.

"Seriously, fuck you." You muttered, turning to enter your dressing room. You go to open your door before you're cornered against it by Vox's arms, caging you in. You turn back to face him, trying to appear disgusted even with the heat crawling over your cheeks.

"If you think you can handle it, sweetheart." He smirked down at you, enjoying watching you squirm more than he'd like to admit. It finally evolved into an unspoken game of chicken. You took your doorknob and opened the door, letting the two of you fall in. Aware of your action, you slid back to keep Vox from falling onto you. He stumbled forward while glaring at you, still not planning on backing down. But neither were you.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt and smashed your lips against his. It felt like a cold screen for a moment before quickly melting into the sensation of physical lips. He was shocked by the bold move but has played this game all too many times. It was always easy for Vox to charm or hypnotise his way out of a situation like this, but his competitive spirit was strong. He was quick to lift you up from under your legs and essentially drop you onto the vanity. The wood hit your tailbone with a thud, and you let out a flustered yelp into his lips. Your arms quickly found their way to his shirt, untucking it until it loosely hung around him. He lifted himself away from you but was still close enough for your legs to be nearly draped around his hips. He began to unbotton his shirt that you had so kindly untucked.

"You sure you wanna keep this up, sweetie? I wouldn't want to overwhelm you or worse -" he leaned in, becoming uncomfortably close to your ear. "- injure you before your big show." The threat only made your blood boil, but a flashing light caught your eye. His chest was dark, with glowing blue circuits that occasionally seemed to flicker.

"As if. You couldn't even keep up with me even if i was injured." You spoke smugly, trying to keep your cool while denying the heat pooling in between your legs. He scoffs and starts to undress you, while you assisted. It was aparently a two person job, with an unspoken understanding that Velvette would kill both of you if the dress was ruined in anyway. After it was safely tossed the side, Vox was quick to start running his claws along the curves of your body. You pulled him impossibly closer, your legs nearly wrapping around his hips. You tried your hardest to stifle any response to the claws trailing down the center of your stomach. Finally, you pushed him away, letting your hands lead him to fall back on some decorative couch that was nearby. You were quick to straddle him, feeling the buldge in his pants to gauge how much of an upper hand you had.

"Aw, was the idea of fucking me on my own vanity getting you all excited?" You asked him in a teasingly sweet voice, running your hands along the bottom of his screen, then tracing your hand down towards his pants.

"I could ask you the same thing." He muttered, taking a hold of your hips and pullimg them closed towards his groin. You were quick to lift your hips off his lap, pushing his back fully against the backrest and breaking that contact. You let out a deceivingly sweet chuckle, before planting a small kiss on his neck. His skin really was metal, no matter the heat you felt through his pants. It was cold to your lips, but once you noticed a reaction from him, you just had to keep it up.

His breath became a bit heavier as his hands slid down to your ass, squeezing his clawed fingers into it almost to the point of skin breaking. You tried your best to not let a noise out, luckily your face was hidden in the nook of his neck and his shoulder. Even with his robotic anatomy, his skin was melting with each mark, bite and kiss you left on his chest. The action of covering his chest in the bright red lipstick you wore, brought the both of you closer to together, your hips finally meeting his again. As your chests became flush, you looked back up to him, seeing the eyes on his monitor glazed over, somehow some dewy tears beneath them.

You were winning.

You tilted your head back for a moment, seeing the large mirror from the vanity was directly behind them, leaving the both of you entirely visible to Vox. You tip his monitor foward with a forceful lift, holding tight as you made him look over your shoulder.

"Look at you.. quite a sight, huh?"

You teased in a harsh tone, leaning back a bit for him to see the cluster of marks and stains you left on his collarbone. "What do you think? Red really is your color. You look soo pretty." Your words were meant to piss him off, but seeing how he melted and let out a breathy groan when you called him pretty was an even better reaction. He looked away from the mirror, flustered at the sight of himself.

"Ohh, is Mr. Bigshot here enjoying some tender love and care? Aww, well, all you had to do was ask, baby~" You crashed your lips against his again, shocking him back into the moment, as he held onto your hips to brace himself. You were quick to pull away, leaving him unfulfilled before peppering multiple kisses across his screen and making sure you were to leave as many vivid red lip stains as you could.

"F.. Fuck you..." he mumbled, "fuck this'll be a pain in the ass to get off.." You look down at him from your higher position, an almost dark look across your face.

"Then tell me to stop. Either give up and accept defeat-" you started, beginning to stand in front of him." Or give in. And let me take care of you." You ran your hand along his pants, your fingertips brushing across the stiff tent in his pants. He let out the smallest yelp, not expecting the sensation. You continued to just lightly touch his groin, reaching to fiddle with his belt buckle.

"So? What are you gonna do? You gonna give in? You want me to keep touching you, hm?" You teased, leaning towards his face by placing your hands on his seated thighs. Your bent position left a great view of your ass, still clothed with sleek red underwear and fishnets. He pouted, looking into the mirror momentarily to appreciate the sight. You looked over your shoulder, grabbing his screen to jerk him back to your eye level.

"Tap. Out." You hissed, glaring into his eyes.

"Fuck! Fine, whatever! I tap out.. I-I.. Keep touching me.. i want you to keep touching me." He let out, getting progressivly flustered as he spoke. You looked at him, trying desperately to hide a smirk by biting your loeer lip. Noticing that you still weren't making a move and definitely wouldn't let him take the upper hand at this point, he rolls his eyes and looks towards the ceiling to avoid your eyes. "Please." He blurted out, a cyan hue growing across his cheeks. You let out a confident chuckle, before immediately dropping to your knees in front of him and continuing to fully release his throbbing cock from his already dampened trousers.

"Good boy~ Now enjoy the show, okay?" You let out before taking a hand around the base and sending a long lick up his length, immediately drawing the head into your mouth. You worked your magic, running your tongue in circles around the head and pumping your hand across the rest. The heat of your mouth on his tip and the coolness of the room barely breezing across the rest of his hard on made him shutter. He was looking down at you, instinctively attempting to buck his hips. You were quick to use your other hand to push his hips back down, running your neatly done nails across his thigh to the point of leaving marks, clearly indicating don't try that shit again.

You start to take in more of his cock into your mouth. Bobbing your head to set a nice rhythm, nothing that couldn't finish him off just yet, but enough to make him lose his composure more than he already has. You look up to meet his eyes, seeing him stare down at your work. You slowed to an impossibly slow speed before quickly pulling your mouth away, a line of saliva still connecting your lips to his member.

"That's not what i meant." You spoke strictly, reaching up to tilt his screen back towards the mirror. He did enjoy the pretty sight of you on your knees, but his mess of an appearance and reactions embarrassed him."If i see you looking anywhere else - if i see that you're not enjoying the show-" you squeezed his cock that had cooled from your hot spit hitting the cold air of the room. Almost too tightly. He winced, looking back down at you with a wide concern. " -Then i'll just have to stop. I can't reward that sort of behavior, hun." You sounded almost threatening and continued to tighten your grasp. He reached down, squeezing your shoulder before fixing his weary eyes to look at his wreck of a reaction in the mirror. "There we go! See? Look how lovely you look." You switched almost immediately to a sweet voice, loosening your grip and nuzzling his cock against your cheek, right at the corner of your mouth. "So? Are you gonna play along? Be good for me?" You spoke with hot breath against his member, your lips hovering just over the head. He nodded reluctantly.

"Say it." Another sudden transition from that sweet tone back to a stern voice.

"Nng... I'll be g-good.." he spoke quietly, ashamed that he had to say that while looking into the eyes of his reflection. You let out a sly chuckle, immediately assuming a quick pace. You weren't quite able to reach the base, but you made up the difference in your hand, and your other still dug your nails deeply into his thigh. The combined sensations of pain and pleasure made him whimper, struggling to keep his eyes open and his head foward. Every time you saw him start to lose his computer, you either slowed to a complete stop, ran your sharp teeth across his shaft as a warning, or behan to squeeze at his base. Each warning was enough for him to realize he was losing his attention. As he got closer, still somehow managing to stare into the reflection, he reached for your hair, running his claws across your scalp.

You allowed this, he's been doing so good for you, after all.

Holding his hips down to prevent any involuntary jerks, you began to sloppily cover his cock with your spit, speeding up even more. You needed him. Now. He was quick to let out moans and groans, not very domineering ones, which almost surprised you. He was truly unraveling.

"I-I'm gonna.." he started to say in between breathy moans. As soon as you heard you sped up right until you felt his cum hit your tongue. But as soon as you felt the smallest amount, you stopped and held your grip tightly around his base, not stopping him from finishing but definitely making it more difficult to enjoy. You pulled your head back, catching your breath. You sit up on your knees and pull his monitor to reach your lips, kissing the small amount of his cum into his mouth with your tongue. His eye twitched at the new flavor in your mouth and was quick to pull away, wiping his lips ftom a combination of drool and his own fluids.

"That was good! You handled me so well.. But i didn't give you permission to cum did I? And you ruined my hair." You almost pouted, looking back to the mirror to attempt to fix your hair up as much as possible. You got a good look at his full body and smiled into the mirror. "God, you're beautiful, Vox." You said, your voice dripped with sweetness as you turn a decievingly genuine smile his way. It only made him blush more. The sight made you absolutely giddy. You finally looked down at him, seeing him begin to go soft." Ah ah~, you need to deal with the mess you made, baby." You took a hold of his still twitching cock, moving your hands along it again. It was quick to stiffen up again, but the overstimulation from just finishing drove Vox to lean his head back and let out more breathless moans. In a quick motion, you were back in his lap, just hovering your entrance over his member. You moved your underwear to the side, running your own fingers between your folds and lifting your hands back up to his view.

" See what you're doing to me? You lost your little game, and now, i'm left with this mess." You spoke matter of fact, licking your own fluids off your fingers. You quickly pressed another kiss against his mouth, the mixutre of both your fluids making this an especially messy one. His senses were overloaded. Every now and then, some moans would come out with a slight delay or glitch to them. He placed his hands on your hips, wanting to get at least one victory out of this. With one claw, he carefully ripped the fishnets covering yout entrance before forced himself into you, bottoming out immediately. You shot up, yelping at his sudden courage. Giving you time to relax into him, you gripped onto his shoulders. He led you up and down on his cock, barely guiding you before you began to move at your own pace, beginning to unravel yourself. He tilted his head to look into the mirror again. Seeing you from both angles made him drive up into you harder. He had to admit, it was a great view.

As you bounce yourself on his cock, you take his hand and lead his fingers to rub your clit. He immediately picked up the note and began to run tight circles with the sharp tip of his finger. The sensation made you shiver, his metal like claws a start contrast to the warmth you were amitting. Beginning to hit your g spot timed with the constant contact of his finger to your clit, left you breathy, a moaning mess. He was reaching his breaking point, making his body physically react to yours. Small and sudden shocks would amit from his finger and occasionally through his cock, causing a sensational pain. His voice continued to glitch, indicating how he was about to finish, which you noticed immediately. You slam down onto him, lifting his eyes towards you by grabbing a hold of his neck, lightly squeezing.

"You have to get permission to cum. Got it?" You said sternly, your sudden halt making his leg twitch and shift underneath you. "O-okay.. fine..! Keep going, i'm close-" you yanked him closer.

"Ask. Nicely."

"Fuck... C-can I cum for you..? Please... let me-" his voice began to trail off as you quickened your pace again. "Such a good boy. Okay, but only because you asked so nicely." You praised and tapped your finger against his nose(?) mockingly, then felt another shock run up inside of you. He finished almost immediately hearing those words. You felt his cum fill you up, but you guided his hand back down to your clit to continue rubbing as you kept up your pace. His sensitivity left a twitching static shock inside of you, which was quick to lead you to finish, the heated pain in your stomach finally releasing.

You fell onto him, your head resting on his shoulder as you simply stay seated om top of him. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him. He was nuzzling the side of his screen into your ear and kissing just along your neck. As soon as you regained your senses, you melted into his aftercare. You wouldn't expect him to be so sweet to you after this, but he was holding on to you like his worse fear was you getting up. You ran your hands along his back, enjoying how much comfort he seemed to need so desperately.

The sweet moment lasted for a while, before you pulled away gently and looked up towards the clock near the door.

"Fuck! Rehearsal! Get up get up!" You quickly lifted yourself off of him, before you looked at eachother. Your fishnets were ripped, some small bruises on your neck. He managed to plant a few, but that was nothing compared to the sloppy lipstick covered state he was in. "Ugh, god dammit!" You stormed off and quickly grabned some wipes, scrubbing the lipstick off his screen and chest." Velvette's gonna kill me..!" You groaned, nearly getting everything off.

"Calm down doll, I'll get some people from hair and makeup to fix up this mess." He snapped his fingers, which somehow alerted an imp assistant to knock on the door. You quickly reached for a nearby robe and tied it around your waist just as they entered the room. "-and they will have no problem with keeping this little secret, right?" His eye began to run hypnotic waves as he was quick to brainwash the assistant. You hesitantly sat and let the imp quickly fix up your messy appearance after finding new fishnets and hanging up your delicate dress to put back on later. Vox sat there, his shirt still completely undone, his legs crossed and arms splayed across the back of the couch. He simply sat there, watching you get pampered to perfection again. Every tine you made eye contact with him you began to turn red. Sure, you had the upper hand just moments ago, but the effect this demon had on you was immense, making the immediate poeer dynamic switching back to him.

Once the two of you had cleaned up a bit more, you headed towards the door. He spun you before pressing a quick kiss on your forehead, then turned you back and let you walk out in front of him.

"I told you i could handle it, and it for sure seemed like you couldnt keep yourself together. So, i win!" You clarified as the two of you walked down the hall, back towards the rehearsal space.

"Fine. Sure. Watever you say. Keep telling yourself that.. if that's what it takes to make you do it again." He shrugged off your obviously victory with that dumb invitiation. You punched his arm as the two of you continued to argue. It was still clear to you both. You came out on top this time.

[darsynia]

Banana (Steve/f!Reader)

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE ROGERS MASTERLIST | Ro Roll

Summary: Steve unexpectedly stayed over, and you want to make him the best breakfast ever.

Length/Warnings: 1,700 words | sexual contact

It's your ACTUAL BIRTHDAY @ronearoundblindly!! For banaNA, the delicious centerpiece of my 7 Ro Roll stories, we've got an established relationship morning interlude of teeth-rotting fluff. Enjoy!!

Excerpt:

Steve sets his fork carefully onto his plate, lifting up his napkin to wipe his mouth. The look in his eyes is warm. “You’re hoping I stay over more often?”

Two months ago you’d have worried that was some kind of relationship test.

One month ago you would have been scared to admit how much you think about sex with him.

Today you say, “Yes, I am.”

Loving Steve Rogers has made you more confident, and someday you’ll tell him that.

Banana

You really hadn’t expected your boyfriend to sleep over. It wasn’t the traditional date where you dress up in something beautiful and eat out at a ritzy restaurant, then come home and undress to experience something beautiful. It was the kind where he comes by with takeout and the two of you watch movies until you both fall asleep on the couch.

Still, you’d like to make the morning intentionally special for Steve.

You can’t ask him what he likes for breakfast while he's in the shower, but you're sure he has a metabolism-stimulating plate of protein every morning, looking like that. After assessing what's in the fridge, you make the decision to go all-out. He’d been used to mess hall communal meals back in the army, right? Plus, there's a kitchen in the Compound, so he probably makes his own breakfast. You lose a few minutes just picturing that.

Ten minutes later you’ve made him a plate with two kinds of eggs, sausage patties, buttered toast, and a little cup of sliced strawberries. The glass of orange juice ended up using the rest of the carton, but you can always buy more.

You wait with bated breath with your own breakfast, a generous bowl of oatmeal with your favorite fruits garnished with brown sugar. Steve doesn’t need to know those were the only eggs, nor that you made him the last of your sausage.

“Wow that smells great, are you setting up your crock pot or something?” he calls out from the hallway. You grin, excited for the surprise. Soon he’s coming into the kitchen, still drying his hair off with one of your towels. He smells amazing, and everything about the moment is exactly what you’ve always wanted.

Except… he looks uncomfortable.

“Please tell me you’re not allergic to eggs,” you fret.

“Oh, those are for me?”

“Well, yeah, look at the size of the plate! I guess if you want the oatmeal…”

He’s walking into the wide kitchen doorway, disappearing behind the wall for a moment (during which your mind races, thinking of all the things you could have done wrong. Does he dislike pepper? Allergic to citrus? What if he hates sausage? Why did you think this is a good idea!?).

“Are you okay?”

Steve’s got a banana in his hand, along with a fork, knife, and spoon. “Together, we’re a table setting,” he jokes, holding them up.

You almost facepalm-- you’d completely forgotten silverware. “Thanks.”

After the eggs and fruit are gone (accompanied by many enjoyment noises that punctuate your discussion of baseball), he points at the empty bowl of strawberries with a neatly-sliced piece of sausage on the end of his fork.

“You should know, I usually only eat a banana or some sliced fruit like this for breakfast, but this is delicious. Thank you.”

You conjure up the least embarrassed smile you can manage, but inside you wonder whether his honesty is warring with his sense of politeness.

“You’re asking yourself if I’d lie to make you happy, aren’t you?” he asks.

“Guilty,” you sigh. “I’m glad you said something before I made this mistake multiple times in the future.”

Steve sets his fork carefully onto his plate, lifting up his napkin to wipe his mouth. The look in his eyes is warm. “You’re hoping I stay over more often?”

Two months ago you’d have worried that was some kind of relationship test.

One month ago you would have been scared to admit how much you think about sex with him.

Today you say, “Yes, I am.”

Loving Steve Rogers has made you more confident, and someday you’ll tell him that.

He stands, coming over to take your hand and draw you solicitously up to your feet for a sweet, brief kiss. Steve's expression turns more serious, and he looks you right in your eyes.

“I’m hungry.”

You cannot be reading him right. It’s wishful thinking.

“There’s still that bana--”

Steve interrupts you with another kiss. It’s full of passion--a rough hand at your hip, thumb caressing your cheek, teeth scraping out of desperate sloppiness. The man is wrecking your mental health, but you’re right there with him, slowly filling up with heated liquor at every swipe of his tongue. He lifts his head and smiles gently, his lips twitching for a few seconds before he leans his head back and laughs.

Two months ago you would have thought he was laughing at you.

One month ago you’d have nervously played along in confusion.

Now you shove at his shoulder in mock frustration. “Out with it!”

“I can’t pull off that line, I’m sorry! I did my best,” he confesses sheepishly. “I woke up in the middle of the night on the couch with you asleep on my chest and texted Clint about what to do.”

“Oh, God,” you say, trying valiantly to hold back a giggle. “Why Clint?”

He backs up into the kitchen with his hands held up defensively. “I thought I could trust him! I figured Natasha would give me… questionable advice,” Steve says, “--and neither of us wanted me to ask Tony.”

“Oh, God,” you say again, this time in actual dismay.

“Exactly.” He pulls out one of your leftover containers and its matching lid, and holds them up.

He looks so good in his tight pants and form-fitting t-shirt that you gather up all of your Steve-loves-me courage.

“I thought you were hungry?” you say impudently, walking over and taking them out of his hands to set on the counter. Sliding your arms up around his neck, you kiss him with as much fervor as the kiss just minutes ago, letting your hands roam into his hair, down over his arm muscles, and finally to your goal, his waistband. Because you want his full permission before you do anything further, you mouth your way from his lips to his jaw, so he can say something if he needs to. If his enthusiastic participation in the kiss so far is any indication, though, there’s hope he’s up for it.

You circle the button of his pants with your thumb, slipping your fingers past his waistband. He hasn’t put on a belt yet, and there’s something intimate about it that’s beyond anything sexual, like he trusts himself to be not fully put-together around you. Falling asleep on the couch with you is one of those kind of things, too.

Steve whispers your name in a hoarse voice that’s rich with desire.

“Yes?” you question, hoping you’re not pushing too much.

“Yes.” 

Arching up to give him a kiss, you release the button and push the zipper down slowly, as much a caress against his groin as anything else. Steve throws a hand out to the side, and you feel a surge of excitement to think he’s so enthusiastic already.

“Here,” he says, throwing the towel that usually hangs from the oven on the floor at his feet, eyes full of amused apology. “Believe me, I’ll want to hold on.”

It’s so Steve Rogers to worry about your knees.

There’s nothing you can say that won’t sound terribly gauche or overeager, so you kiss his chest and pull his pants down to his feet, kneeling as you go. You look up at him, holding eye contact as you tug down his boxer briefs--but you don’t have the bravery to keep his gaze for your first taste.

Steve’s holding himself rigidly still, but you can feel his leg muscles tighten up even more when you take him into your mouth. It’s validating as hell. You pull back, sucking, loving the feel of him, warm and vibrant and wanting you. 

At that point you let yourself bliss out, eyes closed and fully attuned to him. When he makes a guttural little sound of need after you do something, you add it to the rotation, and when he starts to rock his hips forward, you quicken your pace. Everything is perfect; the crease of the towel digging into your knees, the taste of precum in your mouth, the searing ache between your legs, and most of all, how alive Steve is under your tongue, against your hands, in your throat.

“Ahhhhh,” he groans, and slams a hand onto the counter. You realize you’d hummed in happiness, and god, he’d loved that. You let out a little moan of pleasure of your own at the thought of just how wet you’ve got to be by now.

As a reward for you both, you hum again.

That sends him, starting a glorious chaos of holding on and taking it all in. When Steve reaches down and flails at your hair and shoulder, you let him pull you up and into his arms. Steve holds you tight to his chest, right each there against the counter with his pants around his ankles, each of you pulling as much oxygen and approval into your bodies as you can.

He pets your head and leans down. “Want to know what Clint said to tell you if the first line worked?”

Two months ago you were sure you weren't good enough for him and it could never last.

One month ago you’d have worried this levity was a sign you'd done a bad job.

Now, you glare up at him in utter adoration.

“If it’s something about being barefoot in the kitchen, Rogers, I’m going to go to the bedroom and finish by myself.”

“Never mind,” he says, moving sideways just long enough to get a hand on his pants to tug them up. He does the button but not the zipper, then picks you up, heading into the hallway. At the doorway to your bedroom, Steve fucking Rogers looks down at you with a loving expression and says, “Don’t worry. I’d never leave you behind.”

[kkami-writes]

waiting for us — chapter thirty two. masterpieces wc. 611 + 2 SS

Hyunjin is nothing but incessant in holding your hand the entire time you guys walk through the gallery. You happily oblige. He all but drags you from painting to painting, literal stars in his eyes while he admires the art. It’s a different look compared to when he’s doing his own sketches, the way his perfectly sculpted eyebrows pinch together and his tongue pokes out.

You will never admit how often you stared at him during your shifts at love stay. Nor are you blind to the others who stare at the pretty boy. For once you’re thankful for your resting bitch face as you glare at them for making Hyunjin uncomfortable under their attention.

Your heart broke when Hyunjin told you about how before he turned 16 people would try to get at him simply for his looks. They had all wanted to wear him like he was a purse, showing him off like he was some trophy. Even after finding his soulmates, people still tried to use him. Some people were shameless.

Yes. Hyunjin is handsome, you’d have to be blind to not think so. But you want to see all the different sides of Hyunjin, learn more about his passions and his hobbies. Even the bad parts, like his caffeine addiction or the constant procrastination on projects.

He’s guiding you through the paintings and statues, leaning close to whisper his own thoughts, analyzing each and every piece. Yet you can’t pay attention to what he’s saying, the way he’s so close that you can smell the floral cologne he’s wearing and it’s making you just the slightest bit light headed. His breath is hot against the shell of your ear, eliciting a shiver running down your spine. You’re pretty sure the boy is doing it on purpose, if his smirk is anything to go by.

You’d like to wipe it off his face.

Preferably with your lips.

Still, despite not being the most artsy person ever or even really know much about fine art you enjoyed looking at all the pieces. An argument could be made that fashion was just another art form and you had enjoyed dressing up, making outfits. It had been the only way you could express yourself and as a bonus it did boost your confidence if not just a little bit.

You know virtually nothing about art though so you’re all the more happy to listen to the boy drone on and on. How can you not when he looks so adorable trying to explain 17th century aesthetics. Honestly it all goes over your head because wow, how can you pay attention to anything when his lips look so enticing? Was he wearing lip gloss? Or were his lips just this shiny?

Jeez, when did you become such a simp? You were simply losing your mind and you’d 100% blame the boys for that. Not that you were really sane in the first place. That’s a different story for another time though.

It only takes about an hour to walk through the entire exhibit, Hyunjin beaming even as you two leave.

“May I escort you home my dear princess,” You rolled your eyes playfully at the boy, slipping your hand into his.

“Of course my lovely prince, I would love nothing more,” His eyes shine a little more as you play along, absolute adoration swimming in his eyes and it makes your heart skip a beat.

And if you kiss him on the cheek before getting out of his car? Well, you’re sure the other boys will know because if you know anything, it’s that Hyunjin will absolutely rub it in their faces.

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[colormepurplex2]

The Demon Is In The Details | Sweet, Sweet Soul

↳ Demon!Jimin x Human!f.Reader ⤜ Crossroads Demon AU, Accidental Enthrallment ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 9,928 ⚠️ Crass language, soul sucking, dick piercing, cock sucking, kissing, biting, mild nipple play/biting/there is blood involved, blood drinking, face fucking, hair pulling, choking, body worship, enthrallment/instant infatuation, begging, vaginal sex, creampie, cum play/eating, insatiable lust, lost soul, demon metamorphosis

Next Chapter⇾ ⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to story masterlist

You’re not sure what you expected—but, a lavish bedroom complete with a four-poster bed and sitting area with plush upholstered furniture wasn’t it. It all feels so…human. You can almost pretend like you are just on an extended vacation, staying at some ritzy hotel.

“So, this is where demons live, huh?” You try not to let too much sarcasm thread into your words. “Was expecting more fire and brimstone and less velvet and lace,” you say, plucking at the lacy fringe of the canopy drapes that are pulled back on the bed.

The demon sniffs, his chin turning up in mild indignation. “Fire and brimstone? What utter nonsense,” he mutters, but you can tell he’s just sure to be loud enough for you to hear.

That prickles a bit. It’s not like you’re precisely well-versed on the whole demon thing. Are you supposed to know that demons enjoy the lap of luxury instead of broiling in sulfuric pits of steaming sludge? Everything you’ve ever read, heard, or been taught hinges on the idea that demons are hellish monsters that dwell in Hell. And considering Hell is supposed to be a place of fire and brimstone, well, put two and two together, and you don’t think your assumption is a stretch.

“Is this even Hell?” you ask.

Red eyes cut your way, and the demon’s top lip curls in disgust. “This is a hell, yes.”

“A hell?”

“Mm,” he hums lightly in acknowledgement. “One of many.”

Many? Interesting. “Like the different circles?”

The demon sighs, his red eyes rolling in annoyance. “Whatever it is you think you may know, forget it. There are no ‘circles’, no pits—unless you count the sanguine pits, but you probably don’t want to go there,” his top teeth sink into his bottom lip for a moment, his eyes turning mischievous, “or maybe you do. Another day, perhaps. Anyway, this is the…Inferna is the best human word to use to describe it. But, you may call it home, considering that is exactly what it is now; your home.” He chuckles, but you think it’s a poor joke.

“Home. Okay, sure, very funny.” The sarcasm helps to bolster your mood a bit, knowing that you can still spit words with at least a little venom.

That’s all you’ve been able to think about since the understanding of what was happening dawned on you. The fear of not being able to think for yourself, that your free will and ability to think would be stripped from you, and you’d become nothing more than some mindless demon slut.

The fact you’re able to hold this conversation is promising. But you are curious. With the deal settled between this demon and Dominique, you feel like you’ve been put in an ambiguous limbo of sorts. Dominique’s deal included you, but as she said, it wasn’t your own deal.

So, do you even have a deal with this demon? But, before you can express your curiosity further, a loud knock echoes from the double doors on the other side of the sitting area that you hadn’t noticed before.

“This should be fun,” the demon says, and it almost seems like he’s…pouting? “Come in.”

The doors swing open on a blast of hot air. Clouds of grey-blue smoke curl through the space before dissipating and revealing what you can only describe as evil incarnate. At least, that’s the feeling you get, like happiness and joy can not exist in the presence of this being. Your energy immediately wanes, so much so that it makes your knees weak.

Pitch-colored eyes set in an angular face framed by thick, inky hair give way to taught lips drawn in a severe line. His body is hidden by the billowing folds of a robe that seems made of gossamer and iron, with its constant shifting in the room's ambient lighting.

A voice as deep as the darkest chasm in the ocean and just as cold hisses through the room. “What have we here? A pet?”

“Dark Lord,” the demon at your side says, bending at the waist and bowing deeply. He straightens, casting a quick glance in your direction. “A pleasant mistake is all, My Lord. A soul come to me by the blundering of a supposed friend.”

“More fiend than a friend, it seems, if the result is this.” A smirk curls the pale pink lips of the man—demon?—standing in the doorway.

You want to jump to Dominique’s defense and argue that she’s not the fiend here, but a scathing look from the male at your side silences anything you might have mustered in protest. The look on his face says opening your mouth is probably the last thing you want to do right now. Whoever this ‘Dark Lord’ is, even the demon laying claim to your soul is intimidated by him.

“Very well,” the newcomer says before sucking in a deep, drawing breath as if scenting the very air around him. “Yes, yes, I think she’ll do well. A strong spirit, but not so strong that she won’t break. Perhaps…you might find it in you to share.”

“Share?” The word is gritted out between clamped teeth, stilted and forced. “Of course, if that is what you desire.”

“Please, Jimin, I aim only to tease you,” the being chuckles, wafting a hand complete with blackened nails and spidery purple veins. The billowing robes bend and sway with the act, stirring long shadows along the walls to either side of the doors. “Keep the little mouse. Enjoy the luxury of a pure soul for once. You’ve earned it.”

With that, he turns to leave, vanishing in a swirl of grey that disappears as the doors swing closed once more. Even though he’s gone, there is one thing that he left behind. A word. Or more so, a name.

Jimin.

“So, Jimin, huh?”

A low growl rumbles from the demon before his ruby eyes slice your way. “You will not use that name.”

Despite your lack of belief in demons and all the abracadabra nonsense prior to this, you’ve read enough to know there can be power behind knowing a demon’s name. However, you’re not sure how much power there is. But you’re willing to find out.

“What’s the matter, Jimin—” you twist the name with emphasis, “—don’t like it when someone might have power over you, Jimin? It is a taste of your own medicine, perhaps, Jimin?”

You part your lips, tongue poised to continue your taunting tirade, but in a flash, a warm, rigid hand is clamped over your mouth. Fire burns in the deep recesses of Jimin’s eyes. It's not just a pseudo-flame trick of the light, either. Real flames dance within the blood-colored irises. They undulate and grow brighter with each rise and fall of his chest until you’re certain smoke is going to start pouring out of his ears at any moment.

“You know, I thought I quite enjoyed your fiery spirit. But now, I’m not so sure. Maybe just a little tweak, a little taste, and you’ll…be…just…right.” As he says the words, drawn out and slow, you feel a little tug in the center of your chest.

The feeling starts out light, barely a string’s caress between your breasts. But gradually, it turns into a thick line of yarn that you’d swear was slowly unraveling your soul the way it would from a skein. There is an ebbing clarity, a fleeting thought that this is something you’re certain you should be resisting.

But you can’t seem to tear yourself away from staring into those flaming depths. Simply a moth drawn to the flame, heedless of the blaze threatening to engulf you.

His body presses against yours, hard and hot in contrast to your soft and freezing. The fact your body is chilled right to the bone only registers now. The trembling starts at the tips of your fingers and toes before your entire body shudders against his. Yet, you still can’t will yourself to look away.

“W-what are y-yo…you do-doing to…to me?”

The words sound hollow to your ears, thin and thready, like a weak pulse compared to the hammering of your heart that’s forcing your blood to woosh with staccato punches. The edges of your vision darken, and you struggle to blink or look away, to do anything to break the fevered contact.

“Perfect,” Jimin purrs, the sound registering the second before whatever is holding you in place diminishes, and you slump forward. Strong arms cradle your body, an arm sliding under the backs of your knees to lift you bridal style. Whereas your eyes wouldn’t close before, they now refuse to open. The darkness, such a contrast to the fire you were captured by before, makes your eyes ache and water. You can feel the trails of your tears cut through your hairline and blend with the perspiration gathering there.

Hot and cold. Light and dark. It’s hard to tell up from down at this point—warring emotions, seemingly endless confusion. You feel like you’re floating weightless in an abyss, though distinctly aware of how your body curls against smooth silk covering warm flesh.

With a sigh, you find the strength to open your eyes, meeting those crimson rings once more. Except, this time, there is no fear…no confusion…only peace, deeply rooted and infinitely spread through every fiber of your being.

You can see yourself reflected in those endless, vermillion depths. And what you see is…different; still you…but different—hungrier, a feral tinge that you know should frighten you.

😈😈😈

Jimin

The taste of your soul still lingers in Jimin’s mouth, making saliva pool under his tongue. It was the tiniest taste, just a sampling of what’s to come. But, fuck, if it didn’t make his cock hard and his chest ache from the restraint he used to hold himself from draining you completely dry while sucking the marrow right from your bones.

You are quite possibly the most exquisite creature he has ever laid eyes on, much less had the pleasure of savoring. His anger at Yoongi is quickly dissipating, replaced by the erotic thrum of the call of your soul. It beckons him to drink more, to devour you completely.

Jimin didn’t want to do this so soon. He’d intended to drag this out as much as possible, playing a game with his own constraint to see how long he could withstand your allure. This is Yoongi’s fault. If the Dark Lord hadn’t come in here sniffing around things that were not his, letting things as precious as names slip, Jimin wouldn’t have been so forced to jump the gun.

He had little choice in it, he’s sure. If you had continued to twist his name with your perfect lips, you would have indeed begun to wield the power behind it. With each additional drop of his name, he felt the knot forming at the base of his spine. The one that triggers his survival instincts and forces his hand.

Perhaps it’s for the best, he thinks, as he effortlessly carts your limp body over to the bed and lays you out. Your head lolls from side to side, eyes fluttering as they adjust to what Jimin knows must be an unpleasant ache deep in your psyche. It might be millennia since he became forsaken, but the memory of how it felt has not diminished.

Not that he’s going to let that happen to you. As it is, he’s undecided on how this is going to play out in the end. He has a deal with your friend that you will remain unharmed, and sucking out your soul until you become a demon doesn’t necessarily harm you. It’s mildly uncomfortable, but all together, not exactly harmful. Well, not to you physically, at least. That’s not saying much for you emotionally…spiritually.

Dominique should have been more precise in her demands—unharmed can mean anything. Though, he knows there could be room for argument that he was being deceptive. He shrugs to himself. He’s a demon…it’s to be expected. Words hold all the power. They are Jimin’s preferred weapon of choice for a reason. It’s why he’s so good at what he does, why Yoongi bestowed the crossroads task upon him all those centuries ago. Yes, if your so-called friend had truly cared, she should have been far more specific in her request and should have read between the lines before offering her blood and sealing your fate.

Jimin looks down on you from beside the bed as you slowly regain your senses. He has to adjust himself in his trousers, his arousal growing with each barely audible mewl that whimpers from your lips. If he were a lesser demon, he might not be able to keep himself from pouncing in your weakened state. As much as Jimin likes to dominate, he’d be curious to see what comes naturally now that a part of you resides in him.

“Mmm,” you moan softly.

Your eyes slide closed once more before finally popping open, wide and full of clarity. They find his, and what Jimin sees there has his whole body going taut with anticipation. You look like a feral wolf about to spring on an unsuspecting rabbit, and Jimin just so happens to be said rabbit. If you keep looking at him that way, perhaps he won’t mind being the prey for once.

“Whoa,” Jimin chuckles as you lurch upright in the bed, swinging an arm wildly in his direction, fingers hooked into claws. “Give yourself a minute.”

There is a thick, sultriness to your voice that wasn’t there before as you say, “I…I feel—I want…what did you do to me?” You bring the hand you swung at him up in front of your face, flipping it from front to back again and again as if somehow you’ll be able to physically see the change in yourself.

“Only what I’m entitled to.”

Your eyes snap to his, sharp and calculating. He’s intentionally cryptic, but he knows you can see straight through his deliberately obtuse response.

“Entitled to? The deal was for you not to harm me!” you snarl, teeth barred in his direction. Jimin decides it’s a cute look on you, like a stray kitten gearing up for a hissing match. Too bad for you, Jimin’s trained in the prowess of being a lion.

“You are unharmed,” he snaps back, eyes flashing.

You cringe, and Jimin almost wants to take it back. But that won’t do. No, not for what he has planned for you. As appealing as your defiance is…no, Jimin needs this far too much.

He realizes just how hungry he is.

Absolutely, ravenous. And he knows exactly what he wants to satiate the ache.

You mutter something under your breath, and if Jimin didn’t have the super hearing of a demon, he’d surely miss it. “Why am I so gods damned horny? Now is not the time to be jonesing for a joyride on a monster dick.”

“I think now is precisely the time to be, as you say, ‘jonesing for a joyride on a monster dick’.”

The surprise on your face is second only to the way your heart lurches in your chest, so intense that Jimin can distinctly hear the upbeat roar it launches into at his words. Both make Jimin feel powerful, in vastly different ways. Your lips form an enticing tiny opening as you gape at him, and the blood rushing through your body notches up the pulsing thrum he knows you can feel spiking through your clit now. The mere notion of riding a dick has your body primed and aching already.

“What did you say?”

“I merely repeated what you said. I don’t typically fuck on the first date, but seeing as how this isn’t a usual first…I think I can make an exception.”

In fact, Jimin is almost sure that if he doesn’t find himself in one of your holes in the next five minutes, he might make a fool of himself, similar to something a teenage human boy might experience. Typically, he doesn’t get to enjoy the tender confines of a human, not unless it’s part of the demon deal they make—which, thanks to the influx of paranormal romance stories out there, has increased somewhat in the last handful of decades.

The tip of your tongue pokes out and absently moves over the roundness of your bottom lip. “I don’t know if I understand what you’re saying.”

That’s cute; you trying to play it off like Jimin’s proclamation didn’t just create a wave pool in your panties. He can smell it, the light, tangy scent of your arousal. It blooms in the air as you shift to your knees on the bed; you’re unknowingly filling Jimin’s lungs with the smell of your dripping cunt.

He takes a deep, appreciative breath and allows a moment of tense silence to hang in the air between you. The thread snaps, thin as gauze. You’re on him in the next instant, one hand fisting in his hair and the other ripping at the buttons on his shirt. Your knees slide over the silk of the duvet as you simultaneously pull Jimin until his thighs knock the side of the bed and your front is pressed to his.

“Take your clothes off,” Jimin states, and you immediately stop your frantic groping of him and begin to shed your own clothes. “Bare yourself to me.” Jimin’s top lip quivers as his mouth forms around the commands, power bubbling in his veins as the small piece of you burns his insides; pain-laced pleasure threads through his every fiber, and he wants more.

Jimin follows your movements, watching as you strip off your long-sleeved shirt, tossing it aimlessly to the side before doing the same with your bra. You roll back onto your ass and kick your legs out in front of you across the bed and tear at the zipper and button on your jeans. It’s cute, the way you snarl and hiss at the offending denim as you wrestle it, along with your panties, down your legs. You finally kick free of them and, in the process, send a cloud of your heady arousal right into Jimin’s nose.

It’s enough to make him feral. The moment your last article of clothing falls to the floor, you splay yourself back on the bed, knees wide and arms extending above your head. Like a present, freshly unwrapped, and his to play with. Your hooded gaze meets his, like a challenge daring him to let his eyes drink their fill; and, oh boy, do they.

You are utterly divine. Jimin wants nothing more than to lick and kiss every inch of your striking skin, starting with the tender flesh behind your ear and ending with the points of your toes, mapping out your body like the temple that it is. Your nipples are tight peaks straining toward the ceiling, and your pussy lips are already slick and swollen with want; you paint the picture of perfect sexual carnality.

Jimin watches as your mouth tries to form his name. When it doesn’t come, a line forms between your brows, and you manage to gruff out a different word instead, “Demon.” It’s nowhere near as seductive as his name, but he’ll consider it a term of endearment all the same.

He chuckles, gripping your ankles and using a flex of strength to flip you around and position you on the bed just how he wants you. Your head hangs off the edge, hands raising in surprise to brace on his hips. Your chest rises and falls in quick succession, your breathing so harsh he can feel the thick exhale of your breath through the linen of his trousers.

“I’ll show you ‘demon’,” Jimin purrs seductively.

The button on his pants pops under his thumb, and the zipper slides down swiftly. Before Jimin can push them down, you’re hooking your fingers into the waistband of his pants and shoving them down. It’s an awkward angle for you; with your arms bent how they are, you only get them down his thighs. But, it’s enough. With a sway of his hips, Jimin gets his pants to drop to around his ankles.

He could use his power to disrobe instantly, but he finds this far more entertaining. Jimin revels in the slack-jawed look on your face as you take in his rigid length protruding in front of your face. The piercing in the tip glints in the ambient light, the first pearly string of his arousal already beaded and webbing along the silver ring.

Placing a thumb against your bottom lip, Jimin gently pries your jaw open until you’re stretched wide enough he can tease the tip of his cock inside. Your chest convulses, nostrils flaring as you continue to suck in greedy breaths through your nose, considering your mouth is growing fuller by the second as he continues to feed himself into the hot, wet confines. Using twin fistfuls of your violet hair, he holds you steady.

You swallow around him, the contracting of your throat sending tingles down Jimin’s spine and making his balls draw up as his whole body shudders. His control slips the tiniest bit, siphoning a sliver of your soul. It slams into him, causing him to jerk forward and drive even further into your throat, cutting off your air.

“Fuck!” Jimin roars, his eyes squeezing shut as he denies his body the release that nearly swept him away. This can’t be over yet; he’s just getting started.

😈😈😈

You gag, effectively choking on his cock as his pelvis presses flush against your chin, and you can feel his heavy balls crowd in close to your nose. There was a moment there, where you felt connected to him in a way that should scare you, but a different kind of fear quickly replaced that feeling. Panic looms heavy in your chest as your lungs protest the lack of air, but you can’t bring yourself to shove Jimin away.

It’s infuriating to be able to think his name but not be able to utter it aloud. “F-fuck you,” you rasp when he finally withdraws. Saliva strings from your parted lips to the glistening head and shaft of his cock, the tip heavily leaking pearlescent drops that mix with the glossy strands. His cloying taste lingers, and you want nothing more than to stretch your neck up and scoop those milky beads away with your tongue.

Every second since Jimin did whatever he did to you, you’ve barely had a hold on your desire to burrow into him, get beneath his skin, and pick away at his insides until you figure out how he ticks. You want to be inside of him and have him inside of you, anything to diminish what feels like a miles-deep trench between the two of you.

You’ve never felt such a visceral desire to fuck. It’s not that you’re a prude; if anything, you would consider yourself to have a healthy sexual appetite. However, this is different. This is you wholly and utterly wrecked, wanting Jimin in all possible ways.

“Oh, I plan to. But first—” Jimin teases, a wicked grin curling his plush lips. He forces you to watch upside down as he finishes disrobing. With each additional inch of flawless porcelain flesh he reveals, you grow wetter until you’re a whimpering, slick mess staring at his naked body, “—you’re going to choke on my cock some more while I taste that pussy.”

Jimin’s dirty words are like gasoline in your veins, and his hands slapping against the insides of your thighs to pry them open is the match. Heat boils beneath your skin, sweat beads and pools between your breasts, and glides down the slope of your neck to tickle your hairline.

Your mouth is open, and your tongue sticks out flat in welcome as Jimin juts his hips forward. The thick length of his cock slides past your lips, velvety smooth and tasting faintly of hot metal. His body molds along the front of yours, slick chest resting against your stomach.

The warm fan of his breath hits a second before the molten lick of his tongue slides from your clit to the cleft of your ass, his hands gripping the meat on the back of your thighs to raise your hips. Your scream at that initial contact is muffled by the thickness of his cock in your throat. Jimin buries himself in your esophagus, pistoning his hips in and out so relentlessly that you only manage tiny gasping breaths.

He doesn’t let up, pounding into your mouth with manic abandon. You have to brace your hands against his thighs, fingers digging into the muscles and nails leaving deep, crescent divots in the flesh. Sensations assault you from both ends as Jimin buries his face between your thighs.

Jimin feasts like a man—demon—starved. His tongue swirls, slides, and dips in intervals between his lips sucking and teeth dragging. Pleasure builds, starting at the base of your spine and moving up until even your tongue writhing on the underside of Jimin’s cock feels like a direct line to your clit.

“Mmf–uh!” you garble a moan that ramps into a shriek as your orgasm barrels through you.

“That’s right,” Jimin murmurs into the wet folds of your pussy, “cum all over my face and tongue, just like that.” He continues to lap at you, suckling and humming his delight.

He grunts and moans a litany of guttural words you can’t understand before emptying himself down your throat. Hips stuttering against your face, he throbs in your mouth, his piercing sliding along the roof of your mouth as he begins to pull out.

You lick your numb lips and work your aching jaw when Jimin fully withdraws from your mouth, but not before gripping the base of his swollen cock and tapping it against your tongue a few times, smearing his still-leaking arousal across your lips. You know you should feel mildly degraded, being used as a proverbial cum rag, but if anything, it turns you on even more.

“Fuck.” The word comes out like a whimper, your body clenching in the aftermath of one of the most intense orgasms you’ve ever experienced.

Jimin chuckles, “I’m getting to that part.”

“What are you doing to me?” you ask breathlessly. It’s not a question you expect an answer to, more a rhetorical musing that drifts from your muddled brain. So, it surprises you when Jimin steps back and cradles your upside-down face between his hands, lifting your face until it’s inches from his.

His scarlet eyes have taken on a golden ring around the edges. They pulse in tandem with each of his breaths. “I’ve laid claim to you is what I’ve done. And before you even think about spouting off about the deal, being that you are to remain unharmed, you are. You can feel it, you know I’m speaking the truth. My claim on your soul has nothing to do with your well-being. If anything, you are now stronger and more resilient than you’ve ever been before.”

He’s right. You can feel it in your bones. Not just their additional strength but the way your muscles cling to them, and you’re sure they would neither snap nor tear no matter how far you bend them. You are no longer the delicate mortal you once were. And you’re not sure if you care, either.

If anything, the strength is addicting.

You. Want. More.

“More,” you tell Jimin. “I need more. Please.”

You’re pretty sure you would do anything at this point for another taste, another dose of whatever this is that’s now zinging beneath your skin. Jimin drops his hold on your face and stretches his arms in the air above his head, lithe body stretching in all its glory before you.

It’s rapturous watching the way his body moves. Wanting to see the vision of him properly, you roll over and push up onto your knees. Jimin slowly brings his arms back down, threading his fingers together in front of him and pushing his palms out. The distinct crack of his knuckles sends chills down your spine.

A predatory glint catches in his eyes, eliciting another visceral response from your body, this one of desire. Not caring how desperate you seem, you once again throw yourself at him, hands gripping and tugging until you’ve wrestled him on top of you on the bed. He lands in the valley between your thighs, and you wrap your legs around him, holding him in place.

“Tell me your name,” Jimin whispers in command, lips brushing over yours.

It forms on the tip of your tongue, your impulse to give him exactly what he wants. But, perhaps you’re not as far gone as you thought because you are able to resist this. Slowly, you shake your head, and a sly grin forms on your face.

“No.”

Jimin’s brow pinches and his top lip curls in what you’ve realized is a tell, indicating that his patience is thinning. You roll your hips against his, thrilled by how the action makes the line between his brows disappear, and his lips pop open with a soft grunt.

“You’re not the only one that’s clever here, Demon. If I can’t use your name, you won’t have mine.”

You can see the challenge in his eyes, the pure delight at the prospect of the battle ahead. “So be it, little mouse, but be warned: you’ll break long before I do.”

His mouth covers yours, silencing any protest you might have made to his statement. The vehement denial turns fleeting the instant his tongue presses between your lips and invades your mouth.

The tangy taste of your own arousal mixes with the intoxicating natural heat of the demon himself. He tastes like blood and ash but also like a crisp drink of water after days in the desert, both your salvation and your demise.

“Ah!” you yelp as Jimin fists a hand into your hair and cranes your head back, breaking the kiss and exposing the length of your neck to him.

“Pay close attention, pet. You don’t want to miss a second of this.” His words are murmured, so soft against your skin as he says them between open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat.

With every press of his mouth, his hips swivel in lazy circles that rub the thick shaft of his desire over your clit. It’s just enough pressure to drive you mad but not nearly enough to give you what you truly want.

Jimin takes first one nipple and then the other into the wet lock of his lips, lashing the pert tip with his tongue. The hand that was tugging your hair loosens, sliding down the side of your face before clasping around your neck like a five-fingered necklace.

You can feel the moment he begins to squeeze with his fingers and thumb, as they are so precisely placed on either side of your neck that they press against your jugulars. It creates a subtle pounding in your head, a lightheadedness that makes you hyper-aware of the way his teeth scrape over the tender flesh of your right breast before lightly piercing the skin.

A moan comes out in place of a scream as your body gives in to the depraved pleasure. This shouldn’t feel as good as it does, but it’s like Jimin is turning your entire body into one giant, throbbing erogenous zone. Pain is no longer something your body tries to pull away from. Instead, you find yourself arching your back so the points of his teeth pierce your flesh once more.

“F-fuck!” 

You can feel the heat of your blood pooling between your breasts for a moment before Jimin is lapping it up the same way he was licking at your pussy just moments ago. The sharp scent of hot copper punches the air when Jimin lifts his face and laughs, the sound dark and gravelly.

Peering down the slope of your nose the best you can, you catch a glimpse of his face before he dives back down to once again ravish the tight buds of your nipples. But that one glimpse is enough to paint a vivid picture of Jimin bathed in your blood, red eyes ringed in black, crimson smeared at the corners of his mouth, coating the tips of his teeth as he opened his mouth to laugh.

It does something to you, something primal and instinctive. Your body goes limp under him as your muscles coil before you snap. You throw your weight into him, shoving up with your hips and using the hold you have with your legs wrapped around him to your advantage. One moment, Jimin is buried between the mounds of your breasts, feasting on the tiny rivulets of crimson from his bites, and the next, he’s beneath you with a pleasant surprise on his bloody face.

“Look at you,” Jimin croons, his hands landing firmly on your hips. Using his hold, he undulates your hips, forcing the wet slit of your cunt to rub along the length of his dick, the ring in the tip catching on the hood of your clit with every pass. “You’re making a mess all over my cock.”

Bracing yourself on his chest, you let his hands encourage your hips with ease, luxuriating in the silky glide between your thighs. You’re relatively certain with just a few more minutes of this, and you could get yourself off, Jimin’s own pleasure be damned. But, it seems he picks up on that, and with a scoff, he uses his grip on your hips to force your body still.

“Don’t be an asshole!” you whine, digging your nails into the muscles of his chest. His dusky nipples stand out, and without thinking about it, you lean down and capture one between your teeth the same way he did yours. The skin pulls tight, and you love the sharp sound Jimin makes; something between a moan and a grunt.

A fist buries in your hair, and your head snaps back as Jimin wrenches you up, your teeth snicking free from his nipple. Black blood oozes from around the small rip in the bud, filling the hollow between his pecs and the notch at the base of his throat. The wound closes right before your eyes, sealing closed almost instantly. “Look at this mess. Clean it up,” Jimin growls low in his throat, the words barely above a whisper.

You immediately stick out your tongue, and with the grip on the back of your head, Jimin guides your mouth down to his chest. His blood is hot and thick, tasting strongly of rich spices, like the fiery notes of a mulled wine. You feel unhinged, so completely removed from who you were before Dom buried that little box in the woods. Maybe it’s delirium, and you’ve snapped, or perhaps this is just who you’ve always been…whatever it is, you can’t seem to stop.

Lips swollen and covered in demon blood, you leave a trail of macabre kisses up the length of Jimin’s neck before covering your mouth with his once again. The mix of your blood and his is heady and addicting, the perfect match of iron and spice.

“Why can’t I stop?” you whisper against Jimin’s lips, not giving him time to answer before you’re licking into his mouth again. “Why don’t I want to stop?”

😈😈😈

Jimin

You’re not the only one who doesn’t want to stop. It’s never been like this for Jimin before. He’s never once experienced something so raw and carnal. He is wholly and utterly fucked. Or, well, he will be in just…one…moment.

“Be a good girl and give us what we both want,” he commands you, using his grip on your hair to pull your lips off of his. “Ride my cock, and don’t stop until I tell you to.”

Jimin watches as you rear up, head cocked back because of his continued grip on your hair, reach between your thighs, and wrap your fingers around his rigid length. You stroke your hand up, thumb toying with the ring there, before sliding down. Continuing, you work your hand from root to tip a few more times until Jimin is sure he might explode.

The command to stop fucking around and start fucking him is on the tip of his tongue when you finally comply. You take him in one swift plummet, impaling yourself on his cock with a strangled cry that echoes through the room.

Cracks form in the dried blood around Jimin’s mouth. He can feel it pull and tug as his lips part with a groan. Your body moves over his, hips and tits bouncing. Loosening his hand in your hair, he slides it down at the same time he brings his other up. You fit perfectly in his hands, and the soft mounds of your breasts mold around his fingers as he squeezes them appreciatively.

“I can f-feel you so deep.” You’re mewling, panting and whining, the sounds a symphony of eroticism and pleasure to Jimin’s ears.

The bite marks on your chest have stopped bleeding, but Jimin still appreciates the way the dried crimson smears of his feasting look under his hands. Everything about your body drives him crazy and turns him into a barely-restrained animal.

The only reason he hasn’t shoved you face down on the bed and rutted you like a beast is because he wants to enjoy you a little bit longer before completely destroying you. He knows he would lose control of his abilities, gobbling down the rest of your soul in one gulp.

“Look at you, taking my cock so perfectly,” he grunts, digging his heels in and flexing his hips up as you drop down, forcing himself even deeper. You keen, increasing your pace as he continues to meet you stroke for stroke. Slipping his hands down, one latches on your hip, and the other presses to your lower belly, thumb finding your clit and swirling in precise circles.

“I, uh, fuck! I’m going to—”

The cresting of your orgasm cuts off your words. Your body shudders with the release, walls intensely contracting around his cock. Warmth floods Jimin’s body. He can feel every pulse of your body as if it’s begging for a reward.

Keeping his hold on you, he redoubles his effort, pistoning his hips into you at a manic pace. His thumb continues its assault on your clit, earning him delightful whimpers and moans from you.

“Give me another one. Fuck!” he grunts. Tears streak down your cheeks at the overstimulation, but your body gives him exactly what he wants by clamping down on his cock with your next orgasm.

Jimin can feel the way his tip pulses and his shaft grows engorged before his body succumbs to the pleasure, and he explodes, filling you so completely that torrents of cum leak from around his cock and string across his pelvis and your thighs.

The release rips his control to shreds and before Jimin can stop himself, he’s taking another hefty draft of your soul. It settles along the fibers of his being, coating his insides as thoroughly as he just coated yours.

There is no regret or remorse for the accidental slip. Jimin luxuriates in the euphoric aftermath. Post-soul sucking is nearly as good as post-orgasm, and he just so happened to experience both in the span of mere seconds. Reaching with one of his hands, he scoops a thick drop of cum up with his finger and lifts it to your mouth.

You don’t hesitate, wrapping your tongue around the offered digit. The moan you release is soft and sweet. Jimin drags you down, capturing your mouth once more in a devouring kiss.

He’s wholly and utterly satiated…for now.

He only hopes you’ll be as amiable to his new revelation because he’s finally made up his mind. Jimin plans to keep you…no matter what he has to do, no matter the words he’ll have to twist or who he will need to manipulate.

You will be his…

Forever.

😈😈😈

You try to resist Jimin as the weeks pass by, but your resolve is as formidable as wet paper. You’ve lost count of the times you’ve had him inside of you—welcomed him within the confines of your body and subsequently fed him slivers of your soul.

After a while, you begin to seek it out…hungry for his touch or rousing him with your lips around his cock, swallowing whatever he’ll give you. It’s unclear where the line was or when you crossed it, but here you are…lost in some in-between limbo.

You roll over, shoving away from Jimin’s naked body, and slide off the bed, his taste still clinging to your tongue. You’re still feeling the aftereffects of whatever just happened. Whatever it was, it wasn’t sex. At least, not regular sex. It was something…just something else.

Each time, it feels like a whole new experience. He shows you something you never thought possible and has you so wrung out you forget to question it. You can still feel him inside you, not just the phantom girth of his cock, but somewhere deeper. It’s like he’s permanently etched onto your bones now. As weird as that sounds, it’s exactly how it feels.

Crossing the expanse of his room, you stare at yourself in the mirror above an ornate chaise. You prod a finger beneath your eye, pulling the bottom lid down. No matter how much you poke and rub, the distinct red ring circling your pupil doesn’t go away.

From what little Jimin has told you over the weeks about what’s happening, you understand that you’re now a few pieces of your soul lighter. He assured you that you’re unharmed and as long as things go well, then when the deal with Dominique is complete, your soul will be restored…if you want it to be. Those were his exact—cryptic—words.

If you want it to be?

“What is that supposed to mean?” you ask, not for the first time.

Jimin shrugs, not having to ask you what you mean because somehow he has this innate ability to just know what’s on your mind. His nonchalance as he lounges against a mound of pillows on the bed grates. He’s acting like a cat that’s gotten the cream…and you suppose, maybe he has.

“It means exactly what it means.”

Dropping your hand from your face, you turn and bracket your bare hips with your hands, eyes narrowing in his direction. His answers are nonanswers, and no matter how much you try to muster anger at him over it…it doesn’t come.

You’re frustrated, yes. But anger isn’t something you’re able to grasp right now for some reason, and that should make you even more angry…yet, it’s as if you’re incapable of mustering one ounce of vitriol.

“Why can’t I get mad at you?” you ask instead of pressing your previous question, hoping maybe he’ll afford you some semblance of an acceptable answer.

Jimin laughs softly. “Because you don’t want to. And before you open that pretty mouth of yours to tell me differently…think really hard about it, and you’ll see that I am right. You love being here. Dare I say you might even love me.”

Now you’re the one laughing, though it’s a bit more hollow than you intend. “That’s absurd.” You taste the lie on your tongue as soon as you say it. “Go to hell,” you mutter under your breath.

“Already here, sweetheart.” Jimin slinks off the bed, very reminiscent of the way a serpent moves, all smooth lines and sinuous fluidity. “You’ll find some new clothes in the chifferobe. Get dressed unless you want to go to your little rendezvous like that.” His eyes sweep your naked body, and you can feel the intensity at which they smolder.

To avoid potentially missing your meet up with Dom, you rip your gaze from his and approach the aforementioned wardrobe. Within, you find an entire arsenal of clothes, all in your sizes. That’s one thing you’ve grown to really enjoy: the pure magic of the endless possibilities. You can have anything you want as long as it doesn’t go against Jimin’s wants and desires.

 You may have put on a fashion show or two at the expense of Jimin’s powers. With a simple snap of his fingers, he'd manifest it for you no matter how ridiculous the garment. It’s helped to pass the time. Between the endless fucking and having nothing better to do, well…

It’s been a month since that fateful night with your best friend at the crossroads. A lot can happen in a month. A lot that you’d never have expected. The muttered assurances and pleas you made to one another before you left with Jimin linger in your mind. Her promise to find a way to free you, your unfailing belief and assurance that she would and could do it.

And now? Well, now…you’re not so sure. Should you want to escape your ten-year fate? Probably. Do you? The jury is still out. There is one thing you do know, though. Every day you spend here with Jimin is one more day you get to enjoy the power and grace of whatever connection there is between you. You get to lose yourself in the contours and planes of his impossibly immaculate body; whether it’s human or not, you’ve decided you don’t really care because it just feels too fucking good.

The red ring in your eyes is a small price to pay in the grand scheme of it all. Your fingers flick over some of the newer garments, taking in the sleek feel of silk and the soft brush of leather. Everything in here exudes sex. Something you might have once been embarrassed by, but not now.

Grabbing an off-the-shoulder emerald silk top, you pair it with a simple pair of black jeans. The thick-soled Docs you wore the night of the deal go on after you pull on a pair of socks. The lilac of your hair has remained despite the numerous times you’ve washed it over the last month. Jimin just chuckled and fingered a lock of your hair when you asked him about it, saying something about how much he likes the color on you.

You’ve chalked it up to a flex of his power. After the first week of oddities, you stopped questioning it. The bathing chamber connected to his room offers a variety of luxury products, none of them ever seem to run out. Jimin enjoys soaking in a bath, something you’ve done with him more than a handful of times after a rough but fun session. Sessions such as dirtying up his sheets—which are always pristine and clean once more with just a flick of his wrist.

That little taste of power may make you no longer eager to escape your situation. Who you were before, the responsibilities you held, the people in your life…they all seem like a dream now, hazy and unclear. With the exception of Dominique, of course.

You’re excited to see your friend, but that’s about as far as your enthusiasm goes. Sighing, you turn to face Jimin. Who, in the span of however long it took you to get ready, has cleaned the entire room and dressed himself in a suit similar to the one he wore the night you met him.

His black hair is mussed in a way that looks sexy, tendrils falling from the coif to frame his ruby-colored eyes. Eyes that you have lost yourself in countless times and that are starting to mirror your own. You watch as a cherry lollipop appears in his hand, the wrapper already gone. It shouldn’t be so seductive, the way he using his tongue to seat the candy past his teeth. But you’re desperately turned on by the display.

“Fuck you,” you gruff, knowing he’ll deny you if you proposition him for a quickie before the meeting because it’s never just a quickie with Jimin. No, he turns anything into a full-blown, hour-long experience. Not that you’re complaining.

“Don’t pout…or do. I like the way it makes your lips poke out.” Jimin gestures toward you with the lollipop. “I’ll make it up to you when we return, little mouse. Promise.” He pops the stick into his mouth once more and then holds out his hand to you, one eyebrow raising in silent command.

It doesn’t hurt, necessarily, sliding through the space between Jimin’s world and the other—the one you used to call home. Used to? You’re not sure when that became the distinction.

The moment your feet find the solid ground of the crossroads clearing, you anticipate a forlorn feeling or for an intense desire for salvation to slam into you. Only, it doesn’t come. But maybe seeing Dominique will be the key; unlock the floodgates or something.

She appears a few minutes later. The sound of her boots crunching through the underbrush draws your eyes to the two trees across the clearing through which you followed her just a month ago.

Dominique yells your name before breaking out into a run. Jimin squeezes your fingers where his hand is still wrapped around yours. In all the time you’ve been with him, you still haven’t given him your name. But, now…he knows.

Irritation colors your insides. You snatch your hand from his, earning a soft chuckle from him, and try to plaster on a smile as Dom closes the distance and throws her arms around your neck.

“Oh my gods, oh my gods, oh my gods,” she chants, voice on the verge of hysterics. “Let me,” she begs, her hands sliding to your shoulders so she can hold you at arm's length. Her eyes sweep you from head to toe, clearly checking to make sure you’re unharmed.

“Not a hair out of place, I believe, is what you said,” Jimin says coyly. “Even the color is the same.”

Dominique ignores him, keeping her focus on you. “Your eyes,” she whispers. “What happened to your eyes?”

“Side effect of my time there.” You shrug. “I’m okay, Dom, really.”

When you were first taken, that would have felt like a lie. Now, however, it’s so far from that. You are okay—more than. You glance at Jimin over your shoulder, trying to gauge whether or not he’s listening. He’s absently twirling the lollipop's stick and humming softly, seemingly wholly tuned out.

Still, you let Dominique pull you further away. She pitches her voice low, pulling you in for another hug to disguise the fact she pushes her mouth close to your ear and whispers, “I’ve figured it out. Grann knows a way we can entrap the demon. All I need is his true name. Do you know it?”

You’ve been able to say it for the last two weeks now since Jimin lifted the demand for you not to use it, but for some reason, you don’t want to tell her, so it doesn’t feel like a betrayal. You subtly shake your head. “Sorry.”

“Fuck. Okay. I know you didn't ask for this, but you're handling this better than I thought you would. I mean, I was prepared for something like this for me, but you had no idea what would happen. Not that I think you’re handling it better than I would…I just, yeah, I’m glad you’re alive.”

Dominique pulls back a little so she can look into your eyes but still remain close. The skin around her eyes is darker, her hair a bit disheveled and the purple strands completely faded and washed out. She looks tired, exhausted, really. But what she just said sparks something in you, tickles a niggling you had in the back of your mind from a month ago that resurfaces now. She was prepared for something like this for herself? Interesting. Before you can think further on the matter, Dom sighs heavily, and your attention draws back to her tired expression.

You pause for a beat, waiting for the concern and love for your friend to come crashing down on you. Much like your anger, it doesn’t so much as tickle through your mind. If anything, you’re feeling restless and eager to finish up this meeting and return to Jimin’s quarters in the Obsidian Fortress. Quarters that, you realize now, feel more like home than Dominique’s arms do.

“Maybe I can try, though. For next time.” You try to offer her somewhat of a reassuring smile, but you’re not sure it lands. Her eyes flick over your face, searching…for what, you’re unsure. Whatever she finds there, though, must satisfy her enough that she nods.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispers.

“I’ve missed you, too, Dom. You need to take care of yourself. Can’t rescue me if you can barely keep your feet.”

😈😈😈

Jimin

“...rescue me…”

Jimin admits he was barely paying attention. His own fault, really. But those two words ring in his ears as if you’d shouted them for the entire world to hear. He had really thought you were coming around, enjoying your time with him.

But this? You’re still maintaining some sort of fantasy where your little witchy friend comes to your rescue? Oh, that makes Jimin’s blood boil. How dare you. He’s done nothing but satisfy your every gods damned need and desire.

His plan for forever jumps right to the forefront of his mind. Apparently, he can’t continue to dawdle over this. It’s time to make his move, consequences be damned.

Jimin watches as you giggle and chat with your friend, completely unaware of the fury brewing a few feet away from you. He hopes you’re enjoying yourself because this will be the last time you ever do this again.

The hour drags by. But, when it’s finally time to say goodbye, it doesn’t take much effort on his part. If he hadn’t overheard the little bit of your conversation earlier, he’d almost think you were coming to him willingly—eager, even.

After the fifth time Jimin tasted your soul, he found it hard to read you. Your mind was closed to him; otherwise, he would shove right in and scour it for any morsel of information. Clearly, he’s coddled you too much. So unbecoming of a demon, and there’s only one way he can think to rectify his folly and move forward with his plan all at once…one way—or demon, more precisely—that can give him what he wants; the deal with Dominique be damned.

😈😈😈

It feels right, sliding your hand into Jimin’s. You give Dominique one final, half-hearted wave, and then your breath is stolen by the sensation of falling. It sweeps through your belly, and when you blink, you expect to see Jimin’s lavish room, but instead, you’re somewhere else, somewhere colder and more bleak.

“Where are we?” you ask.

“Jimin, what a pleasant surprise,” comes a dark, familiar voice behind you. Chills cascade down your spine, replacing the confusion from seconds before. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Jimin tightens his grip on your hand and turns, pulling you with him to face the same being from the first day you were brought to this realm. “I have a favor to ask.”

Coal-black eyes meet yours, and they widen in surprised delight. “My, my, Jimin, you’ve been busy, haven’t you? And yet, her soul is still mostly intact. Restraint and commitment, I’m impressed. What’s the favor?”

“I want to keep her.”

“Keep me?” you ask, startled by this revelation. 

Ignoring you, Jimin continues, “Forever. Dissolve my deal, make her mine in all ways.”

“Interesting,” the dark figure coos. “So very interesting.” With a swirl of dark fabric and smoke, he’s standing before you, so close you can see the purple-black pallor around his eyes and the fine points of his teeth as he smiles. “Mm, I’m intrigued. What’s brought about this request?”

Jimin opens his mouth but closes it again before clearing his throat and tightening his grip on your hand. “I’ve taken a liking to…her.”

“More than a liking, it seems,” Dark Lord chuckles. “Though, it doesn’t seem like you really need my interference. She seems willing enough.”

“What?” Jimin asks, finally looking at you for the first time since pulling you here. “But, I heard—”

“What she wanted the human to hear.”

A long, pale finger hooks under your chin and angles your head, tilting your face from side to side. “Yes, quite willing. Isn’t that so, kitten? Ah-ah, don’t lie to us.”

“Yes,” you whisper.

“If she’s a willing soul, then there is no need for protection. By that account, the deal is void,” he continues, slowly examining your face. “All you need to do is take it all…every drop of her willing soul.”

Without responding, Jimin whisks you away. You suddenly find yourself standing in the middle of Jimin’s room, with him standing right in front of you and his eyes boring into yours so intently.

“Say it.”

“Say what?” you ask.

Jimin gathers you against his chest, arms banding around your waist. “Tell me he’s right.”

“He’s right, Jimin. I’m willing. I-I don’t know…what happened, or when…maybe you’ve manipulated me somehow, and this is all your doing—but, fuck, somehow he’s right.”

His reply is hesitant, uncertain, “You want to be with me?”

Instead of reassuring him once again, you turn the question back on him. “Only if you want to be with me. Tell me I’m more than just part of a demon deal, that I’m not some coveted prize that you’re going to toss away in ten years.”

“No, no, I’d never do that. Even if I had to force you, I’d have never let you go.” At least he has the sense to look sheepish at admitting he’d use force if necessary.

“Wouldn’t that have hurt you somehow, breaking the deal?” Worry creases your brow, even at the mere thought.

Jimin shrugs, pulling you impossibly closer. His warm breath fans over your face as he says, “What’s a few years of punishment in the sanguine pits for breaking a deal compared to an eternity with you?”

You can’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head at the crazy turn of events. “So, what now?” you ask, voice a little shaky at the sudden prospect of what he might say.

“Say it again,” he requests, breathy and fervent in his need to hear it once more, just to be sure.

It comes naturally now, saying precisely what you want.

“I’m willing.”

Jimin responds by cupping your face in his hands and slanting his mouth over yours. You recognize it the instant he starts to sip from your soul. With deep, long swallows, Jimin pulls at that little place inside you…and you let him.

You open yourself to him, accepting this as your fate. Maybe he truly did manipulate you and took away your free will all those weeks ago, but right now, in this moment, you can’t bring yourself to care. Because it feels right…this feels right.

“Sweet, sweet soul,” Jimin murmurs against your mouth. He’s greedy, tongue and lips working as he continues to taste you through the last few drops. “You’re now mine forever, little mouse.”

With eyes of vermillion and honey, you come alive…perhaps for the first time in your life.

All because your friend buried a box.

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[lancerliterature]

To Love, Honor, and Obey

Pairing: John F. Kennedy x Reader

Summary: In the late 1950s, your husband, Senator John F. Kennedy, brings you to dinner with his congressmen colleagues. When you start to tease him under the table, you quickly realize you may have bit off more than you can chew.

Further Information: 18+, includes smut, swearing, public humiliation, and maybe dubious consent

Word Count: 2.7k

When Jack had asked you to accompany him and his brother to a ritzy restaurant downtown to celebrate the bill he passed to increase the minimum wage, you’d eagerly accepted. As much as you cherished your peaceful nights alone with the baby, you’d been missing Jack a great deal. His long hours at the capitol building and regular trips back to Massachusetts in tandem with your new-mother exhaustion meant that, lately, the majority of your interactions consisted solely of you blinking suddenly and blearily awake in the evening to him bunching your nightgown skirt up into your armpits for a quick fuck before he, too, rolled over and passed out. When you woke back up in the morning, naked and sore, he was gone again.

That isn’t to say you disliked these little late-night rendezvous of yours, though. In fact, you had a particularly mouth-watering, albeit hazy, memory from the night just before he’d asked you to dinner—you’d been laying half-asleep on top of him, moaning languidly as you enjoyed the rhythmic jerk of his hips into yours, when suddenly he cupped your face in his big, calloused hand and said, “Look at me, honey,” then reached his climax at the exact moment the two of you locked eyes, rolling his head back and muffling a groan through clenched teeth. You figured it was the total, submissive surrender he saw in your woozy gaze, a look he knew only he would ever see, that really did it for him. These encounters were bound to result in another pregnancy soon, which was yet another reason for you to appreciate them. Jack’s menagerie of siblings loved to half-jokingly remind you that a Catholic marriage wasn’t truly successful until it produced at least five children.

But, regardless of the intermittent fun you and Jack still had, you’d been excited by the prospect of some long-overdue actual conversation between the two of you that this dinner could offer. But once two whole hours had passed after you sat down and you and Jack had hardly said more than a few sentences to each other, you realized how foolish you’d been to hope for anything more.

You were seated at a large booth in the back corner of the restaurant with Jack’s brother Bob, Bob’s wife Ethel, and a few other senators and their wives. As if that wasn’t already enough to steal Jack’s attention away, to your chagrin, your little section had seemed to transform into the social hub of D.C. almost as soon as you all arrived.

You didn’t think you would ever grow accustomed to how similar this supposed democratic utopian city could be to the average American high school—everyone knew each other, and everyone wanted to be seen rubbing elbows with the popular kids. Years ago, your husband had gladly assumed the role of D.C.’s reigning prom king (whether this was fortunate or unfortunate for you, you still weren’t sure), which meant that every five minutes or so, a new politician or CEO would materialize through the thick ring of cigar smoke surrounding your table and practically dive forward to shake Jack’s hand, effusively congratulating him on his new bill. Vice President Richard Nixon had actually pulled up a chair and sat down with you all for half an hour.

You were starting to feel sort of like a sulky child waiting for her father to finish mingling at a party—not only because you were more than ten years younger than your husband and probably more than twenty younger than his colleagues, but the constant whirl of booming voices together with the four-piece band blasting swing music from across the room was more than enough for you to quickly abandon any attempt to get a word in edgewise. For a while now, you’d been silently holding Jack’s hand in your lap and twiddling with his long fingers, praying that your constant touch would serve as a subconscious reminder that it was far past your bedtime. All you’d gotten from him so far, though, were the usual check-up glances he’d brush your way every so often, placating you for a brief moment with his gentle smirk. Despite your grievances, you always flashed him a good-humored smile in return. Above all, your appointed duty as Mrs. John F. Kennedy was to follow his lead and make him look good.

You finally reached your wit’s end, though, when Dean Martin (you weren’t fully certain why he was even in town) strolled up with this rosy-cheeked blonde on his arm. You hadn’t the faintest idea who the girl was—yet another of Dean’s extra-marital conquests, surely—but you certainly clocked how beautiful she was and how she couldn’t have been older than twenty. As she sauntered up to your table, you noticed how Jack raised his eyebrows and leaned back in his seat as if Dean was a waiter who had just arrived with a silver platter. You felt your fingers tighten around his hand.

The first thing the blonde did was, without so much as a glance in your direction, offer Jack her dainty little gloved hand. “Senator Kennedy,” she tittered, “how do you do? It’s such an honor to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.” Then she blurted out a surprisingly topical and informed joke about certain dastardly Republican congressmen and their attempts to squash workers’ unions across the country. Like trained dogs, the table waited mid-motion for Jack to break into an approving smile before they all started to chuckle. Then Jack turned to Bob and, with a stream of cigar smoke shooting from his nose, said, “She’s quite the firecracker, eh?” Bob responded with a wolfish, droopy-eyed grin, and the girl let out a chirpy giggle.

You knew you couldn't expect a man to completely ignore such an attractive woman, especially a man with Jack’s appetite (once, at a dinner party a few months into your courtship, he had drunkenly informed you that he suffered horrible migraines whenever he ever went more than twenty-four hours without intercourse). But still, that didn’t mean you would sit idly by while his depraved mind began to wander.

Dean was in the middle of saying, “Jack, the missus looks dashing as always” and you were smiling graciously as, under the table, you made the admittedly desperate, split-second decision to get Jack’s attention by pulling the hem of your cocktail dress up over your knees.

When you placed his hand down on your thigh, covered now only by a thin stocking, you glanced up to see his ears shift backwards on his scalp in a slight, almost-undetectable expression of surprise. “I can’t believe my luck,” he was telling Dean, and then, without missing a beat, he turned to wink at you before hooking a finger under one of your garter belt slings and snapping it playfully against your skin, sending sparks up your leg.

This wasn’t the first time he’d touched you below the belt outside the privacy of your home. He was known to occasionally slip his hand up your dress in the back of a limousine or give your butt an appreciative pat while walking behind you at some social event. You would always gasp and squirm away, your cheeks pinching into a nervous smile. But, luckily for him, the toe-curling embarrassment that normally engulfed you at the mere thought of engaging in public sexual behavior felt strangely dull tonight, like the wipsy, half-formed thoughts you had just before you fell asleep—maybe this sudden shift was, as a matter of fact, a result of how deliriously tired you were.

While Jack continued to talk to Dean, you grabbed his wrist and tugged it a tiny bit further up your thigh. You watched his nostrils flare as if someone had just told him a joke he wasn’t sure he should laugh at.

Once his initial shock at your change of heart regarding public affection wore off, you knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to keep moving his hand further and further up your leg. This would not only serve to keep his focus on you and you alone for the rest of the night, but it would ensure that this wearisome dinner wouldn’t go on for too much longer. You fully expected Jack to take you home within ten minutes of him first touching your leg so that he could properly satisfy his newly-stoked sexual hunger.

But then, your whole body twinged as, in one abrupt movement, he completely overrode your little plan and went to press his knuckle against the fabric covering your labia. Instinctively, you grabbed onto his bicep with the ferocity of someone trying to catch their balance before they fell.

“You alright there, Mrs. Kennedy?” Dean asked.

You snapped your head to look up at him. His bushy eyebrows hooked towards each other in concern.

“Oh,” you said, “yes….” Your forehead flared with heat as you tried to think of an excuse as to why you’d latched onto your husband so abrasively. The sizzling of Jack’s mischievous gaze into the side of your face certainly wasn’t helping. What in heaven’s name was he playing at? Rubbing your panties in the backseat of a car was one thing—but at a crowded restaurant? Right next to Bob and Ethel?

After just a beat too long, you finally decided to tell Dean, “I just—Jack and I just love this song.” Jaw clenched, you forced yourself to turn and beam up at your husband as the band floated through the opening notes of “I’ve Got a Crush on You.”

“Oh, we sure do,” Jack said emphatically, which was jarring when paired with the way he then tilted his head down at you like a professor who’d just caught his student in a fib. You were almost entirely certain the two of you had never before listened to this song together.

Jack was still boring into you with those intense, dark-sea eyes as he angled his knuckle up towards your clit and began rubbing up and down, up and down. Against your will, your stomach seized with pleasure, and you dug your nails into his arm.

By the grace of God, one of the other senators’ wives piped up then, keeping the conversation seamlessly flowing. “Donna and I saw Sinatra perform this song in Vegas,” she said. Once all eyes had swiveled over to her and the table began to discuss this revelation, Jack took the opportunity to lean clandestinely towards you.

“You know better than to start something you can’t finish, kid,” he murmured into your ear. You felt your spine lock up, an instinctive reaction to this particular dark and unpredictable tone of his. You forced yourself to take deep, slow breaths through your nose. Cigar smoke puffed against your cheek and billowed across your eyes as Jack continued, “Is this all because of her?”

You turned, the bridge of your nose skimming across his, in time to watch him cock his head in the direction of Dean’s date. You glanced over toward her, and you were mildly startled to find that she was looking right back at you. With a too-wide smile plastered on her face at whatever one of the other senators was saying, she looked quickly back and forth between you and Jack—at the way he loomed over you while you likely appeared oddly stiff and flustered-looking—before turning sharply away.

You lifted a hand and pressed the backsides of your trembling, manicured fingers against your cheek. As you’d suspected, your skin was burning to the touch and only blazing hotter as your thoughts began to run amok. The blonde couldn’t possibly suspect something was going on under the table, could she?

Meanwhile, Jack took your stupefied silence as a “yes” in response to his question and clicked his tongue in a quiet tsk-tsk. “I thought so,” he said. “I wish you wouldn’t worry about other girls. You’re much prettier than she is.”

“Jack—” You were interrupted by the squeak that popped from your mouth as he increased his pressure on your clit. You clenched your legs around his forearm in a futile attempt to stop him.

“What?” he breathed, undeterred.

When you tried again to speak, your voice sounded small and distant under the sickening throbbing sensations that blared like alarm bells through your midsection. “You’re the devil.”

He gasped softly in mock outrage. “The devil?”

Despite it all, you couldn't help but let out a little wheezing laugh at your own melodrama. “Yes.”

He chuckled, too, and you thought he was about to say something else when one of his senator cronies said, “Isn’t that right, Jack?”

After searing you with a smoky look that clearly meant Don’t think I’m done with you yet, Jack leaned back to rejoin the conversation with startling ease. He puffed on his cigar and, with one relentless hand still tucked under your skirt, said, “Well, I wouldn’t blame Ives one bit for retiring after the year we’ve had.”

You started to wonder how the hell he had possibly been following the senators’ conversation while simultaneously whispering to you, but you didn’t have much time to ruminate; you could feel yourself growing more and more air-headed with each circle his knuckle made on your clit.

As Jack continued to talk, you were almost certain you saw the blonde’s curious eyes follow the length of his arm down to where it disappeared in your lap. A fresh wave of nauseating embarrassment spilled over you, and you were reminded of a particularly debauched dream you’d had a few months ago in which Jack brought you to one of his Senate hearings and instructed you to give him a blowjob while everyone watched. Strangely, you eagerly complied, gagging and sputtering while the old men around you whistled and cheered Jack on. You woke up feeling sick to your stomach, your heart racing, and yet, you also noticed that yours and Jack’s thighs had gotten all wet with your arousal during the night.

You felt your hips twitch with confused, guilty excitement, and you weren’t sure if it was because you were thinking about that dream or because you were now almost certain that the blonde knew exactly what Jack was doing to you down there. It occurred to you that she was likely jealous. She probably wished she had someone like Jack who would take such good care of her, someone so movie-star handsome, someone who could make her wake up in the morning, gasping, from a horrendously dirty wet dream.

Suddenly, you found yourself dangling right over the edge of orgasm.

As soon as you heard Jack stop talking again, you seized the chance to tug on his shoulder and whisper, “Jack, you can’t—I’m about to….” Apparently, you’d never quite left behind your tenure as a prim Catholic schoolgirl because you simply could not get yourself to say the word “come” in front of all these people, even if only Jack could hear it.

But before Jack could even react, Ethel poked her head out from around his shoulder like an adorable little gopher.

“Y/N,” she said, her mouth melting into a cartoonish, open-mouthed frown, “you don’t look too good, sweetheart.”

The muscles in your body flash-froze as all eyes, once again, turned on you. You knew the proper thing would be to respond somehow, but you kept your lips firmly sealed, paranoid that some kind of wanton moan would tumble out if you opened them. The big, hot water balloon in your lower stomach was stretching, getting ready to pop. Telepathically, you begged Jack, Please, please don’t make me come.

At the very last moment, as if he’d been listening to every single one of your thoughts, Jack yanked his hand away. Eyes fluttering, you planted both hands on the cushion underneath you to steady yourself, feeling suddenly like you’d just finished a sprint. Thankfully, you heard Jack take all the attention off of you as he announced to everyone, “I think Mrs. Kennedy and I are both a little tired. It’s about time for us to head home.”

[wazzi2ya]

This was supposed to be short, and it turned into...lemme get a word counter here...2k+ words.

Managed to get something done from this post, so here we go. Let's hope I can keep the streak up but tbh I start work on monday so who knows lmao.

Anyway here goes:

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The princess had invited everyone out for dinner. One of those ritzy places only Overlords and higher ranking demons like the Deadly Sins and Ars Goetia were allowed to even approach.

Husk had been to one, exactly once, when he was in his full power. He'd been invited by the Von Eldritch patriarch to talk business. He'd been impressed by Husk's main casino and wanted to invest in a new one near his own territory.

He'd never finished closing the deal, as the high of overconfidence the proposition gave him had led him to go on a betting spree. Now, he wasn't the Gambling Demon for nothing. He'd won every game that week, big or small.

Up until Alastor showed up, and the rest was history.

"Motherfucker cheated me in my own game." Husk grumbled under his breath, finishing fixing his tie in front of the mirror. He'd chosen to forgo the usual bow-tie in favor of something half the hotel wouldn't be wearing, for once. He wasn't exactly happy with it, though. The half-Windsor knot was relatively easy, but his huge paws and claws were not cooperating. It lay a bit crooked, not enough to be glaringly noticeable, but anyone experienced could see it a mile away.

Giving up, and thinking Charlie should be glad he's wearing a shirt at all with how much trouble he went through finding something that fit his wings, he opted to grab his dark grey jacket and wait for everyone else at the lobby.

On his way down, he passed by Angel's room, the bright pink hearts adorning it hurting his sensitive eyes. He tried to hurry past to avoid getting the neon shapes burned into his retina, when he heard something crashing into the floor from inside the room, followed by loud cursing and the squealing of Fat Nuggets.

Husk usually minded his own business, but knowing Angel, this could mean anything from a particularly nasty text from Valentino, to having smashed his pinky toe--did he even have toes? Angel wasn't very keen on showing anyone his feet--on a table. Both things could potentially make everyone late if Angel got caught up stewing in his anger.

Steadying himself, Husk knocked quietly on the door. Once. Twice. And waited.

The door swung open a second later, Angel standing in front of him in only a pair of black shorts and long fuzzy pink socks. He looked mad, but his frown softened a notch after seeing it was him.

"Oh, Husky, hi." Angel leaned on the door frame, arms crossing under his chest fluff to make it look bigger. Husk rolled his eyes internally. Most likely something Angel did on instinct at this point. "Can I, uh, can I help you?"

"Yeah, you can tell me what the hell is going on in there that even your pig is screaming." Husk raised an eyebrow, noticing how Angel started to flush under the fur. It was one of the things he couldn't hide with how brightly colored his fur was; the red shone right through.

"Ah, nothing to concern yourself with, don't worry." Angel cleared his throat, trying to use his taller body to block the view of his room. Unfortunately for him, he was thin as a rake and it was very easy for Husk to use his aforementioned sensitive feline eyes to see into the dimly lit room.

A lamp was on the floor, not broken thanks to the fluffy rug covering half of the room, but the bedside table it had been on was askew as well. The vanity mirror right next to it had a few bottles knocked over both on the table and the floor right below. He could see what was most likely Angel's outfit for the night hanging on the door of his closet, something flowy and shiny that he couldn't deduce the shape of just by looking.

What he could recognize was the simple corset laying on the bed, the same lilac shade as the dress.

He was no detective, but Husk could put two and two together.

"Having trouble with anything?" He nodded his chin at the mess inside. "Maybe something getting you a bit tangled up?"

Angel batted a hand at him, clicking his tongue. "Spiders don't get 'tangled up', baby." He looked back inside slowly, biting his lip in consideration. All three pairs of arms were out and crossed, all right hands tapping different rhythms on his opposing elbows. "'Though...if you don't mind lending one of them nice hands of yours..."

Husk had to laugh. "That's gotta be the first time anyone calls them 'nice'." He wiggled his fingers, showing off the dangerous claws he sported. Angel seemed entranced, following the movement closely. "But sure, show me the problem."

Angel snapped out of it, stepping to the side to let him in. Fat Nuggets was sitting on his doggie bed by the corner, but it was clean and almost new; a good sign the piglet spend more time sleeping with Angel in his bed. Whatever had spooked him earlier--likely the falling lamp--clearly wasn't bothering him anymore. He oinked excitedly and rushed to Husk, tapping at the ground with his little hoof, asking to be picked up.

Husk conceded, hanging his jacket on the door knob and quickly lifting him to drop a kiss on his snout before setting him back down on Angel's bed. He swiped the discarded corset off the sheets and turned to Angel, who was silently staring at him with shining eyes after the brief interaction with his pet. "Alright then, get over here."

Angel got there quickly, his long strides making short work of the length of the room. He sat on the velvet stool in front of the vanity, lifting his arms to allow Husk to slide the laced up corset into place. He had to pop in the two lower pairs of arms, as this specific corset didn't have an extra opening for more than the usual.

"I see." Husk chuckled. It was easier to guess now what had happened. "Not used to the lack of extra hands for this kinda job?" He asked, expertly centering the garment in a way it would fit properly when standing, while being comfortable when sitting. He started pulling at the lace in each segment, alternating the top and bottom, slowly tightening it up towards the center.

"Couldn't find a pair in this color that would fit me like that" Angel huffed, blowing at the tuft of hair falling on his face. "The lace got all knotted up and I've spent the last ten minutes setting it back right. Pulled too hard on one and my hand slipped; ended up knocking over half my shit on the floor." He fell silent as he felt the corset cinching around his waist, perfectly in place in record time. "You're good at this. Any dark past you're hiding from me, Kitty?" He teased, standing up to check himself out in the mirror.

"Had some dancing shows in my casino a few years back. Wasn't unusual that they needed help getting ready and I just happened to be near." Husk said, falling back to sit at the edge of the bed next to Fat Nuggets.

Angel hummed as he slipped the dress off the hanger. "Lucky them." He grinned, twirling his pointy finger in circles in the air. "Now, now Husky, I can't put this on with these shorts, so if you don't mind~"

Husk rolled his eyes for real this time, but complied and turned around, sitting cross-legged on the bed as he faced the back wall. Angel hummed as he got ready, and Husk could hear the swishing of the fabric as he got dressed.

"Mind helping me with this too, baby?"

Husk looked back over his shoulder, only to freeze when he found Angel sitting on the stool again, his back to him as he finished tying up the halter top behind his neck. The zipper on the back was open, and it started low enough that Angel couldn't reach it without at least his middle arms, which were hidden away due to lack of accommodating space in the attire.

Husk stood, stumbling a bit as he tripped on his own feet. His tail was swishing as he walked up to Angel, pupils considerable dilated even for the dimness of the room. He couldn't explain why, but he had no problem seeing or even touching a near naked Angel.

But to see him almost completely dressed up, with only the small detail of an unzipped dress over his half-bared back...it twisted a knot in his throat.

Angel had a long torso, so if he didn't get his clothes made to fit, then he'd adapt what he could find. The corset was off the rack, so it was too short for him and he used it mostly to accentuate his waist. It ended below his chest, leaving his upper back exposed, which worked perfectly for this specific dress. In Husk's opinion it worked way better as an eye-catcher than the usual shorter, more revealing attires Angel would wear to work or for casual days out with Cherri.

When so little was on display, it almost made him want to reach out a hand and...

"I never really wear this one." Angel spoke suddenly, making Husk jump as he was snapped out of his haze. "It's a hassle when I'm alone, even without the damn corset."

Husk hummed, placing a hand carefully on Angel's exposed bit of back to keep him sitting straight. A shiver ran down Angel's spine and made Husk chuckle. "Pity. It's a nice dress. The color suits you well."

Angel laughed breathily, shifting a bit in his seat as Husk grabbed the delicate zipper and slowly dragged it up, the dull side of his claws running up his lower back over the shiny satin. "Aw, you sayin' there's something that don't suit me, babycakes?"

"You know that won't work on me" Husk said softly, his voice low and gravelly resonating like a beating drum within Angel's rib cage, in tandem with the quickening beating of his heart. "But no, I don't think there's anything that won't suit you." He finished fastening the small clasp right above where the zipper ended, and ran the back of his hand down Angel's back to flatten the fabric in place.

Angel gasped quietly at the feeling, holding his breath for a few seconds before releasing it slowly. He stood up, the fabric of the skirt falling like water around his legs. A slit running up his left thigh to the hip showed his leg, and Husk grinned at the sight of the fuzzy pink sock he still had on, clashing completely with the rest of the outfit.

"I'll let you finish getting ready then." He pointed at the sock with his chin, smile widening when Angel realized he still had them on. Angel puffed his cheeks and moved the skirt to cover his leg. Husk laughed and was about to turn to leave, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him in place.

"Not so fast." Angel's voice called him back, and when he turned to face him, he was standing right there, bent at the hip thanks to the corset. He brought the other hand to Husk's other shoulder, dragging both together down his chest. "Lemme help ya a bit, too."

Husk felt more than saw Angel untying his tie, making quick work of fixing it into a perfect full Windsor. Or at least that's what it seemed. He was too busy noticing the subtle makeup Angel had applied before getting dressed. It was barely there, so he hadn't seen it before, but the dark eyeliner making his eyes look sharper and the hint of clear lip gloss were all he could see now.

Angel wasn't even looking at him, eyes focused on fixing his tie and straightening up his shirt, even going as far as tucking it in better in his pants. There wasn't the slightest hint of sexual intent in the gesture; it was actually strangely domestic.

"That style goes better with your shirt. You got a jacket?" Angel asked, and Husk wordlessly turned back to the door, where he'd left it hanging from the knob once he entered the room. Angel huffed and checked it for wrinkles, brushing some fuzz off the shoulders. He was about to hand it over when he paused, and quickly draped it over his own shoulders like a cape, checking himself out in his mirror and chuckling before finally giving it back. "Well, what do you know? Looks good like this too."

Husk accepted it silently, letting it hang from his forearm as he followed Angel to the door. Angel's perfume wafting from the garment and into his nose.

"Thanks, Husk." Angel smiled at him, something small and sincere, and Husk felt his heart skip a beat at the lack of any nickname for him. "I'll see you downstairs?"

"Sure." He hesitated for a moment, an aborted step to the side as he almost went on his way before catching himself. He grabbed Angel's hand and brought it to his face, kissing his knuckles quickly before hightailing it out of there, practically flying down the flights of stairs to the lobby.

Angel's hand remained where Husk had released it, hanging in midair as he stared at the spot Husk had been a second before. He brought his hand to his chest, biting his cheek to keep the stupid grin that wanted to overtake his face.

He turned back inside and closed the door. He still had to finish getting ready.

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Angel's dress is something like this but lilac, with the back starting a bit higher to cover up the corset. He's a long boy, it'd work anyway, ha.

Might post this to ao3 as well, for clout lmao.

Anyway, I'll see if I can do something more with prompts later, byeeee.

[arcielee]

Hazy Shades of Spring

Summary: A professor runs into one of her students.  Paring: Modern Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader  Word Count: 3483 Warnings: Nothing too spicy, so please don’t report. ♥ There will be a part 2 though for the smut.  Author's Note: This is for the poll you all voted for. I hope you enjoy and a huge thank you to @sapphire-writes for your read over/feedback, your modern Aemond has definitely set the bar (for me anyway).  Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @sirenofavalon​

It was the fourth walk-by from your waitress when you decided to request your bill and just accept that you, in fact, had been stood up. 

You were single and freshly thirty and dating had seemingly become a monstrous thing to attempt. You kept your humor with dating apps, but you also held a mild regret that curled in your abdomen that you ended things with Cregan; as amicable a break-up as it was, you were beginning to believe that complacency might have been the best option. 

Now you only had yourself to blame because you finally caved to the incessant needling of your colleague, Johanna Lannister, when she cornered you, again, and pressed her suggestion of a blind date with her husband’s brother. 

“It’s his twin brother,” she added to her attempt to make her point. “So you know he’s handsome…”

Your nose involuntarily scrunched with her closing statement, but you decided to set aside your judgment and agreed to it, if anything to shut her up.

Numbers were exchanged and you texted back and forth a bit; he was amiable enough with some wit to him, though not enough to laugh out loud, but it was enough to agree to meet for dinner. The semester had ended and you had submitted your grades, allowing you several weeks of freedom before the spring semester would begin. 

He suggested and seemed adamant about the new upscale restaurant that opened up downtown, which was an old theatre that had been purchased and repurposed for fine dining. When you arrived, its renovation was breathtaking: the inside arched upwards and there was a new mural of brilliant colors on the ceiling, with marble columns that led to a grand staircase and red carpeting that was a walkway over the polished floors. 

You knew it would be ritzy and opted for a black, flitted dress that complimented your figure and cut off just above your knees, with tights that showed a definitive black seam centering the backside of your legs and a heel with a clasp. You removed your cardigan before you approached the hostess, checking your phone to see the text, running late, be there soon.

Your grip tightened on the phone, with a fleeting moment to retreat homeward but you had put effort into your look tonight and you ignored the call of comfort for a baggy shirt and sweats. Instead, you get a table and order a glass of red wine while you wait. 

The time rolled away and your glass neared empty; you checked your phone to see that the courtesy text you sent to see if he was still alive had been left on read. It sends a bolt of vexation in your chest and you finish the wine; you were nettled by the inconsideration being shown by the damn Lannister twin.

An annoyed sigh leaves you and you can feel the pitied look of your waitress. “We do have a bar upstairs,” she offers with a small smile. “It isn’t as crowded as down here.” 

Fuck it. You tip her well and decide to climb the grandiose staircase, to make most of your night out as well as escape the music and murmur of the dinner crowd. The lighting was not as harsh and you seated yourself at the end of the bar, ordering a second glass of wine and retrieving a small notepad you have tucked into your purse. “Do you have a pen?” You asked the bartender and he is polite enough to retrieve you one. 

You allow the new scenery and your new muse, the feeling of absolute annoyance, to help create something for your editor; lost in your scribble and half a glass later, you are interrupted with a question.

“Professor?” 

Your hand stilled on the glass stem, your grip so tight you would think it would crack under the  pressure. 

Living centrally downtown did mean you would often run into students, present and sometimes past. You knew you were not as old and dusty like some of the other professors, but you kept your reservation with social interactions, giving a tight smile when they acknowledged you and looked for a segue out of any pleasantries they attempted to exchange. 

It wasn’t that you did not care for them, it’s just that you did not want to be reminded of your occupation outside of your working hours. 

This voice was familiar, with a distinct, low hum from the chest.

Aemond Targaryen. 

He was one of the top students at the university; he was never late with assignments, would always push for extra credit, and would meet any opinion with his own educated intellection, which often led to heated debates in business law. 

In the beginning, you struggled with your prejudice when he entered your classroom; you noted his gait and composure, how he held himself with an eerie elegance as opposed to his brother and his frat boy persona. Aegon had been a handful, often showing up under the influence of something and once making a crude pass when he asked about extra credit. 

You halted the attempt immediately and pushed him from your office; the thought of fraternizing with a student never crossed your mind.

That was until you had Aemond.

His family was known in King’s Landing, their family empire owning most of everything and their standing revered, with a hand in everything within city limits. Aegon only had passed your class, begrudgingly by you, due to the family’s repeated and generous donations to the university, though he hardly deserved the lowest grade you gave him. 

It was why you were not surprised when Aemond followed the same academic route, as it was expected for him to get a business degree of some sort and contribute. He had a different drive than his brother, he was present and moved with a determination, some unforeseen drive that pushed him and it gave him an almost arrogant air. 

The interactions you shared throughout the semester was a stark contrast to his stern demeanor; his voice was low and commanding, with a genuineness to his tone. He was never inappropriate and you found you actually enjoyed the interactions shared. 

He is also so very handsome, you cannot help but admit to yourself, your cheeks flushed when you turned to see him standing and watching you. 

Despite the scar that marred his face, a childhood accident was all he shared with you, his mien was still breathtaking. It was apparent he came from old money with the sapphire stone chosen to replace his missing eye and you could still see the gash that cut through from above his brow into the sharp contours of his face. His lips were curled, his head with a slight tilt as he peered at you. Tonight, he wore dark, fitted slacks and button up shirt, with a cashmere sweater and dress jacket. His silver chain peaked underneath his collar and his long, silver hair was not knotted back in his usual low, messy bun, but instead was draped over his broad shoulders.

“Oh, hello, Aemond, how nice to run into you,” you are quick to tuck the notepad back into your purse. “What brings you out tonight?” 

He always had this damnable, perpetual smirk that played at his lips, like he is aware of the effect he has on you. Aemond moved to take the seat next to you and you notice how the bartender is quick to serve him a drink. “My father insisted I help my uncle with the grand opening,” he explained, touching the glass but not drinking it. “I am shadowing the ordeal.” 

Of course they own this restaurant, your cheeks burning with the realization, but before you could excuse yourself, he instead asks, “You look lovely tonight. What brings you here?” He looks around, “Were you meeting with someone?” 

You fidget with your glass, clearing your throat. “Um, I was supposed to meet for a date and…” you faltered on the lie prepared on your lips and instead admitted, “I was stood up.” 

His expression is unreadable and he shrugs. “This seems to happen to the best of us,” and he finally lifts his glass to you. “Cheers to the best.” 

You give a small smile and the cheers allow you to finish your drink. Aemond gestures for a refill, but you push to stand. “Thank you, but I should probably leave. You are a student, I’m your professor…” 

“The semester is over,” his voice is low, his expression almost amused and you note how his eye takes in your form when you stand up. You pull your cardigan on, but it does little to cover your black dress and you burn from his steady gaze. “I’m hardly a student, except for a few filler courses this spring, but then I will be done. And besides, I already turned in my paper and you, actually, already submitted my grade.” 

“Oh, did I?” Of course I fucking did. 

Aemond hummed. “Yes, in fact. I appreciate the good score.”

The bartender rests the new glass in front of you and you lift it, “Well, it was well earned. And cheers, then, to the semester ending and good grades.”

The soft plink of glass and you see his perpetual smirk playing on his lips again. “You do look lovely tonight and I am obligated to be here. Enjoy your glass of wine and keep me company until it’s finished.” 

Since you had not eaten and were on your third glass of wine, it makes you agreeable to accept his company; you know your cheeks are rosy as you are swept up into conversation with him. Aemond always had a wit that would make you laugh, or maybe it was the wine, but either way you found you were enjoying yourself. 

With your third glass almost gone, your eyes catch sight of the cigarette case he placed on the bartop; the embossed design glinted under the lighting. “It’s a family insignia,” he explains, pushing it towards you. 

You pick it up, your finger trailing the dragon design. “This is in the mural in the lobby,” you muss and he nods. There is a satisfying click when you open it and the waft of cinnamon reaches your nose, which crinkles with your smile. “Clove cigarettes?” You cannot help but giggle with the discovery. 

He narrows his gaze on you, but his lips are still curled upwards as he leans over to take it from your hands. “It is my guilty pleasure, a treat when the semester ends,” he closes it. 

“We all deserve a guilty pleasure,” you agree, your attention falling to the empty glass in front of you. “I will have to ask for one, though,” you gestured towards the case. “I feel I need to indulge just a bit more, on this night in particular.” 

Aemond stands up and pulls your chair back, his hand offered to you so you can find your balance on your heels. You look up at him through your eyelashes and notice that even with your heel, he is taller still. 

He is gentle to take your hand in his own, his other hand on your lower back to guide you as you weave through the few patrons and staff. You eventually slip through a threshold that leads out to a secluded balcony that is decorated with lights, giving a golden hue. 

With the approach of spring, the night air is crisp and you wrap your arms around yourself and your thin cardigan. “Oh, this view,” you cannot help but smile, despite your shiver. 

Aemond hums his agreement, pulling off his dress jacket and handing it to you. You try to decline, but he insists, “I run warm. It’s a family trait.” 

You pull it on, engulfed in the fine fabric and his scent, a mixture of clean laundry with an expensive cologne. He walked towards the ornate balustrade that stems around the balcony and leaned his elbows on top; you followed him, the soft clicks of your heels on the stone and rested on his visible side, peering out towards King’s Landing. 

He pulled out the case and retrieved a black clove cigarette, lighting it and passing it to you, smoke pouring from his smile as your fingertips touch to take it. The drag is a mixture of the best and worst feeling; you allow your exhale to snake over your features and lick your lips to taste the cinnamon on them. “I haven’t had one of these,” you blush again. “It has been a while, but thank you, this is just what I wanted.” 

You watch him pull another and balance it between his lips. Wordless, you tuck yours into the corner of your mouth and place your hands to cup the flame as he lights it. With his exhale, he says, “Thank you.” 

The silence allows a moment to enjoy the city bustle below, but the sound of him clearing his throat brings you back to the balcony. “What about you?” You tilt your head to look at him, your brow quirked and he clarifies, “I had answered your questions and shared about my interests outside of my degree, but what about you and your passions?” 

You take another drag to mull over your reply. “Perhaps teaching is my passion,” you reply, your brow raised at him. 

He hums a moment. “I don’t think so,” his voice is so low that you need to turn to hear him, facing him and leaning one elbow on the bannister. His brow is cocked and his perpetual smirk playing on his lips. “I saw passion when you were focused on your notebook earlier, you had a glow with your penning.” Aemond blows the smoke above his head, “You do not have that same expression with your lectures.” 

You turn away and focus straight ahead, hoping the city lights would wash away the embarrassment that rushed to your cheeks. He makes almost an aha noise and steps closer towards you, peering at you. “I am correct about your passion outside of your teaching,” his tone is teasing.

“Well, yes,” your mind is buzzing from the wine, the cigarette amplifying it ever-so-slightly. He graduates after the spring, you reason and then decide to share, “I enjoy writing.”

This confession breaks the levy and your passion spills as you babble about your love for science fiction and how your interests were piqued by the classics like Ray Bradbury and Kurt Vonnegut, plus his pseudonym. Then you stop, your hand covering your mouth. “Sorry, I am rambling,” you blush again. 

“It’s cute,” he encourages. “Please, continue.” 

You sigh. “Unfortunately, there isn’t much else to add. Science fiction does not have the same audience  it once did and it definitely isn’t what sells as far as digital books,” you finish with a grim smile. “What sells then?”

You focus your eyes on him and cannot stop the fit of giggles that spill from your lips; he peers at you, his cheeks dimpling with a pursed smile of his own. “Smut, mostly,” you confess and he chuckles. “It is all,” you wave your hand flippantly, “porn with plot and I happen to have a knack for it. Plus, I am very fond of the residual income from my sales,” you finish your cigarette. 

“A knack for it?” His tone is still low and he flicks his own cigarette over the edge. “Like, the ability to incorporate it into any situation…?” 

“I mean, within reason,” you are unable to hold his gaze, feeling almost childish in his large jacket, your fingertips playing with the button stance. “It depends on the ratio of porn to plot, really. It kind of comes down to a science with the method.” 

“Oh?” He sounds amused and shifts himself, edging closer still, his gaze still locked on your face. “Enlighten me.” 

“Well,” you hem for your words, your wine-addled brain unable to stop them from leaving your mouth. “Obviously, as a writer, you wish to set the scene for your reader, the build-up to the moment, but you also don’t want clutter it so much when they are obviously looking for one thing-” 

Your words are stopped by the soft press of his lips to your own, his hands covering your hold on his jacket and bringing you against his chest. Your eyes widen for a moment before you relax against him, enjoying his taste, the mixture of clove cinnamon, smoke, and whatever whiskey he had at the bar.  

His large hands move to your hips, pulling you closer with a soft squeeze and you moan into the kiss, your fingers curling around the back of his neck and tangling in his hair. Aemond presses against you and your back against the bannister; you can feel him through his dress slacks, your own body betraying you by the warmth pooling between your thighs. 

“Wait, wait,” you break the kiss, your eyes wide again and looking him over.

The pupil of his eye is blown, almost black with his stare, and his lips curl upwards. “We should do this somewhere else,” he suggests, his tone velvet. “Take me home?”

You bite your bottom lip with your pregnant pause before nodding. You feel his finger curl beneath your chin, tilting your head to meet with his gaze. “I require verbal consent,” his tone still teasing you. 

“Yes,” you say, your cheeks are red, and his usual stoic expression brightens slightly. He takes your hand into his and you follow, Aemond pulling his phone and texting, his grasp tight as he helps you down the stairs. You avoid the looks of the staff and follow him to exit the restaurant. 

Out front is some black luxury car idling and Aemond moved to open the door for you, helping you seat yourself before closing the door and walking to the other side. Your eyes burn into the back of the driver’s seat, who turns and offers a smile, asking for your address before he closes the partition. 

You can feel the shift in the back seat as Aemond sits next to you, his expression unreadable once again. A beat of silence follows as the car begins to drive and only then does your liquid courage take its hold. You reach to pull him towards you and his mouth finds yours. His lips are so soft, so warm against your own, his tongue moving into your mouth and yours meeting with his languid movements to continue to taste him. 

He pulls you to straddle his lap, your dress bunching around your hips and his large palms are warm as they grab into the softness of your thighs, pulling you slow to grind against the growing bulge of his pants. A soft moan spills from your lips with the pressure and his mouth falls to your chest, his tongue following your clavicle and closing on the junction of your shoulder to your neck. You mewl when you feel his teeth bite into you, moving your hips against him which elicited a guttural groan from the back of his throat. 

You had forgotten how much fun kissing could be, the intimacy of hands pawing with purpose and the soft pants from the passion. The car stops and when you realize it is parked in front of your apartment building; you break the kiss and fall into your seat, your hands moving to righten your skirt. 

Another beat of silence follows and he finally says, “Is this your place?” His voice is gentle. 

You nod your head yes, you mind whirring with what had unfolded this evening and your eyes falling to his hands; you watched his slender fingers slowly drum the leather seat between before moving to palm your hand, his thumb gentle to run the length of your knuckles and back. “Nothing more needs to happen,” he offered you an escape. “But could I ask for a kiss goodnight?”

Your eyes lock onto his, your tongue wetting your lips and leaning to find his mouth once more. His lips fit so perfect against your own, his tongue trailing your bottom lip with a soft nip before he pulls back. 

You open the car door and climb out, hearing him shift in his seat to lean forward. “Goodnight, professor-”

But you turn on your heel, leaning over and well aware of your cleavage in this little black dress you wore tonight. “Aemond,” your eyes rest on his face, your cheeks growing warm once again. “Would you like to come up?” 

With the familiar curl of his lips, he tells the driver to go home. He pulled himself from his seat and reached again for your hand. Your cheeks burn with the feeling of how your hand fits in his own and you lead him inside. 

[danibee33]

More Simon “Ghost” Riley brain rot because I’ve been in a car for 8 hours 🙃

But this time, make it undercover!Ghost🩶

(inspired by “Billie Bossa Nova” by Billie Eilish - reader goes by callsign: “Hela”)

+++++

•thinking about Ghost being absolutely livid that he’s the one chosen to attend the event- some ritzy, wildly overpriced and stupidly exclusive, art exhibition.

•”You’re the only one that they wouldn’t know- they can’t recognize a face they’ve never seen. We’ve already talked about it-“ Price pinches at the bridge of his nose, sitting behind his desk, sitting in the same exact position he was in an hour ago, trying to convince his lieutenant that it truly was a last resort.

•Ghost huffs out a rumbling sigh, only just barely fighting back the urge to roll his eyes- the military bearing far too engrained in him to disrespect a superior officer. But really, he knows it’s because he respects John too much as a friend.

•and he’s just about close the door behind him when he hears the older man’s voice again, “Hela will be your second.”

•sure, he could try to argue like he so badly wants to, but judging by how far he made it with this, he wouldn’t be getting the answer he wanted either way.

•it’s not that the 141’s newest lieutenant was incompetent or incapable, no, you were far from either of those things.

•you were smart, a great leader, and even better in a team than he could ever dream of being. you had only made them better-

•but you were a fucking pain in his ass, with your annoying and, at times overbearing, sunshine fucking personality. Your habit of wanting to learn things about him and the others just to see them perk up a bit, though you’ve yet to figure out what makes Ghost not look like a walking rain cloud-

•and it had taken them months to figure out how the hell you got such a dark and foreboding callsign such as Hela, Norse fucking goddess of death- it didn’t make any sense, there was no way, right? No way someone so sweet and chipper could be that brutal.

•boy, how wrong they were.

•you were downright certifiable on mission, merciless on the battlefield, with your laughter trickling through the radios after a particularly challenging kill- there was something wrong with you, but he guesses that’s why you fit in so well with the rest of them.

•they were all a little fucked up in the head. You had to be, to do what needs to be done, to do all the terrible things no one in their right mind could do.

+++

•when the night arrives, Ghost is left staring at his own reflection, and it physically pains him to leave the comfort of his balaclava laying on the bathroom counter- even though he knew Price had made sure to limit his exposure to only the bare minimum, it didn’t make it easier.

•”You’ll meet Hela inside the venue, she’s in a black, floor length dress, red purse, hair up.” He nods at his captain’s words, committing the details to memory as he slides into the back seat of the blacked out SUV.

•the ride blurs by, he doesn’t pay attention to anything going on outside, preferring to focus on the parameters of the mission; it would be mostly recon, some light pick-pocketing, a little slight of hand, a cellphone full of intel procured-

•he certainly doesn’t dwell on how excited you were to had been to go undercover, or how you had talked fucking relentlessly about the dress you picked for your “007 moment”, as you so lovingly to referred to the mission- and to his surprise, Johnny had apparently helped you pick it out.

•and there’s no reason whatsoever for that fact to have made him want to wring the Scot’s neck.

•Ghost steps out the car at the curb, straightening and buttoning the fitted, black tuxedo jacket- the grimace on his scarred lips doing a well enough job of carving a path through the sparse crowd.

• “C’mon, LT- ye could try ta’look like ye spent an obscene amount o’money ta be here.” Johnny playfully drawls through the ear piece, “and lemme tell you-“ he pauses to give a quiet whistle for effect, and this time Ghost doesn’t stop his eyes from rolling back, “Hela is lookin’ real bonnie, aren’t ye, lil’ LT?”

•”Keep it tactical, Sergeant.” Ghost grunts back, eyeing the upper windows of the surrounding buildings before waltzing through the grandiose entrance-

• “Hm, I thought it was nice.. thank you, Soap.” You say, and he swears he can hear the smile in your sultry tone. The one that you just love to use on comms.

•Johnny gives a low chuckle, “Ye’re very welcome, ma’am.”

•Christ fucking alive. Ghost is in hell, he’s sure of it.

•but then, he sees you. And at first, he’s not entirely sure he’s even looking at the right person- because, of course he’s seen you in civilian clothes, even some more form fitted PT gear; and he’s always had a hard time dragging his eyes away from you even then. Right now, though?

•right now, he’s ardently staring at your profile, studying the lines of your face under the soft glow of the museum lighting- the way your glossy pink lips are parted just slightly as you look up at the painting in front of you, your fingers daintily clasped around a flute of champagne, a deep red leather clutch in your other hand.

•something compels him to blend back into the crowd, silently moving to take you in from all angles, his eyes roaming and lingering all the same-

•and it’s at that moment he realizes Price severely understated your “black, floor length dress”. Yes, it was all those things, but fuck.. a warning would’ve been nice-

•he also decides then that he will wring Johnny’s neck- because if he helped you pick this? well that means he’s already seen too much. And Ghost couldn’t have that-

•the dress you chose is fitted like a second skin, high neck and long sleeves, entirely modest and yet.. it manages to leave so, so little to the imagination with the way it hugs every single curve- but it’s the back that causes an awful flicker of arousal to make his cock twitch.

•the back is completely, and gloriously, exposed- from the petite span of your shoulders, all the way down to the godforsken pair of dimples that decorate the lowest curve of your spine before the fabric meets together again right above the delicious swell of your ass-

•it takes everything in him to stay on track, to keep aware of his surroundings as he makes his way to your other side. It’s only then that you finally turn towards him, certainly having felt the weight of his gaze. But by the time you crane your neck to search the crowd, he’s already out of sight.

+++

•you scan over the strange and unfamiliar faces, unable to shake that feeling of being watched- it was probably just nerves, you knew Ghost would be with you on this, which means you’re well aware that he would be maskless tonight.

•and you really should not be so excited- this was still a mission, you shouldn’t be thinking about him.. shouldn’t be imagining what hides beneath the balaclavas-

•you’re so lost in the thought you can’t help to but gasp when you hear the familiar, brassy voice in your ear, “Spotted the target.”

•you barely stifle another gasp when you feel the sweltering heat of his palm suddenly pressed against your lower back- and you don’t know why the touch sends a rush of chills down your spine. Maybe it’s just knowing you’re finally about to see the ever enigmatic man’s face, or it could just be how comfortable he seems putting his hand on you like that.

•but when you try to turn, he holds you in place, the hand that was at the small of your back, moving to the gently hold the nape of your neck,

• “Wait..” He whispers, an odd mixture of authority and desperation in his tone.

• “Why?” You ask just as quietly, your eyes fixed ahead, but the beautiful art is lost on you now, too consumed by his proximity- by the standoffish brute of a man who had only looked at you like a nuisance for months. It’s ridiculous, what you should really be asking is why you care so much-

•but you don’t think you would know the answer to that, not for sure anyway; maybe it was that you craved his approval- you had earned it from literally everyone else by this point, but his had alluded you. And you couldn’t fucking stand it.

• “Ghost?” You try to pry a little further, his callsign coming out a bit breathier than you meant for it to, but the way his thumb is rubbing back and forth, back and forth, so softly, so slowly.. it’s enough to drive you crazy.

• “Target’s directly to your left- cellphone in his right jacket pocket.” Without warning he removes his hand and brushes past you, taking with him the chance to see any of his features apart from the head of wavy, honey blonde hair that’s been messily swept back.

•and it’s the purposely careless movement that causes you to stumble, your crystal flute knocking right against the sturdy chest of the man that had just approached the painting,

• “Oh! Oh, my god- I am so-“, you slip the device from his pocket almost too easily, “so, sorry, sir.”

•it’s easy to distract him, flashing a bright, slightly nervous smile- bat your pretty lashes up at him, maybe let your hand linger a bit too long on his bicep..

• “‘M sorry, sweetheart-“ Ghost is back, and you have to force yourself not to immediately focus on his presence, instead noticing how he efficiently leans around you to slip the bugged phone into the target’s pocket.

•and again, it’s unsettling how natural it feels for him to snake a muscular arm around your waist, and god, the way he settles his big hand possessively over your lower stomach has your knees weak and an uncomfortable pressure building between your legs.

• “Just saw an old friend, and he wants to meet you, love.” He says it like it was the most normal night in the world, holding you like you could’ve been a couple- but, he’s just playing his part, right?

•after another round of apologies, Ghost promptly leads you away, your hand held firmly in his as he weaves through and around the small groups of people who couldn’t care less about you.

“Riley- hang on.” You hiss just as he turns a corner, finally far enough way to give the all clear to Price and Soap without concern of being overheard, but he’s still just ahead of you, his face still just out of view.

•you struggle to keep up with his monstrous strides in your outrageous heels, “That excited to get away from me, huh?”

•no, you don’t mean for it to sound so bitter, it was suppose to be a joke, but maybe it’s a little more honest than you care to dive into right now. But, it does finally get his attention, his feet coming to such an abrupt halt that you stumble right into the thick, solid mass of his back.

•he opens a door, quickly turning to walk you backwards into the dark room- slamming the heavy wood shut as soon as you’re both inside.

•with effortless speed, he pulls your earpieces out, shoving them him in his pocket, “what. the. fuck, Ghost? What are you doing?!”

• “Fucking hell, do you ever shut up?”

•you scoff into the darkness, his giant silhouette still looming over you- and with your curiosity too quickly turned to rage, you shove him backwards,

• “What’s your problem with me?” You have to stop yourself from shouting, you know you’re away from the party, but there could still be staff close by, “Well?! What did I do tonight except everything I was suppose to? Please, tell me what I did wrong, because I am so fuckin-“

•the last thing you expect is to feel his hands grasp either side of your face, and it’s completely unfathomable what happens after-

•Ghost’s lips collide with yours in a rough, hungry kiss, one that leaves you to stunned to do anything but let your body do what you’ve fantasized about one too many times.

•but too soon, he pulls away, out of breath and still gripping your face, “No, sweet girl, no. You’ve been perfect tonight, and you look..”

•you reel at his praise, your lungs seizing at the sound of the pet name on his tongue- internally cursing the lack of light for depriving you of getting to see his expression.

•Because you so desperately wanted to know what the actual fuck was going on and why it was happening right now.

• “-so bloody beautiful.. you’re fucking stunning, y’know that?”

•he kisses you again before you can even attempt to think of an answer, but this time you’re ready, turning your head to deepen the gesture into something dangerously close to sinful. Heated and passionate, you cling to him, letting your purse drop to the floor so you could wrap your arms around his neck.

•his hands wander, needy, yet so languid, you feel him trace the lines of your back, every touch delicately ravenous. And the fire you feel spread through your entire body at the simple skin to skin contact threatens your already very thinly tethered control-

•you take a step, then another, your hands now splayed out over his broad chest- pushing him until you both feel his back make contact with the door, his lips moving lower now, hands pulling you closer.

•the old light fixture crackles to life when you flip the switch, effectively freezing you both in this moment- crossing boundaries that could never be uncrossed, seeing each other in a way that couldn’t be forgotten.

•and you don’t know exactly why you keep your eyes clamped shut, even when you feel him lean back just slightly, though his nose still grazes across your cheekbone, and his fingertips are still dug into the flesh of your hips.

•your breath stutters when he presses a single kiss to your lips, the taste of champagne mixing with a hint of tobacco and peppermint, it was an odd combination, but you find yourself craving it already- what a terrible drug he is.

•without pulling away, he speaks against your lips, and you can feel the smile on his, hear the timbre in his voice, “It’s all right, love.. you can look. I know you want to..”

++++

>>>> {Part II}

PLS DONT HATE ME. I never meant for it to be this long, so I’m splitting it into two parts 😬 (unless I shouldn’t??)

[strawberriemarswrites]

CHAPTER SIX

Chapter Summary: You have a date planned with Cavendish. Bartolomeo isn't exactly thrilled, but he'll take care of that. Pairing: Bartolomeo x F!Reader Rating: Mature (18+ for the story, SFW chapter) TW: stalking, Barto breaking shit, very mild violence. The boy's getting a bit more unhinged Ao3 Link: Chapter Six (3,494 words)

Your date with Cavendish was in four days. That was four days for you to stew over if you’d made the right choice. What if the whole thing was a set-up for an elaborate and really mean joke? Maybe he was a clout chaser and was trying to get a video of your “gratitude”, or worse, your humiliation. What if things went sour, what if he got angry?

Probably the worst prospect of all: what if you enjoyed yourself?

You shifted your weight from one leg to the other as you stood outside Bartolomeo’s door, hesitating only a moment longer before knocking. If nothing else, you could at least ask him for help.

The door opened and thankfully this time Bartolomeo was wearing a shirt. He was distracting enough on his own, his bare chest didn’t need to distract you further.

“Hey,” he said, leaning against the doorframe with his usual relaxed regard.

You smiled wide, tapping your fingers together. “Hi. Uhm. Can I borrow you for a few minutes? I need a second opinion. Maybe a couple second opinions.”

He returned the smile. “Yeah, sure. What’s up?”

“It’s partially something I need to show you,” you said as you backed up to your apartment door. “You wanna come over for a little bit? Play with Luffy?”

Try as he might, he couldn’t hide the way his eyes lit up as he nodded. Your smile widening even further, you led him inside. Luffy immediately came trotting up, his little legs swinging out wide and awkwardly as he ran. He greeted Bartolomeo with a loud meow, weaving between his ankles. 

He laughed, crouching down to pet him. “Hey, Mister Luffy. Keeping out of trouble?”

“No,” you answered, giggling, “he’s got his own toys, but still keeps trying to fight my plushies.” You then gestured between the living room couch and your small dining table. “Sit wherever — want a drink?”

Bartolomeo nodded and opted for a dining chair, while Luffy came zipping back over to you with another loud meow. You set down a soda on the table, briefly standing between Bartolomeo’s knees. Your mind wandered for a moment, wishing you could sit on one of those knees, or straddle them both while fiercely making out with him —

You shook the thought from your mind and stepped back. “So. I need to put an outfit together for something, and I have it narrowed down to two.”

His bare brow ticked up in surprise. “Oh. Uh, sure — I mean. I dunno how much help I’ll be, but I can try.”

You scratched the back of your neck. “I’m just not sure which one looks better. And...” You sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I dunno. I’m not sure I’m making the right choice.”

“In... what you’re wearing?”

Despite yourself, you laughed, shaking your head. “No, uh...” you paused to take a deep breath, steeling yourself as you averted your eyes, “I have a date.”

Bartolomeo’s nerves lit on fire. His jaw ticked, his free hand clenched tighter, red crept into his peripherals — he quickly took a drink, thankful that you were looking away. When you did meet his eyes again, he asked, “Where at?”

“Some place called Baratie.”

He nearly bit his tongue to try and relieve some of the anger, miraculously keeping his tone even. “Ritzy. Figures.”

“You’ve been there?”

He laughed, almost barking, “Hell no. Never been able to afford somethin’ like that. They must wanna impress you real bad.”

You shrugged, giggling as the tension rolled off your shoulders. “Probably. He was kind of a dick growing up.”

“Oh?” He propped an elbow up on the table, resting his cheek against his knuckles. “What made you wanna go out with him, then?”

“That’s the thing,” you said with another sigh, moving to one of the dining chairs across from him. “I don’t really know that I want to. But... I feel kind of bad for him? He says he wants to make amends.”

“What’d this guy do that was so bad?” It almost hurt Bartolomeo to ask that, as knowing how someone had hurt you in the past was likely to make him even more furious. But he needed to know.

You leaned back in the chair and tipped your head up. “He was always really over dramatic. And he kind of just... expected people to bend over backwards for him at the drop of a hat, and would throw a fit when they didn’t. But it wasn’t like he went out of his way to make anyone’s life hell, he just was annoying.” You rolled your eyes. “I mean. He’d make your life hell in the moment because he would act like you committed a crime against humanity, but then it was like he instantly forgot anyone who stood up to him existed. He was surprised by it almost every time.

“I was one of the people that pushed back,” you continued. “We’d get assigned group projects together and he wouldn’t pull his weight. Sometimes the other students would just roll with it and take on the extra load, but I always got in his face about it. Among other things, but that was the most common one.”

Bartolomeo smirked at that. “You? Gettin’ in someone’s face?” The image it brought to mind, of you standing up to someone with your hands on your hips and a mean glare, was equal parts adorable and sexy.

You gave him a lopsided grin. “Hey, sometimes you have to be a bitch. I’m not exactly physically imposing, and yeah I prefer to be nice when I can, but oh my god the snobbery. I can only take so much.”

He laughed again, “And you wanna let this guy apologize?”

“Well...” you hesitated, “apparently he got arrested about a year ago and made it out on bail. He hasn’t talked about it yet, but my coworker knows how to dig stuff up.” You pulled out your phone, unlocking it to re-read some of the messages. “He has talked about his parents, how they won’t speak to him, or acknowledge he’s their son. It’s sad.”

Bartolomeo felt his heart soften a little. You were willing to go out with someone with a rough past. But then it hardened again, because that someone should be him. He took a deep breath through his nose — no, this was fine. It could be worse. He would take care of it, before this guy inevitably hurt you.

For now, Bartolomeo had to be a friend.

“It’s real nice of ya to give him a chance,” he said, trying not to grit his teeth.

You apparently didn’t notice, your cheeks turning pink as you fidgeted. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” he said and took another drink. “Any guy’d be lucky to be with a girl who doesn’t care ‘bout his past, and is willin’ to forgive stuff. As long as he doesn’t keep on being a dick.”

You nodded, shifting to sit up a little straighter. “Right — exactly. It’s more important that they’re making the effort to do better, and how they treat people now.”

The reassurance helped to balance out some of the fury. He nodded to the hall. “So, what’re you caught between?”

You practically jumped out of your seat, beaming. “Right! Okay, stay right here — I’ll be right back.”

As you rushed off, Bartolomeo’s eyes fell to your unlocked phone on the table, and he downed the rest of his drink.

Your heart raced as you changed into each outfit in turn, Luffy going back and forth between weaving between your legs and trying to climb up Bartolomeo’s. He was very quick to encourage wearing a blue dress that had a sailor collar, his eyes gleaming, and you couldn't help but wonder if he was picking something he liked as opposed to just a non-biased opinion. Then again, you could have just been bringing your own feelings into it.

It wasn’t long before Bartolomeo’s phone pinged, and he sighed as he checked it. “Gambia needs help at the bar. Got packed outta nowhere.”

“Wait,” you put a hand out as he stood, gesturing to his phone. “Is there any chance I can have your number? So I can text you if it starts going south?”

He smiled and handed it to you, watching as you rapidly typed something in before your own phone pinged. When you handed it back, he saw you had messaged yourself the words “Barto’s phone!”

“You really think it’ll go that bad?” he asked, one brow raised.

You shook your head as you saved his information, paused, then shrugged. “I really don’t know. But it’ll be nice to have someone I can text for an emergency bail-out call.”

“You can text me anytime, sweetheart, not just for bail-outs,” Bartolomeo said, his smile widening at the faint flush in your cheeks. As he turned to leave, he saved your information with a heart after your name.

Now, to find out just who the hell was Cavendish Bourgeois, and why he thought he could try to claim what belonged to him.

It didn’t take long to track Cavendish down. Smug idiot broadcast practically everything about himself, except that assault and battery against him. He even tried to make his community service look like it was charity work or something. But anything Bartolomeo wanted to learn about him, he could easily find. Where he worked, which college he went to, what kind of car he drove. By the time there were only two days left before the date, he had even narrowed down where he lived to three buildings. By the day of, he knew which parking garage he’d find a particularly nice classic Mustang.

Bartolomeo didn’t like the guy on principle, given he was trying to take you out on a date. The more he looked into him, the more he just got annoyed by him. He didn’t doubt what you said about his parents disowning him, but even still, everything aside from the criminal record seemed so perfect. Then he got to the activity feed showing how frequently Cavendish was in and out of relationships in the past year alone. Guy had some issues on that front, that much was clear. Bartolomeo even did a little digging through the names that came up, lining up dates to see if any posts said anything deeper about what might have happened between Cavendish and his exes. Unfortunately, most were vague vents about wishing for consistency in a relationship and jokes about him sleepwalking, with only two saying anything about him being a stuck-up asshole, which was already obvious enough.

Bartolomeo hefted the metal bat over his shoulder and crossed his ankles, leaning back against the Mustang with one hand in his pocket. He was surprised just touching the damn thing didn’t set off an alarm, but then again, the pretty boy seemed arrogant enough to assume no one would dare steal anything from him.

But he thinks he can steal from someone else, he thought, his grip on the bat tightening. It was now about twenty minutes before the reservation. It broke his heart a little, knowing that you were about to be all alone, waiting for someone who wasn’t going to show. And it was going to be because of him.

The crazy things one does for love.

The slide of the elevator door echoed through the garage, accompanied by a very posh voice.

“No, no, I’m serious. I think she’s actually gonna be okay with it. Yes, I’ve told her a little. So far she’s been nice about me trying to be... nice...”

Cavendish rounded the corner and stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the beast leaning against his car.

The corner of Bartolomeo’s mouth quirked. “Hey.”

Cavendish hung up his call and took a few steps forward. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Bartolomeo drawled and nonchalantly switched which ankle was on top, pointing at him with the bat. “Seein’ as you’re askin’ out a girl who’s already spoken for.”

“What are you talking about?” Cavendish approached another few steps before stopping. “You mean—”

“Keep her name out of your fuckin’ mouth,” Bartolomeo growled, bearing his teeth. “You’re not worthy to say it.”

“She’s never said anything about a boyfriend.”

“Just like you ain’t said anything about that criminal charge on ya.” Bartolomeo smirked, lifting the bat over his shoulder again. “You keep that from all the people you date?”

Cavendish folded his arms. “No. I was going to mention it tonight.”

“Don’t bother.”

With that, he casually swung the bat downward without turning around, the barrel slamming into the car door and denting it.

Cavendish lunged, gripping Bartolomeo by the shirt in one hand, the other still holding his phone. His voice was low, dripping with venom as he said, “You have no idea who you’re messing with.”

Bartolomeo laughed, the loud, mocking sound reverberating through the garage and surrounding them. “Ooh, so scary. I’m shakin’.”

Cavendish released him only to quickly throw his fist. Bartolomeo leaned out of the way, though he would admit it was a close call. He definitely didn’t expect an actual fight. With equal speed, he swung the bat upward, cracking the end into the opposite hand, sending Cavendish’s phone shattering against the ceiling.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” the blond snapped, his voice cracking slightly.

Bartolomeo shoved him back. “I already told you my problem.”

He then wheeled around, swinging the bat with both hands and slamming it down against the windshield with a resounding crash. When Cavendish tried to lunge again, Bartolomeo stopped him by jamming the bat into his chest. As the former crumpled to his knees, the latter tipped his head back with the bat’s end.

“I oughta bust up your face, but I’m feelin’ generous. So, I’m only gonna warn you once,” he said, his lip again curled back in a snarl. “Stay. The fuck. Away. From my girl.”

Cavendish spat blood onto Bartolomeo’s boots. “Or what?”

He grinned. “Then you better hope all I do is bust up your face.”

As he left Cavendish behind with a broken phone, broken car, and at least one broken rib, Bartolomeo pulled out his phone. He’d need to hurry home — he had to be there waiting for you when you came back.

You were about to start pulling the threads on your napkin. It was twenty-five minutes past the reservation time. You texted Cavendish a few times, trying to make sure he was still coming, then asking if he was okay when there was no response, then just a string of question marks. At this point, it was starting to become clear he wasn’t coming. In the back of your mind, you hoped he was okay.

Then again, for all you knew, he bailed on purpose to embarrass you. You mentally chastised yourself — you should have known better. Or seen this coming. There was no way Cavendish had been serious about making amends.

You checked your phone one last time, now realizing that it was thirty minutes past the reservation time. With a heavy sigh you tucked it back into your purse and started rummaging through it for cash. Even though you hadn’t ordered anything, you felt it was rude to have occupied a table for so long, so the least you could do was leave a nice tip for the very patient (and growing notably more concerned) waiter.

As it so happened, while you were searching, said waiter set a to-go container down in front of you, making you jump. He gave you a sad smile as he straightened back upright. “I thought you might like some tiramisu to take home.”

Your chest tightened and you resumed searching for cash. “How much do I owe you?”

He shook his head, putting a hand on your shoulder. “Nothing. It’s paid for. A pretty girl like you doesn’t deserve to get stood up.”

You flushed at the contact and set your purse back on your lap. “Thank you.”

He nodded and glanced at the empty seat across from you. “I don’t suppose you’re going to be calling him again, are you?”

“Nope,” you sighed, sinking into your seat. “I should have listened to my gut.”

“The gut’s usually right. I’m sure yours must be starving.” He smiled and gave his hair a light toss, continuing, “Are you by chance doing anything else this evening? Maybe I can take you somewhere with better food than here.”

You blinked a few times, then laughed, shaking your head. “No — that’s very sweet, but. I think I’m just going to go home. Thank you, ah...”

“Sanji.” He retrieved a pen from his pocket, scribbled something down on his order pad and tore it off, holding it out to you between his index and middle finger. “If you ever change your mind.”

You giggled, slipping his number into your purse. “Thank you, again. I’ll think about it.”

As you hailed a taxi home, you blocked Cavendish’s number. Fuck him. You didn’t need some pompous asshole begging for redemption. And as kind as he was, you weren’t planning on calling Sanji any time soon, either. You just wanted to go home and share dessert with someone who’d appreciate it.

Bartolomeo didn’t have much nice to wear, but he did manage to find a pair of jeans that weren’t full of holes and an old purple flannel he couldn’t remember the origin of. He reasoned that if he left the shirt open with something underneath, it’d seem innocuous enough, and not like he was deliberately dressing nicer for you. He again felt his chest twinge a bit when he remembered you were probably going to be upset coming home, and that it was directly his fault, but he shook the feeling off — you’d never have to know his involvement.

And if you ever did find out... he could convince you it was the right thing to do. You’d come around. He’d help you. It’d be fine.

Bartolomeo heard the elevator ding and practically flew off the couch, stumbling toward the door. He peered out the peephole, his heart skipping a beat when he saw you come into view, carrying a clear plastic container with a little cake-looking thing inside. Your face was stained with streaks of makeup, and he heard you sniffle, making his throat tighten. 

You reached for your apartment doorknob, then paused, before rubbing your cheeks with the heel of your palm and turning around to face his door. He backed up a few steps as you knocked, and waited.

After a beat the door opened, and you stared up at Bartolomeo through watering eyes. He looked nice. It was a different look than what you normally saw him in. Maybe he had gone out himself.

He wasted no time, seeing the tears welling back up. “What happened?”

You hiccupped and shook your head, shakily lifting the to-go box. “D-do you wanna come over and — and share this?”

He nodded and followed you across the hall. You set the to-go box down, and before he could sit you went face-first into his chest, gripping his shirt and sobbing. His heart sang with the contact, and he gently pat your head. “That bad, huh?”

You nodded, wailing into his chest, “He fucking stood me up! I feel — I feel s-so stupid!”

“You’re not.” Bartolomeo pressed your head closer to his chest, the other arm going around your shoulders. “He’s a fuckin’ prick, leadin’ you on like that.”

“He’s — he’s a bastard is what h-he is!” You continued sobbing, just barely aware that he was rubbing his arm up and down your back, his fingers weaving into your hair. He was so warm, and you felt so safe in his arms. It made you cry even more that he wasn’t yours.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he said, his voice rumbling in his chest as he continued petting you. “This guy — soon enough, he ain’t gonna matter. He’s gonna be a sad, lonely shithead ‘cause he gets off on makin’ people feel bad. But you’re gonna be okay.”

You sniffled, nodding. “Y-you’re right. Fuck that guy.”

Eventually, you pulled away to get a couple forks, sitting down at the dining table with a huff. Bartolomeo sat down across from you and reached over to pat your knee, making your cheeks flush from more than just the crying session. You handed him a fork and popped open the to-go box, saying in a cracked voice, “Thank you. I’m sorry I got your shirt all snotty.”

He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. ‘S what they made laundry soap for.”

“I guess so,” you giggled, then dug in.

As you shared the dessert, Bartolomeo gave you a once-over and smiled. He thought you were pretty in just about everything, but he knew the blue dress was a good choice.

[nkirukaj]

Our Renaissance (4)

Pairing: Human!Alastor x Fem! OC

Warnings: Swearing; Racially Degrading Language, Graphic Depictions of Violence, 1920s Slang

Genre: Angst/SMUT(& Humor!)

Word Count: 13.8K

1928

Dear Alastor,

I will be heading over to where you are in a month! I do hope to see you, perhaps we could meet? 

Maybe at the coffee place that you showed me the last time we were together?

You did say you would treat me to tea when you got the money, and I am assuming you have the funds now! Haha! I cannot wait to see you!

Sincerely xo,

Vera

That was a month ago. Alastor had been looking forward to this since he received the letter. Ever since it had come in the mail, he had been studying the bottom of it. 

Sincerely xo,

Vera

Hugs and kisses.

He waits at the airport for her in his best blazer and dress pants, waiting and waiting as many men and women exit, each one further disappointing him as he waits for his girl. When he sighs in defeat, he feels a tap on his back, turning around, he sees Vera, standing there in a lovely loose pink dress, clearly taking advantage of her newfound freedom.

“Hello stranger,” she greets him, her voice lower and full of maturity

“Bonjou cher,” he grins, winking

“Did you miss me?” she grabs his arm and pulls him into a hug

“So it’s just you this time? No Daddy?”

She shakes her head, smiling “It’s just me,”

“Lovely,” he says picking her up by her waist and swinging her around as she laughs

“You look spiffy,” she tells him

“You look quite ritzy yourself, my dear. What have you been up to? Any shows you’re in lately? Tell me everything,”

Vera puts her hand up, palm facing him “How about you treat me to tea, and I can tell you everything there,” her eyes glow brightly

Simple things like this, sitting in a coffee shop and being able to pay for it were a dream of his. As they sat and sipped their drinks in silence, the actress broke it.

“I read about you in the papers.”

“I could say the same about you. ”

“It’s funny, my father actually sent me a newspaper with your picture in it. And he left a note asking if I ‘remember my little friend’.” She chuckles 

“It was my mother that showed me the pictures of you. I still have them on my dresser.”

She covers her face “Oh my goodness that is so embarrassing! Which picture?”

“The one where your hair is all curly, and your dress is cut low...” he smirks

“Oh gosh!” she blushes “That one is a mess!”

“I saw one photo with you and another woman, who was that?”

“Oh, that was Fredi Washington, fabulous woman. She’s phenomenal, we were in a short film together.”

Alastor seems impressed “Oh my, you’re getting to know everyone. Doing anything soon?”

“I’m actually here for a show. It’s playing at the Lyric Theatre. So I’ll be here for a while rehearsing and while the show runs.”

“Well, that’s just perfect. The stars have aligned for us, my dear.”

“How so?” She places a napkin on her lap, folding her hands above it before giving him her attention

“I have an idea that could benefit us both.”

“Oh?” Vera raises her eyebrow

“It’s clear that we have some sort of chemistry.”

“Chemistry?” she repeats incredulously

He laughs at her “Yes, Chemistry, that’s what I said. Don’t tell me you don’t think about necking with me” he winks

She looks around “Pipe down! You can’t just say that in public!” she whispers

He can’t help but look amused “Now is the time for sexual freedom! Isn’t that what you said?” He leans back in his chair

“I know what I said,” she leans forward “But I have a carefully curated image to uphold as a celebrity”

He crosses one of his legs over the other “You think I don’t? I’m a celebrity too. It’s actually a bit dangerous for me to be here unguarded.” he jests “I put myself at risk, for you.” he grabs her hand with his, both gloved. His black, and hers white.

She smiles and rolls her eyes “You still wear the gloves I gave you?” she lowers her voice “I’m guessing nobody knows they’re women’s gloves?” she teases him

“And they don’t need to know,” he shoots back

“Besides, your face isn’t even what people most recognize. It’s your voice! So as long as you keep it down, you should be fine. My face, unfortunately,” she places her hand on her chest “Is a commodity.” She seems pleased with herself “My face is on posters, newspapers, and magazines.” She humble-brags “I even saw myself on a billboard!” she sips her tea gracefully “My image helps shape the current beauty standard for Black women, along with Josephine, Gladys, and of course Fredi,” 

He leans forward to her, whispering slightly flirtatiously “And you love it.”

Vera breaks out into a grin “I do. It’s a dream.” She leans back and takes him in more “Looks like we were wrong about each other when we first met.”

“And I couldn’t be happier for it.”

She places her hands over her skirt “We’ve changed a lot Alastor. We’re grown.”

“Indeed we are,” he drinks from his mug

“By the way, what is that?” 

He raises his brows “Hmm?”

“The way you’re talking. You were not talking like that before, I’m sure of it.”

He places the mug back on the table “Oh! This is the voice I use for my broadcasts, the accent is quite popular amongst other radio stars.”

“Stars.” she smiles “You callin’ yourself a star?”

“It’s what I am. It’s what we are, be'be.” he gestures with one of his hands

Vera’s eyes flit from his hands up toward his lips, remembering more about the day she gave him those gloves “Be'be?” 

“Baby,” He leans back, gazing at her over his glasses, his light brown eyes bright and dilated slightly “Now would you listen to my idea?”

Vera scoots up in her chair “Sure Alastor, tell me.”

“I want to court you.”

Vera covers her mouth with her hand. It was all she could do to stop from laughing out loud and making a scene, though she did let out an obnoxious snort. Alastor looks annoyed at this reaction, simply waiting for her to be finished. She looks up at him and removes her hand “Oh, you’re serious? Alastor, is nobody home? Where did you pull that idea from, your ass?”

“If you’d let me finish, I could explain.” he huffs “We’re both stars, meaning we’re in the limelight, are you seriously telling me that no one has commented on your lack of a husband?” Vera glances away from him “Because I know that many have commented on my ‘inability’ to find a Jane suitable enough to marry, and there have been some groups of people who take that,” he clears his throat “Personally.”  her eyes goad him to continue “If that’s been happening to me, I can’t imagine what’s been happening to you. A swanky dame, oozing with sex appeal, and yet still hasn’t landed a husband? What would the papers say?” He drinks from his mug once more. 

“So what are you proposing exactly?”

“I’ll level with you. I have certain….interests and…hobbies that I don’t need getting out. If enough people start wondering why I’m still not married at this age, they could start digging and find some things they do not want to see.”

“And what do I get out of this arrangement?”

“The public favor, the ability to open a bank account where you can control your own funds, and of course, a sexy husband.” he leans back in his chair and smirks at her

She can’t help but smile at him and all his brazenness. Sometimes he made her feel like she was 19 again “And I suppose you get a sexy wife then?” She says jokingly

“I do indeed, my dear.” He responds fully serious

The seriousness of his tone causes her to blush “You’re just too much Alastor,” she says, not meeting his gaze

He leans forward “I think I’m just enough baby.” She scoffs, not knowing what else to say, overwhelmed by his charm “So it’s a deal then?” He reaches his hand out in front of him, and Vera stares before embracing it.

“Deal.”

______________________________________________________

Vera and Alastor are taking a stroll through town, occasionally stopping to marvel at the constant music in the air, along with the smells of delicious food hitting their nostrils from every direction.

“God, I never get tired of being here,” Vera says to no one in particular, twirling on a whim

Alastor smiles softly at the sight of her. He understood why she was able to make her dream come true, she was truly a wonderful sight to behold “You could live here if you like.”

She stops to ponder the idea“ I suppose that if I am to become Mrs. Fontenot, then I would have to, no?”

He chuckles “I go by Baudelaire now, but not necessarily. I’d be here, but I’d just have to miss ya.” He teases

Vera scrunches up her nose “Baudelaire? Why ever would you change your last name?”

He shrugs “It’s easier to digest for some people.”

“Well that’s ridiculous, just about everyone here has a bit of French in them, but somehow that French name is too hard to get through their thick skulls? No, absolutely not. If we marry eventually, I shall be Mrs. Fontenot and nothing else. Of course, I will still be going by ‘Bates’ in regards to my work.”

“Oh of course,” He turns and stands in front of her grabbing her shoulders and shaking them. They both laugh as she pushes him playfully.

Alastor walks up to a street vendor, picking some Encore Azaleas, and casually paying the man all before Vera could see him. He presents her with the flowers and she gladly accepts, not expecting the gift.

“Oh thank you! I love these flowers!”

“I know,” he smirks. He loved this feeling, of being able to walk into town and participate in the city. Able to sit down at a coffee shop and take care of the tab. The ability to treat his intended to something as small as a flower that could make her day. Being on the radio was a dream in itself, but it made many other dreams come true as well.

“Look at you Mr. Moneybags,” she teases

“I don’t have that much money,”

“You never would’ve bought me a flower a few years ago,”

He shrugs “Hm, maybe plastic ones,”

“Oh please you hated me,”

“Hmm not as much as you hated me,” he grins

She giggles “We were quite the pair of enemies,”

“We most definitely were,”

“What changed, Mr. Baudelaire?” she says his new name mockingly, yet flirtatiously

“I suppose I simply grew up,”

“And realized that us girls, don’t have cooties?”

“Oh no, I still believe that,” he laughs

She laughs with him “If I have cooties, you’ve definitely caught them,”

“I may need a doctor then,” he puts the back of his hand on his forehead

She laughs heartily “Goodness Alastor, you are such a character!”

“Why thank you!” He spins her by her arm

She falls into his chest “Anything else planned for the day Alastor?”

He thinks for a moment, shrugging “Unless you would like to go hunting, then you’re out of luck.”

“I can go hunting with you.”

He raised a brow “Are you sure?” she nodded “Why?” he crossed his arms

“I like to be well-rounded,” she smiles

“Fair enough,”

Alastor lines the shotgun up to his eye, taking a moment to breathe in before the loud crack pierces through the air. Out in the distance, the loud thud of a deer that was hit square in the eyes is heard.

“Think you can do that?” He turns to Vera and cocks the gun once more

“I’m certain I can,” she tells him

“First let’s take this off,” he swipes her hat and she reaches for it “This is going to mess up your vision,” he plops it on his head and Vera chuckles at how funny it makes him look

“Should I remove my gloves as well?” she puts her hands on her hips

“No! The gloves are perfect. Now here,” he hands her the gun and helps her steady it “A little heavy for ya?” he snickers and she rolls her eyes at him

“These were clearly not made for a lady’s hand,” she holds it up to her eye the same way she saw Alastor do

He stands behind her, one hand on her hip and the other on the gun “Don’t hold it so close, you’ll get hit in the face,” he warns

Vera stomps “Show me then!”

Alastor holds the gun in front of her from behind her “Just focus on pulling the trigger,”

She takes a deep breath like she saw him do, taking a shot but missing it by a long ways

He cocks the gun “Okay do it again, but…better,”

Vera rolls her eyes again, focusing and concentrating, pulling the trigger and hitting a doe in the neck, she covers her mouth in astonishment, falling backward into Alastor, who shoots the gun in the air accidentally. In an instant he takes her to the ground, covering her body with his.

His breathing is heavy when he asks “You alright?”

She nods and starts laughing uncontrollably, she covers her mouth again to stop herself, but it doesn’t work.

“What’s so funny?” he breathes onto her face

“I can’t believe that just happened!” she cackles and from his proximity, he can feel her heart palpitating as he pulls her up to her feet. She’s still breathing heavily from all of the laughing she’s doing, and Alastor can’t help but crack a smile.

“Someone is hysterical,”

She stares up at him “I am not hysterical,”

“Then whatever are you laughing for?”

Vera catches her breath and thinks “I’m not really sure if I am being honest,”

Alastor wraps his arm around her waist and comments “Absolutely the strangest doll I’ve ever seen,” and flashes her his award-winning grin.

“Why do you hunt? I never understood the idea of it,”

“It passes the time my dear, and when I fire I feel like I am on top of the world. The universe at my beck and call,”

She grins back at him “You are the most dramatic man in the world!”

“That’s why I’m a performer darling!”

“You want me to be on your radio show?”

“Of course! It would be great for both of us! We can play up our chemistry so our marriage doesn’t seem out of nowhere”

She ponders it “Fine, then you have to be photographed with me,”

“Of course! What would it look like if I never took pictures with my beautiful wife,” he put emphasis on the word, making Vera’s stomach flutter. She was going to be Alastor’s wife.

“Alright, when do you want me on your show?”

He taps his chin “How about tomorrow?”

Her eyes widen “That is a bit short notice, but sure I believe that I can work it into my schedule,”

Alastor grins “Our courtship begins now,”

“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, you know who I am, Alastor Baudelaire and you are all our delightful listeners of WWL, thank you all for tuning in!”

Vera sits behind him and mouths ‘Fontenot’ while making hand gestures. He rolls his eyes in an amused fashion before continuing. “Tonight we have breaking news! Connor Glass, the oldest banker in town has been found dead with his throat slit and stab wounds in his mouth and both of his eyes. Oh my!” He covers his mouth with his hand “How gruesome. Apparently, he was found in a dark alley near his own home. No one is safe anymore!”

Alastor waited in the woods near the old man’s house, he tripped him and fell into the alleyway, giving him a concussion. He remembers digging the knife through the man’s eyes and the groans the man let out as he died. He reached inside the man’s throat-

“He seemed to have been found without his vocal cords. How spooky. If the elderly aren’t safe, who is?”

It was odd though as Vera watched him, did not seem like he was concerned for the news that he was reporting on. Of course, to be in this line of work, one must be desensitized to the things one is saying. However, he did not seem unattached, but very involved. Involved and pleased. The grin he wore was something evil, something immoral as if he thrived on the demise of these people. Even more odd was how Vera found herself drawn to this sinful energy, the curve of his nasty grin sent shivers down her body, aching for the attention of his fingers.

“Are you ready?”

She snaps her head up “Yes?”

He snickers “Are you sure? Because you’re up next,”

“Really?”

“No. Of course you are!” He sits back down and gestures to the chair beside him “Sit here, darling,” she does and he pulls her closer to him to share the mic.

“Do I not get my own microphone?”

“I think it’s better if we share,” he smirks

“We have to be really close,”

He pulls her even closer “Much better,” he leans into her face, opening his mouth “And we’re back!”

She rolls her eyes at him, smiling. 

“I’d love to introduce the most wonderful, incredible, talented, and beautiful doll this side of America, my darling, Miss Vera Bates.”

She giggles “Hello Alastor,” 

“Now Miss Bates is not only a highly esteemed member of the Black elite of New York City, she is also a new coming accomplished actress. Gracing New Orleans with her presence for a run of an original musical, opening later this year.”

“Well, when you say it all like that it sounds amazing.” They both laugh at her faux humility

“Not only is Miss Bates talented but she’s very smart and drop-dead gorgeous. Unfortunately for you all, you don’t get the view that I have right now”

Vera giggles again “I do hope that you plan on attending opening night, Mr. Baudelaire” she speaks very breathy and flirtatiously, raising her eyebrow

Alastor’s voice turns slick and sultry “Of course Miss Bates, I wouldn’t miss it for the world ma chérie,” he peers at her over his glasses “Not only do I adore theater, but I also adore you.”

She blushes, not knowing where the line between performance and reality is drawn “Then I’ll be sure to reserve you a seat at the front, Mr. Baudelaire,”

“The better to see your beautiful face, Miss Bates”

She blushes and doesn’t respond.

“Now Miss Bates, do you think you can give a snippet of your show? Maybe a line or a song?”

“Now, I can’t do that. That would be against my contract,”

“Oh, that is quite unfortunate. We would have loved to hear that voice. But I suppose good things come to those who wait,”

“Indeed they do Mr. Baudelaire,” she teases

“Tell us Vera, how did you acquire such a gorgeous voice?”

“Well I did take voice lessons as a child,”

“Lessons? How interesting! Here I was thinking you were born with all this talent,”

“Okay, wise guy I was born with talent,”

He raises his eyebrows “Oh? Well, why don’t you show us? Or is your voice under contract as well?”

She clears her throat “I suppose I can sing something, are you ready?”

“Yes!”

I'd rather be blue, thinking of you

I'd rather be blue over you

Than be happy with somebody else

I'm crazy about 'ya, without 'ya

For you I'm strong

I can't do without 'ya

Oucha-ma-goucha, don't stay too long!

I need a little ah, little ooh, little oh

And I'm knocking on wood

Honey hurry up, hurry up, hurry up

It's so hard to be good

I'd rather be blue, thinking of you

I'd rather be blue over you

Than be happy with somebody else

Will I be good? Will I be bad?

Don't be a fool, you fool

My little flat, I'm turning that

Into a Sunday school

While you're away I'm here to say

There'll be no ice man there

Singing the blues I'm gonna use

Nothing but Frigidaire

I'd rather be blue, thinking of you

I'd rather be blue over you

Than be happy with somebody else

Blue over you

I'd rather be blue over you

Than be hap-hap-hap-happy

With somebody else

When she looks up, he’s staring at her with no words. Vera clears her throat once more “Fanny Brice? I don’t know if you know the song,”

“I know of it. Now ladies and gentlemen, if you aren’t applauding in your living rooms then either you’re deaf or you’ve gone completely screwy!”

“Oh stop, Alastor! You’re such a charmer,”

“Oh now…thank you!”

“What about you? Any other talents besides the gift of gab?”

Alastor looks to the side “Well I suppose I’m fond of taking things apart and putting things back together. I started somewhere in my adolescent years,”

He thought of a moment when he’d dismembered another boy.

“I wonder what you would get if you put the arms where the legs should be? I supposed you’d be doing a handstand!!” He sings and devolves into laughter while clapping the severed hands.

He’s sitting in front of his mic with an interested bright, psychotic smile. Vera examines him and his tone.

“Wow, what an ominous way to say that,”

“Well, I have to keep people on their toes!” his smile grew brighter “Have you always been interested in acting?”

“Why of course! It’s my lifeblood? And you with radio?”

“I could never imagine doing anything else,”

“Well, the world is better for it,”

“For you or me?”

She grins back at him “Yes,”

They both cackle, on the air. 

“This has been the lovely Miss Vera Bates, give her a hand.” he sighs “Do you hear that applause?” he asked her

“No!” They cackle some more as he turns the show to some music.

________________________________________________________________

“You may be wondering why you’ve all been gathered here today,” Vera announces to May and her family “Well, Alastor go on,”

“Go on what?”

“Tell them!”

“Tell them what?”

“About your…plan?”

“My plan?”

She furrows her brows and whispers to him.

“Oh! I have the intention to court Vera,” he tells them.

Their audience is stunned.

“Oh! This is amazing!” May pipes up

“Does this mean he’ll be my brother?” asks a grown-up Brynn

“Well, it’s just courting, it doesn’t mean it’s going anywhere else. Right, Vera?”

Vera’s eyes dart away “We’ll see,”

“Miss Vera, I would love to have you as a daughter-in-law! Promise me that I can make your wedding dress,”

“Now don’t get so excited May, we don’t know how far this is going to go. My Vera has many prospects,”

“Any serious ones?” Alastor raised his brow

“Yes, they’re very serious,” Cassius squints his eyes

“But is she serious about them?”

“Yes indeed,’

“Then why am I courting her?”

“Perhaps you just adore wasting your time,”

Vera interjects “Hello, I am right here! A human being with a mouth, thank you,”

“I apologize, darling, I only meant so many gentlemen would love your hand in marriage,”

“Like me,” Alastor responds

“Of course,” Cassius says flatly

“Of course, it doesn’t have to lead to marriage, but I know my boy has been stuck on Miss Vera for a while now,”

Cassius seems tense “Has he?” he asks through his teeth

Vera looks to Alastor, who looks away from her “Really?”

“But I must admit you have raised quite a young lady,”

Cassius boasts “Well thank you, it was a bit harder than raising other children, but I did my best,”

“What do you mean by that?” Alastor cocked his head

“It’s not any of your business now is it?”

“If she is to be my wife I feel as though I should know,”

“Well there’s no guarantee that she’ll be your wife, so it’s not necessary,” Cassius stands 

Vera goes between the two men “All right we do not need a blind meat fight,”

“Language Vera!” “She is a grown woman, Cassius,”

“Watch it,” he leans in and Vera physically pushes them away from each other

“That’s enough! I’ve had enough of this. I will make my own choices, I am a woman now father! And Alastor, stop starting things because you think it’s funny,”

Alastor smirks behind her “No promises,”

Cassius sits back down “So, what do you have planned for my daughter?” Thank you

“I was just thinking maybe I could do what you do. Treat her like a child maybe and see how things work out?”

May put a hand on her son’s shoulder “Alastor,” she warns him “I’m sorry, he can’t help himself. Just like his father,”

Alastor chuckles “No I’m not,” he speaks with the utmost seriousness “I was just teasing of course,”

“Oh May, I am so sorry that you have to deal with this kind of behavior,”

“Oh yes, and I am so sorry to you as well Daphne,”

“Do NOT speak to my wife!”

Vera puts her head in her hands “UGH!”

“Vera, what have we talked about, inside voices,”

“I am upset father! You refuse to cease this nonsense, not even for me! Your ego is more important than me!”

“Do NOT raise your voice at me!”

“I AM A GROWN WOMAN FATHER!”

“Well, what about him Vera? Huh?! You just let him disrespect your family?!”

She looks towards Alastor “No, I just-“

“You don’t know what you want! And it’s time for this little experiment to be over!”

“What experiment father? Doing something and choosing something on my own?! You know I invited you here to tell you, not ask your permission!”

The silence is deafening, the tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Cassius turns to Alastor “Things were so much better before you got into my daughter’s head,”

“Better for who?” Alastor examines his nails “Because it was much worse from my perspective,”

“I think we should get-“ Cassius gets cut off

“Yes, I do believe I should get going!” he starts jaunting off toward the door and Vera follows him

“Where are you going?”

He fixes the collar on his jacket “Emergency down at the station. I do believe I should fix it,”

“You are making a horrible impression!” she whispers

“From the looks of it, it seems that your father was,” his tone light and playful

She crosses her arms “Who said that I was talking about with him?”

“I am sorry, I don’t know what you mean my dear,”

She sighs “I mean me Alastor, this is how it may be if we marry? I don’t want every meeting with my family to be a fight. If this is how it’s going to be then I may have to call this deal off,”

Alastor’s expression darkens slightly “Now now, let us not get dramatic over one conversation,”

She put her hands on her hips “Dramatic??”

He sighs “I apologize. I’m just in a bit of a rush, but we can discuss this when I return, all right?” He cups her chin

Vera smiles “All right,”

He strokes her cheek with his thumb “Good girl,” 

A blush rises her cheeks as she allows him to walk out without another word. The door slam rings throughout the house.

___________________________________________________________

Cassius was not pleased to hear that his daughter was being taken to a club.

“A night out of dancing father, what is the issue with that?”

“Of course, nothing wrong with a night of dancing with a bunch of hooligans?”

She gathers some nice earrings “Who is to say that they are hooligans father?”

“Only hooligans go to clubs,”

“You go to clubs, for business correct?”

“High-end clubs. This is a lousy club where the poor link,”

Vera fastens her earrings “How could you possibly know that?””

“Because I know how hooligans act. You’re being courted by one as we speak!”

“Father, Alastor is not a hooligan. And you forget that is a certified celebrity. You can’t possibly know the type of club he will bring us to,”

He snickers “Ah yes, a certified celebrity that got help from one of my good friends,”

“Is that a problem?”

“I got to where I am on my own, he needed help from me,”

Vera looks around “Well, me,” she corrects him 

“Semantics darling. Are you wearing that?”

She dons a light pink fringe flapper dress “Indeed I am,”

He raises an eyebrow “Hmm,” he lifts his drink to his lips

“What?”

“Enjoy your night, I’m sure you’ll fit right in,” he says with a slight grimace.

Vera slid on her gloves, then her headpiece, making sure the feathers didn’t fall into her face, and took a look at herself in the mirror. She felt ready to dance.

Alastor insisted they take the trolley “Do you have this in New York?” 

Vera chuckles “We do, however, our family personally prefers to take the train. Or perhaps a car,”

“Well, I’ll show you something that New York City could never match,”

He brings her inside a small-looking building with a small number of people scattered at different tables and a bartender cleaning glasses behind the bar.

“Wow, you sure have New York beat,” she says sarcastically

He rolls his eyes at her, grabs her hand, and approaches the bartender. “Sir,” he calls out, the man looking up “Open sesame,” he tells him, knocking on the wood of the bar twice.

The man smiles “Welcome back Alastor,” and pulls on a rope, opening a door in the back of the building. Alastor leads her through the door and down the stairs, closing it behind them. At the bottom of those stairs was a lively party. A full band playing jazz music and people dancing like there’s no tomorrow, switching partners and swinging the fringe on their dresses so it looks like they’re about to fly.

On the stage, there’s a short blonde woman, chubby in body singing her heart out with the band. She was clearly comfortable on the stage as she danced around with no choreography. Her dress fits her body slimly and her hair stops at her shoulders. When Alastor walks in her eyes widen and her smile increases tenfold. She comes down from off the stage, strolling up to him with a confident smirk as she sings. She taps him on the chest and they share a knowing look as she climbs back on stage to complete her set with a big finish. The audience applauds for her and she soaks it up before approaching him again.

“Alastor!” she approaches with her arms open

“Mimzy!” he hugs her tightly with a squeeze 

Vera stands to the side, feeling quite awkward, not knowing how to introduce herself, or if she was even welcome to speak.

“Where have you been? Haven’t seen you in forever!”

“Oh Mimzy, it’s only been about..two months?”

She scoffs “Two months too long!”

He waves her off “Oh you!”

“I’m so glad you came to see me sing,” she bats her lashes

“I had no idea you were singing tonight!” he laughs

She smirks “Oh really? You know everything that goes on here, but not this? Yeah right, Al,” Al? She’d never heard anyone call him Al. “Well, come on! Don’t just stand there, you know you always have a seat reserved for you!” She pulls on his arm.

Vera reaches for him, and he glances back at her “Well, make that two seats. Have you met Vera?”

Mimzy finally acknowledges her. Vera waves slightly and Mimzy looks her up and down. “I don’t believe I have,” she spoke in her nasal voice

“This is Vera,” he gestures to her “We’ve just begun courting,”

She squints “Oh! I didn’t know you were seeing anyone,”

“Well, I’ve been keeping it hidden until now,”

“Could’ve told me Alastor! The line for you is out the door!” they laugh and Vera feels like an outsider. She now finally understood what her father meant earlier in the night.

“They’re here for you darling!”

Mimzy snorts “The ladies? Don’t flatter me! They’re always here for my ‘handsome friend,’” 

“Well, I am certainly handsome,”

“How charming are you?!” They start cackling together as they walk and Vera follows them. Vera quietly orders a drink and stirs it when it comes. “Come on! Let’s hit some shots then hit the floor!”

“Couple rounds on me!” Mimzy tells the bartender and they down them once they’re slid over. 

Mimzy dragged Alastor to the dance floor and cut a rug like nobody’s business. Vera sips her drink, knowing that she could never dance like that, or act like that, or be like that. Alastor had brought her to a place where she was an outsider and then left her alone.

When he stumbles back over he shouts to Mimzy “Let me take a break Mimzy! You’re hounding me like a dog!” He laughed and took a sip of another drink. “Having fun baby?” he looks towards her for the first time since Mimsy arrived

She shrugs, stirring her drink further “Sure,” she crosses her legs on the stool.

“Is something wrong?” he licks the whiskey off his bottom lip.

“No,” she lies, not looking at him

“You do know that I cannot read your mind, my dear,” he leans in closer

Her eyes dart away “I do. I am just fine. Everything’s jake,”

“Would you care to dance?”

She scoffs “Aren’t you dancing already? With Mimzy???” she says her name mockingly while she takes another sip of her drink

Alastor smirks hugely “Are you jealous?” he raises an eyebrow, clearly loving this

She blushes “No! I just… don’t like how close she is with you. When did you meet her?”

Alastor’s grin takes up his entire face “When you were gone, in New York City,”

“Oh,” her face drops, still not looking at him

“Have you not also made friends?”

She shrugs “Well my friends do not flirt with me!”

“Flirt? Who was flirting?”

“Her! And you!”

He slinks up behind her “I’m just being friendly…” he purrs in her ear

“Too friendly,” she looks away from him

“What would you like from me? Hmm?”

She sighs “I just want to make sure you still want me. Want to…marry me,”

He wraps his arms around her “Of course I want you, how could I not?”

“Are you sure?”

He nods “Can’t wait to slap on the ol’ handcuff,” he laughs while Vera seems less than pleased. He looks down at her “What’s eating you now dollface?”

She turns away from him in avoidance and he turns her chin back to him. She lowers her eyes and stirs her drink with a stirrer “I don’t like that,”

“Don’t like what?”

“I don’t like that people call the engagement ring ‘handcuff’,”

Alastor rolls his eyes, smiling “It’s just a saying baby,”

“No, it’s not. Not to me,”

He turns his whole body toward her, giving her his full attention “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

She furrows her brows “Calling it ‘handcuff’ makes it seem like getting engaged is like getting pinched. Like it’s so horrible to get engaged.” She jerks away from him “And I certainly don’t want a fiancé or a husband who does not want to be married to me,” she walks away from him

Alastor leaves the bar and comes up behind her, swiping her glass from her fingers and placing it on a table. He enveloped her with his arms, holding her close to his chest. He lowers his head, nudging into the crook of her neck, pulling a small smile out of her.

“I would be honored to marry you if you’ll still have me,” He sways their bodies back and forth

“Don’t push it, you haven’t even proposed yet,” she looks at him smirking

He smirks back “But you know I will,”

“I don’t think I do know, it’s been so long,”

Alastor bites her ear “I’m waiting for something special,”

She looks up at him “This isn’t special?” 

He just gives her a smug look without answering. She knew he had something devious up his sleeve. He always did.

Alastor took her by the hand and pulled her to the floor during a slower number.  He places her arms around his neck and his around her waist, pulling her so close to him that their chests touch. They sway back and forth to the sultry sounds of slow jazz as Vera moves her fingers to play with his loosely curled hair. She stares up at him as he tells her

“These are my favorite dances,” and she giggles “I’m so glad you’re here with me,”

“Really?”

“Of course, I love showing you off,” 

She giggles once more “Well, then I’m happy to be here,” 

He smiles warmly “I apologize for making you feel unseen. I just wanted to catch up with Momizy, but that’s no excuse for ignoring my intended,”

“I forgive you,” she hums as he spins her

“Lovely,” he kisses her neck, making her giggle further. 

Once the song ends he guides her back to her spot at the bar. He glances just past her and says

“I apologize, however, I need to make use of the facilities,” and he runs off to the john.

Vera sips her drink waiting for Alastor to return when Mimzy approaches her.

“Ya know, you don’t babysit the shot. You just drink it,” Vera stares at her confused “Too good for our drinks?”

“No, they’re just…very strong,”

Mimzy hums and examines her nails “Ya can’t handle a drink. Can you even handle being here…toots?”

“I am doing just fine,”

“I see that,” she says passive-aggressively “What’s with you and Al anyway huh? You a stray puppy?”

“Why are you calling him Al?”

“Because he’s my best friend,” Mimzy bats her lashes “Is there a problem?”

“Of course not, Just wondering. And he told you, we are courting,”

Mimzy looks her up and down “Right. Quite a dress you’ve got on,” the look is similar to her father’s “What trash can did you find that in?”

Vera squints “I had it made,”

“Yikes,” she grimaces then giggles

“Is there a reason for you being over here?”

She rolls her eyes “I just wanted to see…what my Al is ‘courting’, but I see you’re no threat,”

“No threat because there is no competition,”

“Right, ‘cuz I’m his best friend and you’re a nobody who wants to ride on a meal ticket,”

“Ha!” She stifles her laughter “Do you know who I am? I’m Vera Bates!” The blonde’s face reeks of confusion “Award-winning actress? Part of the Bates family of the Black elite? From New York? We’re something of an aristocracy there” She gives the blonde a faux humble smile “Ever heard of the ‘Harlem Renaissance’?”

“No,” Mimzy’s nasally voice responded

Vera leans down to speak to the shorter woman “Yeah, that’s ‘cuz we’re living in it. The bottom line is I do not need your friend’s money.” 

“Oh, so he wants you for your money. Haha, now it makes sense!” Mimzy soothes herself with this possible conclusion

Vera laughs again “I assure you, money has nothing to do with it. Do you know that he practically begged me to let him court me?” Vera smirks cockily “He simply came to me with his concerns about needing a wife, and I agreed to help him out.”

“But why would he ask you?”

“Why wouldn’t he? I’m rich, smart, talented, and beautiful!”

Mimzy scoffs “He could’ve asked me.” she mumbles under her breath

“Oh! Is that what this is about? Do you love him?”

Mimzy’s pale face turns red “Well, I wouldn’t say that-“

“Ah yes, I know about the trend of white women being interested in Black men these days, but I must remind you that it is in fact illegal.” she gives a smug grin “Besides, even if it wasn’t, he was quite clear that it had to be me.”

“You’re lying!”

Vera raises her eyebrows “Ask him,”

“I don’t have to do anything you say,” she huffs 

“Aww, is bunny scared? You were the big cheese a few moments ago,”

Mimzy scoffs and disappears back into the crowd.

“I apologize for taking so long my dear,”

Vera giggles “Did you have to drop a load in the john?” he laughs along with her. When they calm down, Vera notices his collar and reaches up to pull it. “What’s that?” she reaches and wipes off a small red stain. “This stain?”

Alastor widens his eyes “Oh that, well I just got a bit of a nosebleed while in the bathroom,”

“You know you’re meant to take your jacket off when you use the toilet?” she chuckles 

He waves her off “The quicker I get it all done, the quicker I can come back to you,” he steps towards her

She pulls back “Does that mean that your jacket has toilet germs on it?” she laughs

“Hmm? It might, do you want to check for me?” he teases her, coming closer

“Eugh!!” they both laugh together and Alastor takes a breath of relief

“Did you have fun with Mimzy?” 

“I don’t need you to mock me,” she rolls her eyes

He waves her off “But did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

She nods “I am a huge fan of the jazz music the band played. I loved it and all the dancing,”

“But?”

She smiles “I think Mimzy has a crush on you,”

“I know,”

“You know?”

“Yes, I am aware. We have had that discussion, and I’ve informed her that we are just friends,”

Vera smirks cockily “You may need to have it again,”

“I certainly will,”

She jokes “You plan to invite her to the wedding?”

“I don’t know, maybe,”

“Why didn’t you tell her ahead of time?”

“I thought she would take it better this way,”

She stares at him incredulously “Did you really?”

“Yes! She seems better at it on the spot,”

“Well, she knows now. She is not my competition,”

“She was never your competition”

Vera smirks “I know,”

______________________________________________

Vera began to wonder when it was that Alastor planned to propose to her. They’ve walked in the park, gone to fancy French restaurants, jazz concerts, and they’d even danced in the street. She’d been on his radio show many a time, and now she was wondering if he was ever really serious at all.

“So tell us again what the show is called,”

“The show is an original musical called The Moon and the Stars. I play a character called Sunshine,”

“And how are you feeling, now that the opening night is in a few days?”

She sighs happily “I honestly think it feels so surreal. It’s as if this is all a dream that I haven’t woken up from yet. I can’t believe that this opportunity is going to me, but I am eternally grateful for it,”

“Well, you deserve every moment of it. How do your castmates feel about you?”

“We’re all a big family, that’s how it is when you’re in a show. Everyone becomes your brothers and sisters,”

“Do you have a favorite?”

“Of the cast?”

“Or anyone,”

She flutters her lashes “Well, not to be sappy, but my favorite is you,”

“Oh stop,” he waves her off “You’re making me blush,”

“And just like a family would, my castmates are very interested in knowing when you plan to propose?”

Alastor leans back in his chair, bringing his mic with him “What did you tell me? Good things come to those who wait, my dear,”

Opening night was magic. Right before going onstage, she felt her nerves almost get the better of her. However, the moment she stepped out into those lights, it felt as though her body moved on its own, the lines, the songs, the dancing, her mind was no longer in control, it was her soul. She knew that this was what she was meant to do. Her entire family has front-row seats, as well as May and Alastor, as he’d promised. And when the show had ended she felt as though she’d just blinked and just like that it was over. Standing ovation and all. 

Sitting in her dressing room, staring at herself in the mirror she heard the door open.

“Knock knock!” said her father as he entered

She stands to greet her parent and little sister

“Congratulations!”

“You were so amazing!!”

She was so long lost in the whirlwind of love and praise from her family that she didn’t even notice Alastor walk in with a large bouquet for her until Brynn called out his name.

“Alastor?” she called

Vera turns away from her parents and runs to him, embracing him in a hug.

“Did you like it?”

“It was a masterpiece, my dear, you were immaculate,”

She blushes “Oh you,” she waves him off as she takes the bouquet and places it by her mirror. She hugs him, staring up into his eyes and he stares down into hers, when a bright flash goes off in their faces.

“Mr. Baudelaire, Miss Bates! When are you tying the knot?”

“Are you still planning on marrying??!”

Vera pulls away, pushing hair out of her eyes “I’m not sure. I guess that’s up to Mr. Baudelaire,” she laughs, hugging herself

“Well, it seems he’s already decided!” 

Vera seems confused “What?” she laughs and questions as the flashes go off over and over again. She takes a moment to stop and slowly turns around to see Alastor’s Chesire grin as he knelt on the ground on one knee. 

She covers her mouth and screams, the flashes going crazy behind them, but they don’t matter at all at this moment. Nothing but the two of them mattered when he slipped that ring on her finger, laughing at her reaction all the while. Hugging her stiff body while she stares at the ring in shock. The flash goes off over and over as he kisses her cheek.

Even Cassius is shocked and holds Brynn by her shoulders, but even he can’t find any fault with this beautiful moment.

Alastor whispers in her ear “This is something special,”

______________________________________________________

After the opening night, Vera decided to ditch the party and sit by the river with her new fiancé and watch the moon rise in the night sky. 

  “Wow, this truly is something special,” Vera says in hushed wonder “It’s so beautiful,”

“Not as beautiful as you,” Alastor chimes in

She playfully shoves him “Ugh you are such a dope.”

“Mhmm,” He agrees lying her down on the grass and climbing on top of her

“Alastor!” she whispers

“Hmm?” He says planting small kisses on her lips. She cannot resist these kisses.

She tries speaking between each kiss, “Alastor!” she manages to get out his name once more

“Yes..?” he goes down to her neck to let her speak

“I… uh, umm…” she tries to remember what she was going to say between moans of pleasure “What-w-what. Oh! What if someone sees?” She warns him

He lifts his head “We’re engaged now, what does it matter?” he goes back to kissing her neck

“Oh, umm…” she bites her lip “I guess you’re right.”

“You know I am baby,” he kisses her lips once more, trapping her in bliss under the beautiful night sky.

His hands travel up from her waist to the buttons of her blouse, undoing them expertly. 

“What are you doing?” she questions him

Alastor doesn’t answer, but slowly inserts his hand inside her blouse and under her bra, beginning to rub the sensitive nub in the center of her breast.

“Alastor!” She sits up, pulling her blouse together to cover herself “We are outside! In public!”

Alastor seems very hypnotized by lust “So?” he says shrugging, a constant lazy grin on his face

“Ugh!” she groans “So…I do not want to be caught with my tits out!”

“Like I said, we’re engaged,”

“That wouldn’t matter if my bubs were all on display for everyone to see!”

That grin does not waver “Not everyone, just me,” he leans forward, kissing her again and reaching back into her blouse

“Ugh!” she groans, slapping his hand away

He finally looks annoyed “If you can tell me that you seriously don’t like it, I will stop,”

Her eyes dart away from his face “I-“

“No,” he stops her “Look at me,”

She swallows some air “I….” 

Alastor raises his eyebrows in anticipation.

“Keep going,” she wraps her arms around him and his grin returns

“That’s” he drags his tongue up her neck at a snail’s pace “What I thought,” reaching inside her blouse once more to rub her hard nipples with his cool fingers, making them harden even more. “Mmmmm,” he hums, pulling her breast out of her shirt and placing it in his mouth

She gasps “Alastor!”

He turns his eyes up at her and drops her breast from his mouth “Baby, I know you love saying my name, and I do so love hearing it,” he flashes a smile “But you don’t have to pretend that you don’t like it. There’s no one around. I promise if you actually don’t like what I’m doing just say so. I will stop,” he kisses her nipple “All right?”

She stares up at him as she lies in the grass. His loose curls fall over his smooth warm beige skin. He was so beautiful, especially on top of her. She takes his glasses off and puts them to the side. “All right,” she smiles sheepishly as he removes hers. 

“Lovely,” he states trailing his thick, long tongue around the bud

“Uhhh,” Vera lets out a high-pitched whine as he flicks one bud with his tongue, and the other with his fingers, pulling the other breast out of her blouse. He starts sucking on the other breast, leaving the initial one exposed. The night air hits the saliva he left on her nipple, intensifying the cool feeling on it.

He switches back and forth between her breasts, then pulls them together to suck on them at the same time. 

“Fuck!” It slips out of Vera’s mouth before she realizes it. She blushes and covers her lips in embarrassment. Alastor moves her hand away. 

“Say it,” he growls “Say ‘fuck’ baby,”

“Fuck,” Vera moans as Alastor expertly twists her nipple in his thin fingers

“Say it again,” he commands

“Fuck!” She breathes out louder

“Now say my name,” he orders, pulling said nipple

“Alastor,” she breathes out “Fuck Alastor!”

He pulls her so she’s sitting upright on his lap, both of their cores aching under their clothes. His bulge is obvious, and her heat soaks through her panties and tights, wetting his trousers as they meet, blocked by barriers of decency.

Alastor pulls Vera forward onto his bulge, making her gasp. 

“What is that?” She asks him

He furrows his brows in concentration and smirks “You don’t know what that is?”

She blushes “I do,” she looks away, “I just didn’t know it could get…hard like that,”

“It’s for you,” he jokes 

She looks back quickly “What?”

“I’m supposed to use it on you, but that I’ll save for later,” he bites her neck, then her bare breasts hanging outside of her blouse.

“Oh,” her blush deepens “A wedding present?” she jokes

Alastor throws his head back, his cackling turns into him sucking in air and letting his jaw drop as he stares at his intended, filled to the brim with lust. He pulls her back on forth on top of his twitching bulge, running between her clothed lips, making her moan into the night sky. Alastor returns his mouth to her nipple, sucking like he expected milk to come out. Vera’s moans turn gravelly as she stares down, meeting his eyes as he looks up with her breast still inside of his mouth. She begins grinding against him on her own, holding onto his shoulders like handlebars. She hugged and pressed his face against her breast, obsessed with the feeling on his lips around her nipple, grinding faster according to the pleasure she was feeling. 

“Yes…” she growls into his ear as she holds his head

Alastor’s eyes widen, and he’s surprised by her reactions, expecting something a bit more prude, however, he then remembers the woman that he was marrying. Her prudish nature was simply a facade that he saw through immediately, a mask that she insisted on wearing, but he was attracted to the woman underneath. Vera sucks in some air, her eyes lidding as she stares down, not paying attention to anything but the man hanging onto her breast. She wants nothing else but him. 

“Yes…mmm…fuck, switch to the other one,” she orders him

Alastor’s cock jumps in his trousers hearing her take charge as he does what she tells him. Rocking her back and forth as she grinds onto him.

“Mmmm…yes!” she shuts her eyes, holding him as tight as possible as he juts up into her. The cool, night air does nothing to stop them as Alastor feels the tension rising in his cock and Vera feels the knot tightening in her core. She grinds into his bulge once more, slower this time, to feel every inch of his throbbing clothed cock, dragging her juices all over him in the process. At the same time Alastor thrusts up into her clothed core faster and faster, his trousers being wettened by the dewy grass and her clothed cunt, Alastor automatically knowing which one he liked better. They ride this pleasure out together as they both release, creating wet spots over their respective garments, all done within the light of the New Orleans moon.

She pulls him off her nipple and up to her face, hands on both sides of his head, she kisses him. 

“You….” Vera breathes heavily into Alastor’s mouth, their noses touching and his arms still holding her in place “Better go through with marrying me,” she threatens

“Oh I am,” he grins wickedly, staring up at her, and pulling her closer, giving her a lick on her neck that has them both grinning like crazy. They kiss as if they may never see each other again.

_______________________________________________

“What do we think indoor or outdoor?”

“I think indoors would be nice,”

“Flowers?”

“Azaleas of course,”

“And what about theme?”

“Why are you asking me everything this is his wedding too,”

Daphne grabs her daughter’s shoulder “Sweetheart, everyone knows that the wedding is all for the bride. The groom is just lucky to be marrying such a beautiful woman at all. So what do you want?”

Vera puts her finger to her lips “I want Alastor to help me plan it,”

“You don’t need Alastor, weddings are a woman’s event,”

She purses her lips “It’s a lot to do on my own,”

“That’s why you have me and Brynn. We’re women, here to help.” she puts her hands on her daughter’s shoulders “I remember my wedding, it was the most beautiful day of my life up until that point, and I had to do the planning all by myself because my mother hated that I was marrying up,” she pushes hair behind her ear

“Father didn’t help you at all?”

Daphne laughs “I told you, a wedding is a woman’s event,”

Vera looks off past her mother when Alastor comes into the room “Oh I apologize, is this a bad time?”

“Well Alastor, we are planning your wedding to my daughter,” Daphne says looking down

Vera smiles “Hi,” she waves

Alastor smiles softly “Hello my dear,” he holds up an envelope “I happened to catch the mail as I walked up. It’s for you my, sweet,”

Vera skips over to him “Oh! Thank you, how sweet,”

She opens the letter and reads it while Alastor comes up behind her and kisses her on the hair. He wraps his arms around her waist “What is it, my dear?”

“It’s a letter from the producers of The Moon and the Stars…we’re being transferred to Broadway,” she looks up

Daphne gasps and runs over prying her daughter out of Alastor’s arms, she screams in excitement, while Vera doesn’t know how to react.

“What’s all the hubbub?” Cassius enters the room

“Vera’s going to be on Broadway!!”

“Well we can calm down with the screeching Daphne, let’s keep our manners,”

Daphne calms herself “You’re right, my apologies,”

“But that is exciting. Great job sweetie!” he hugs his older daughter and Brynn hugs her as well

“What does that mean about the wedding?” Brynn asks, breaking the moment

Alastor runs his hand through his hair “I was wondering the same thing,”

Cassius has a huge smile on his face when he says “Well, I suppose we’ll have to cancel it!”

“Well, it could just be moved…”

“Nonsense! Weddings should not be rushed, no need to do all that work for it to turn out low quality am I right sweetie?” They all look over at Vera “Vera?”

She snaps out of her daze and says “The Broadway run would start after the wedding, but right after.” She looks up “Only about a week,”

“No time for a honeymoon!” Daphne comments

“Well, thank God for that!” 

Vera looks toward her fiancé “Alastor?”

“Normally I’d say your husband comes first, but this is my daughter’s dream! You wouldn’t get in the way of her dream, would you?” Cassius grins mischievously 

Vera stares up at Alastor, waiting for his response “I don’t understand why anything has to change. We can have the wedding and Vera can attend the Broadway run of the musical after,”

“But who knows how long I’ll be gone,” 

“True as well!”

“I’m willing to sacrifice the honeymoon for you my dear,”

“Really?” her eyes light up

He strokes her cheek “Anything for you, dearest,”

Vera looks down at the letter once more “Then it’s settled! I’m going to Broadway!”

“Huzzah!”

Brynn speaks up from the couch “Has anyone heard about the New Orleans killer?” she asks unwrapping some chocolate and popping it into her mouth

They turn to her “What?”

“The New Orleans killer, people have been talking about it for quite some time. Have you not read the papers lately?”

“I thought that was a myth if I am honest,” Vera tells her

Brynn shakes her head “No, he is real. And no one can guess his motives. He has killed men, women, elderly. No one knows where he will strike next,” she smirks

Daphne scoffs “That’s it, no more morning papers for you. You bring this up now of all moments?”

The younger sister raises her eyebrow “I suppose it’s my turn to give her the heebie-jeebies,” she smiles at her sister

“If there’s a killer on the loose, perhaps we should postpone the wedding” Vera looks around, worried

“Looks like someone getting cold feet,” Cassius jokes

“She is right about there being a killer,” Alastor defends, turning to her and grabbing her hands “Vera, don’t you worry about a thing. I will make sure nothing happens to you and no one hurts you. I guarantee it.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine, my dear.”

“That’s what you think,” Brynn eats another chocolate and Daphne takes the can from her.

“This is so exciting I can’t believe this is happening! Thank you for being so understanding,”

“Of course! We made a deal!”

Vera’s face falls slightly “Right, our deal,” she quickly changes the subject “How are you going to feel finally living on your own?”

“Well, I won’t be lonely. I’ll have you… and of course my mother,”

Vera’s thoughts stop like a record scratch “I’m sorry?”

“You and my mother,”

“You mean that your mother will always be in your heart?”

“No..well of course she will. But, she’ll be with me,”

Vera shakes her head in disbelief “Pardon me but, we are to be married,”

“Yes?”

“Which means we will have to complete the marital act,”

Alastor smirks “We can do that,”

“And you plan to have your mother with us?”

He shrugs “In a separate room of course,”

She shakes her head again and scoffs “No,”

Alastor furrows his brows “So my mother has to be alone?”

“Alastor we are about to be a married couple, surely your mother understands that,”

“Of course, but I can’t have her alone,”

“Why not?”

“Because she will be alone. She does not have a husband like your mother, or any other children. She only has me,”

“Have you considered that maybe she wants to be alone?”

“Why would she want that?”

“Because she’s had to live with you your entire life,”

He steps toward her “I’ve helped her my entire life. Why does this peeve you so?”

She lowers her voice “I am not comfortable with the idea of doing, husband and wife things, while your mother is in the other room,”

“She can be down the hall,”

“Alastor this is ridiculous,”

He gestures with his hands “I know that your family has money to keep them company, but the only things my mother and I had were each other,”

Vera drops the objects in her hands “No no no no no! This will not stand!”

“What would you like my mother to do alone? What if she needs help and I am not there?”

“Your mother is a grown woman, why do you think her incapable?”

“My mother has no one, you always have. All she has is me,”

“That does not answer my question, why do you think her incapable?”

“It confuses me on why this is such an issue for you,”

She slams her hands down “It is not the life I dreamed of with you!”

He doesn’t respond for a while then speaks up “I understand. But do you understand why this is necessary?” “I do not. I cannot,” she storms out of the room

When Alastor returns home, he hears voices inside which is abnormal. He enters the kitchen to see his mother sitting at the table across from his fianceé.

“Hello Alastor,” Vera greeted him

He looks around “What is going on?”

“What is going on is that I decided to visit your mother. And being the amazing woman that she is, we decided to compromise on her living with us, only to find out, that she had not heard anything of the sort whatsoever. Is that not strange, my dear?”

His eyes dart around, face turning warm “I-“ he takes a step backward “That is quite strange,”

Vera turns to May, “What do you think about it May?”

“I think you two will have a lovely time, by yourselves,”

“I agree, do you not Alastor?”

His face falls, not responding. His fianceé approaches him 

“Alastor, we are going to be fine,” she lowers her voice, touching his chest

“Vera baby, let me talk to him,” May touches the small of her back

Vera looks back at the mother in slight confusion “All right,” she says, touching Alastor’s face “I will see you later,” she tells him and she exits the house

May steps closer to her son “Alastor, I know that for a long time we’ve only had each other, but you’re about to become a husband. You cannot have me by your side forever,”

“I know,” Alastor throws himself into his mother’s arms “I will miss you,”

“I know. I will miss you as well. But I will be all right, and so will you. I will be here for you whether we live together or not”

Alastor doesn’t respond, but the sound of small sobs is all May needs to hear to hug her son tighter.

When Vera arrives home, Brynn is sitting in the living room reading. She sits down next to her and undoes her shoes.

“What are you reading?”

“The Wonderful Wizard of Oz,” she says without looking up

Vera’s eyes widen “Really? You’re reading that by choice? I had to read it in school and it was oh so boring,”

“I find it quite interesting. I think it serves as a metaphor for the way women are treated in modern society,”

Vera thinks “How’s that?”

“Well, Dorothy was not believed despite having memories and proof of her adventures, just how women are not taken seriously in real life.”

Vera sits back and ponders her sister’s words. “Huh, you’re a real person,” she says

Brynn seems bewildered, she scoffs and laughs “Of course I am!”

“You don’t understand, I remember when you were just a baby. And all you knew how to say was mother and father. Now you have thoughts, opinions, and ideas.”

She shrugs “I grew up, and so did you,”

They sit in silence as Brynn continues to read.

“Do you want to know what I did today?” Vera asks, turning to her

“Sure,”

She props her chin up with her elbow “Well, today Alastor and I were discussing our house and he wanted his mother to live with us. I forbid it of course, and he couldn’t understand why it was so horrid of an idea. What I could not understand was why a grown man would want to live with his mother well into his 30s,”

Brynn doesn’t look up from the book “Well, it has only been just them two yes?”

“Yes?”

“Perhaps he will miss her?”

“Sure, but to do that?”

“I am sure he knows the idea is impractical, but surely he is speaking from emotion.” She puts the book down “Did you know that men can get emotional as well? I was flabbergasted when I heard of it. Father tried to shield me, but I heard it anyway.”

“Yes, it is something unknown to me,”

“Anyway aren’t you going to miss us?”

Vera thinks “I should not think so,”

Brynn blinks “I will miss you,”

“Pardon?”

“I will miss you. We will return to Harlem and you will be here. We will see you once a year at most. Hardly enough time to play,” 

“A lady does not play,” Vera speaks mockingly “Remember when Mother used to say that all the time?”

“And we would play anyway,” she puts down her book “Oh! Remember when Mother tried to convince us that sugar on top of a lemon was a delicious girl snack?”

Vera claps along with her laughter “Yes! And I took my allowance and we snuck out for ice cream?!”

They laugh together for a while until it fades into nothingness, Brynn leaning on her big sister’s shoulder. Vera realizes, in the silence

“We won’t be able to do that anymore,” Vera states monotonously

“Well perhaps not as often,” she hands her big sister a chocolate and unwraps one for herself

“Did you sneak these from mother’s room?”

Brynn nods “Yes,” and the sisters giggle together

As Vera eats the chocolate, she thinks some more, and the feeling she hadn’t understood finally clicks to her. “Then I suppose I will miss you,” she says, wrapping her arms around her little sister for the first time in a while.

“Okay,” Vera says sitting at Alastor’s kitchen table once more

“Vera? What are you-?”

“We may live in the next neighborhood over, where the houses are a bit bigger. I get more space, I get you to myself,” she walks up and puts her arms around his neck “You get to be near that hunting ground that you love so much, and you get to be near your mother.”

Alastor’s eyes widen 

“I understand now. She won’t live with us, but she will always be nearby if you want to see her.”

Alastor lowers his head and kisses his fianceé with the burning passion of a thousand suns.

__________________________________________________

Traditionally flower girls are very young, though Vera insisted on having her sister fill the role, as well as be a bridesmaid. And what a flower she made. Azaleas of every color all over purchased directly from the Fontenot garden, this wedding meant May could afford groceries for the next year. 

As for the actual wedding, Vera didn’t really remember, she knew she’d spent hours getting ready, including the time took to fit into her dress and do her makeup. She knew her father had walked her down the aisle and that Mimzy was in the audience. She knew the crowd grew quiet when she reached the altar, that the priest was saying something but she wasn’t focused on that. She mostly wanted to make sure she was standing right and that she didn’t pull her ears like she usually did when expected to stand still. She only came to attention when it came time for the vows, and that was when they had to look at each other.

"In the name of God, I, Alastor Fontenot take you, Vera Bates, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. And even after that!” He grins as the audience laughs “This is my solemn vow”

"In the name of God, I, Vera Bates take you, Alastor Fontenot to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until we are parted by death. This is my solemn vow"

Vera grins back at him, giggling “And even after that!” She adds on

“Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife,”

“Of course I do!”

“Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Alastor raises his brow as if this were a real question, Vera giggles while stating

“Indeed, I do,”

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife, you may now kiss the bride,”

Alastor lifts the veil from her face and Vera instinctively looks away, blushing “Do not hide from me, my dear,” he turns her chin back to him, tilting it up and kissing her square on the lips as the crowd applauds.

And just like that she was Vera Fontenot, Alastor’s wife.

Vera wasn’t a party gal, but it was clear that Alastor was a party guy. She watched as he danced with everyone from his mom to her little sister, who she now thought was his little sister as well. He even danced with her mother, whose opinion of him definitely changed after she was taken on that whirlwind. Her husband really was quite the charmer. Vera on the other hand preferred to sit and only dance occasionally, but she let him have his fun. She thought about that word, husband. Alastor was now her husband, they were married and she was a wife. 

She was approached by a man that she knew through her father, one of the many men who had wanted to marry her before she entered her courtship with Alastor, James Richards was his name.

“Hello Vera,” he greeted her politely

“Hello James,” she responded, still enamored with her husband on the dance floor

“Funny seeing you here,”

“It is my wedding James,” she said

He nods “Ah yes, what a shame that is,”

She turns to him “Why is that?”

“Clearly your father set this marriage up between the two of you,”

She sits up “Actually my father was quite opposed, why did you assume it was arranged,”

“Because of the chemistry you and I so clearly share,”

“James, I did warn you to stay away from certain berries on your camping trips,” Camping was one of the big reasons she had turned him down amongst others

“I mean it Vera, we had something special, did we not?”

“We did not James, if we had, you would be the groom at this wedding would you not?”

He recoils at the venom in her words “Yes, instead you went screwy and married a mulatto,” 

Vera looks up at him, standing straight and backing up “Why would you say that?”

“I heard his father’s white and wants nothing to do with him or his mother, is that true?”

She scrunches her eyebrows “I don’t know what you’re talking about,”

“Oh come on! You have to know! You’re his wife!” he cackles “Right?!” 

Vera glances down at the glass in his hand, knowing that this situation could turn very dangerous for her very quickly “Please walk away James,”

“I don’t want to,”

She doesn’t look him in the eye “P-please,”

“I don’t want to!” he drops the glass on the ground, loud enough for the band to stop playing and the guests’ attention to turn to them. Cassius steps between her and James, while Alastor wraps his arms around Vera.

“There’s the mulatto himself ain’t he?” He cackles as he’s held back by Cassius and some of Vera’s cousins

Alastor’s arms wrap tightly around Vera and he makes eye contact with James, after which James smile drops instantly. Vera looks up to see the absolutely icy stare from her husband as James is dragged out. He looked down and asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I am, just startled,”

He smiles “Well I know just the cure for that,” he holds out his hand for her to take and she does. He pulls her onto the dance floor for a nice slow dance, just was she loved.

“What?” She asks the man as he grins wildly 

“Oh nothing,” he says still looking down at her with a Cheshire grin that made her blush 

“Alastor,” she looks away, self-conscious under his piercing gaze. He turns her head back to him

“What are the odds that out of all the women in the world, I end up marrying the one star that shines brighter than me?” He raises his eyebrow, grin widening 

“Alastor! Oh my goodness!” He twirls her to the music “Ugh that smile!” She playfully hits his chest

“Get used to it be’be, because I will never stop smiling as long as you’re my wife,”

“Stop,” it’s almost too much for her to handle

He shakes his head “No,”

A house on the bayou is where they spent their wedding night and immediately were her husband’s hands on her.

She bites her lip “Yes baby,” she moans “touch me like that,”

“What do you want doll?”

“I want my husband to touch me,” she spoke, her eyes lidded

Alastor yanks off her gloves with his teeth and throws them to the side as she giggles 

“I want to feel my wife’s bare hands on my skin.”

“Why are you always trying to undress me?” She asked with a hint of teasing. 

“I’m dying to see what’s underneath,” he presses his lips together harder

“All of those interesting people you met in LA, right? Why would you want to be here with me?” He speaks into her neck while kissing it

Vera pushes him back to look at him “Alastor, are you jealous?” she looks quite confused

“No, I just-“

“Don’t be jealous baby,” her smile turns sultry “I’m here with you,” she pulls back down, catching his lips with hers “And I didn’t marry anyone in LA, I married you. You’re my husband, Besides, you’re a star” she whispers in his ear

“Mmm, my bèl.” he hums into her throat

When he goes to remove her tights she snaps her knees shut, he looks up at her confused

“I thought about something,”

Alastor sits back “Yes?”

“I don’t want to give you my body and then leave right after, you know? Maybe we should wait until I get back?” she offers

“Who knows when that will be?”

She pleads with him using her eyes.

“Alright, what would you like to do then?” he asked her

Vera blushes and chews her lip “Well, I can think of one thing, but you have to take your gloves off,”

Alastor rips his gloves off with his teeth, so eager at the chance to touch his wife, she giggles. Vera stands and turns her back to him

“Could you take this off me?” she looks at him over her shoulder

Alastor zooms to undo the fastenings and when the dress hits the floor, Vera turns to stare him in the eye, as she removes her shoes, her tights, and panties all in that order. She stares him in the eye as he sweats, her daring him with her eyes to look down at her bare cunt. She strolls over to him, removing his blazer, shirt, and tie. She takes the tie for herself.

“I would like to try something,” she bites her finger

“Anything,”

“I want to lay on the couch and you use your fingers on me,” she pulls out his tie “While pulling this around my neck at the same time,” she looks back up at him, “Is that okay?” 

Alastor nods quickly and clears off the couch and she giggles as she lays down,”

Vera places her left ankle on Alastor’s shoulder and her right by his torso, leaving her legs spread for him to enter. Her lips already glistening with slick. Alastor stares at her pussy in awe. Reverently he drags a finger from the bottom of her entrance to the tip of her clitoral hood. He does that again and again with his thumb, gathering enough slick before grabbing his tie that she’d tied around her own throat and pulling slightly, not a lot but enough to create a slight tightness. Alastor slips one finger inside of her cunt, very quickly and easily as she had already been warmed up. Vera moans, short and low, arching her back from the sensation of the finger opening and gracing her warm, wet walls. He pulls the finger out slowly and reenters it at the same speed, getting the same reaction from her. Cautiously, Alastor entered another finger, remembering that she had said ‘fingers’. Index and middle fingers drowning in her warm waters as she squeaked sweet little cries. She gripped his wrist, gasping

“Faster,”

Alastor pumps his index and middle finger at a quickening pace, using his thumb to rub her clitoris in small sweet circles. She pulls at his left hand to make him pull the tie tighter and he does, constricting her breath that much more. Alastor watches as his fingers disappear inside her wet cunt, hearing the delicious squelching made him slip another finger inside, eliciting louder and more guttural moans from Vera. Suddenly he had to contend with the tent in his pants just from seeing feeling her wetness and twitching pussy. Now he was thrusting with his entire hand, holding her clitoris like a button forcing out choked, helpless, filthy moans from her mouth.

“Alastor,” her breath barely allowed her to say

Faster his hand pumps so much so that the couch begins shaking. Alastor could feel himself reaching climax simply from watching her, how gorgeous she was, even covered in sweat. The twitching inside her pussy became much more intense as she grabs his left hand, displaying their wedding bands side by side, reminding him that she was his and his alone, this itself was enough to coax the wetness into his trousers

“Alastor, make me cum, make me-FUCK!”

“Yes baby yes,” he climbs on top of her his fingers continuing God’s work, “Who am I, baby? Who am I to you?”

“My husband! FUCK!!” just hearing that made him hard once again, the golden rings shining in the light 

Alastor kisses her throat and chest “I want you to cum for me,”

“I want to cum for you,” she holds on, squeezing his wrist “I-oh fuck!” she whispers 

“Just let go,” he coaxes her

“I-I-“

“Don’t think, just let it happen, baby. You can do it,”

Vera closes her eyes and pulls her lips in to focus, creaming all over his fingers in the next second with a hoarse, strangled, whine coming with it.

“Yes that’s it, baby, let it out. Oh, you’re such a good girl,”

Her body jerks before collapsing onto the couch. A blush rises up her neck when Alastor releases her, tasting her juices on his hand.

“Thank you,” she gasps out

“No, thank you,” Alastor licks off his fingers as Vera laughs

At dead of night, not very far from where the reception was held, James had sobered up and went out for a smoke, rethinking his actions at the wedding reception. He didn’t know that this would be his last smoke. He especially didn’t know that as he faced the river a knife would stab him from behind and be dragged up along his spine while he was still conscious. He had no clue that a boot would hit his back, knocking him to the ground, where he would get stomped and stabbed in the neck once for good measure. Good thing he didn’t have a wife or child to mourn him. And he had no clue that the person who did it would take his last few minutes of life to whisper in his ear.

“Price to pay for being right James,”

No, he had no clue. 

_______________________________________

“Everyone, I have some awful depressing news.” Vera heard Alastor’s voice on the radio from the car she rode in “You all know my wife, Miss Vera Bates? She is leaving me for New York City!”

The driver could tell she was listening and turned up the volume “Miss Bates just finished up a successful run of a brand new musical, titled The Moon and the Stars, fittingly enough, considering that’s what she is to me.”

Vera can’t stop herself from smiling and looks out the window to hide it. The driver can see her and smiles a little himself.

“The show was so successful, that it is making a transfer to Broadway! In which Miss Bates will reprise her role as the lead, Sunshine! And shall be staying there for an indefinite period of time, which means she won’t be here with me!” The driver glances back toward his passenger, smiling some more.  “Now I must say that I am happy for Miss Bates, but oh so sad for myself! I will miss you mon amour!”

The driver peeks one more time in the rearview mirror, seeing Vera biting her lip to keep from laughing “That Vera Bates is a lucky gal,” he says, his eyes returning to the road

“Yes.” Vera smiles wide “Indeed she is.”

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Family Of Three - Indiana Jones X Female (Wife) Reader (feat. Shorty)

Title: Family Of Three

Indiana Jones X Female (Wife) Reader (feat. Shorty)

Additional Characters: Shorty, Indy's dad (Mentioned)

Requested by @doctoriletyougotogalaxy!

WC: 2,170

Warnings: Super cute, family fluff, fluff, Indy being a dad, flirting, slight suggestiveness, teasing, taunting, we love Shorty, references to other Indiana Jones movies, real life plot hole, happy tears, all the hugs for Shorty, and a slight bittersweet ending

"Hurry up, kid! Don't want to be late!" Indy called out as he placed his infamous hat on the top of his head. You made sure your pants were dust and grime free, brushing them and making sure your button-up was neatly tucked into your slacks before you glanced at Indy from the living room mirror, raising an eyebrow as you watched him put on his hat.

"Why are you wearing your hat, Indy?" You asked, turning to your husband, "You don't usually wear it when we go out." You mentioned and Indy shrugged.

"I feel like it," He spoke up, adjusting his tie and glasses.

You smiled softly, walking over to help him to fix his tie, making sure it was straight, "I don't understand the point of the hat after you spent half an hour combing your hair." You tilted your head slightly, as Indy's hands landed on your waist, his fingers looping through your belt loops, pulling you closer.

"Well, sweetheart," He began, leaning down to brush his nose against yours, making your cheeks and ears flush, "I just feel like it."

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you softly pushed away, turning towards the hall, "Shorty, honey, you about ready?" You called, only to hear the quick pitter-patter of feet and Shorty to reveal himself; running down the hall.

He skidded to a halt, dressed pretty sharply in new brown pants, a flannel, new shoes, and his New York Giants baseball cap. "How do I look, ritzy eh?" Shorty asked, feeling confident in himself as you smiled and nodded your head.

"Absolutely, Shorty. Very handsome. Little ladies will surely swoon upon seeing you." You stated only for Shorty to make a face, shaking his head.

"Ew, no. I have no time for ladies, Y/N/N. I am too busy taking care of you and Indy."

You couldn't help but let your smile widen, "Alright then, are you ready to go?" You asked and the little boy nodded as Indy grabbed his car keys and opened the front door. 

"Where are we going?" Shorty asked as he got into the back seat, leaning over the middle console to look at you and Indy, fidgeting with energy.

You turned slightly in your seat, glancing from Indy to Shorty, "Well, it's a surprise. We have a whole day planned out for you."

“And don’t try and bribe us into telling you, it won’t work.” Indy added making Shorty roll his eyes as he leaned back into his seat.

~~~

You and Shorty sang along to the radio, a bit obnoxiously, trying to get Indy to join you but with no luck as you drove to the National Museum. The trees passed in green blurs as you and Shorty sang to ‘Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy’. Indy couldn’t fight the amused smile on his face as you pretended to hold a microphone in your hand as you sang. 

Sooner than you thought, you all arrived at the museum. Hopping out of the car, Shorty stared at the large building with wide eyes, walking with you and Indy up the large stairs and entering the museum, he looked all around the giant room.

"Wow!" Shorty exclaimed, his eyes widened as they met the glass display cases that held various items from the museum; his jaw slackened. Indy chuckled softly, placing a hand on his shoulder and leading him around the room with you. "Did you find these, Indy?" He asked and Indy nodded.

"Some of them," He began, stopping in front of one glass case, "Here's the Holy Grail, I found it with my... Dad." Indy spoke and you smiled, watching the two bond as you loop your arm through Indy's free one. Looking at each and every artifact that Indy had recovered. "And this one..." Indy continued, going up to the next artifact, "Is the Headpiece to the Staff of Ra that I found during my time in Egypt. It's made out of very precious gems and gold."

Shorty looked up at Indy with wide eyes of awe and curiosity, "What's the most precious treasure you found, Indy?"

Indy grinned, staring at the artifact with a soft gaze before looking down at you, "I'd have to say Y/N."

You immediately looked up at him in shock and surprise, feeling your face warm, "What?" You chuckled awkwardly, unbelieving, "Don't be ridiculous." You said, giving a light slap to his arm.

Indy smirked down at you, "You don't believe me? I would show you if the kid wasn't here." At his words, you gasped lightly, narrowing your eyes and feeling your face flush.

"Indy!" You scolded, swatting at his chest as he laughed, dodging your attempt to hit him again. He grabbed your hand and pulled you forward, causing you to stumble into him.

Indy stared down at you, leaning down before pausing, his lips just brushing yours. Pulling away slightly, Indy covered Shorty's eyes earning a 'Hey!' from the boy as Indy leaned down to press to your lips, kissing you softly. The kiss ended much too soon for your liking, but was nonetheless sweet; you blinked back your surprise as Indy rested his forehead against yours.

"You done yet? I got artifacts to see." Shorty spoke up, pushing away Indy's hand with a huff, making you smile down at the kid.

"Yeah, honey, we're done. I want to see the Cross of Coronado. It's my favorite." You spoke, leaving Indy behind as you and Shorty headed off to see the cross.

Indy watched you and Shorty, a smile on his face before he joined you, taking his hat and placing it on your head; you chuckled as the hat covered your eyes slightly. You pushed the hat back so you could see as Indy wrapped his arm around your waist.

"Why is the cross your favorite?" Shorty asked and you sighed, remembering when Indy took you to see it for the first time.

"I guess it's because of Indy's past with it." You began, giving the boy a smile before looking back at the cross. "I love how Indy never stopped looking for it. Even after all those years, he kept searching. And the way it inspired him to become someone great." You finished quietly, feeling Indy hand on your waist tighten. "That dedication to seeking the impossible and unknown has always been one of Indy's strongest traits, ever since I met him."

"And I think Y/N's beautiful charm and passion to find the answers to all kinds of questions is something that I admire deeply," Indy commented and you smiled at him, squeezing his hand. “Half the reason why I married her.”

"Don't think you're going to get any brownie points for that." You teased, making Shorty look up at you both eagerly.

"Brownies? I want brownies!"

~~~

Indy continued to talk about everything from the cross to other treasures, pointing out places in the exhibit as you all walked down the halls. After a while at the museum, you both left and got back in the car, heading to one of Shorty's favorite diners, where he always got a chocolate milkshake and a slice of his favorite cherry pie.

He sipped on his milkshake before taking bites of his slice of cherry pie as you bit your lip, glancing out the window nervously. Indy took your hand in his, intertwining your fingers together, gaining your attention. He gave you a small smile, calming you significantly as you returned to eating your slice of pie. You were a bit worried and very anxious the entire week. A couple of days prior, you and Indy had gone to the adoption office, filling out a few forms and completing a few piles of paperwork to try and get confirmation that you could adopt Shorty. 

The paperwork arrived that morning, and it said you were both approved to adopt Shorty just as long as he wanted to be adopted. It was a relief to know that you could adopt the kid. You and Indy loved that kid as if he was your own. Shorty was such a sweet, caring, brave, and smart kid; you wanted nothing more than to give him a wonderful home and raise him with Indy. You cared so much for Shorty and wanted to make sure he had the best life that you could give him. You had the chance to give him the life he deserves, a life in which he could go to school, and learn about fantastic and interesting things; give him a chance to be a kid. Shorty deserved the world.

~~~

You all headed home with full stomachs, the three of you collapsing on the couch together with a laugh, Indy’s hat on top of Shorty’s head, covering his baseball cap. You sighed, feeling content as Indy turned to look at you, glancing at Shorty in your arms before he stood. You turned down to look at Shorty.

"Short, honey, we have something for you." You began softly, your heartbeat increasing as you thought of what might await you. You glanced up at Indy, who reentered the room with the envelope, a nervous grin plastered on his face.

"What is it?" Shorty asked, sitting up on the couch. You sat up as well, Indy sitting beside you and handing Shorty the envelope. Shorty took the envelope, looking at both you and Indy confused yet curious as you gave him the nod to open it. Shorty carefully ripped open the envelope, pulling out the paper from inside. He read it over, and you bit your lip and fidgeted with your fingers in anticipation.  

"What's this about?" Shorty asked, still reading the letter with a confused expression on his face.

You glanced at Indy before speaking, his arm wrapping around your shoulder, "Well," You began, swallowing, "We would like to adopt you, Shorty." You finished, smiling softly at the little boy who was staring at the paperwork in his hands.

"You serious? You really adopting me?" He asked, looking up at you with big eyes that seemed to grow larger.

You nodded, unable to contain your smile. "If you want us to. This is your decision." Indy spoke up, holding you closer to him.

"I do! Yes, yes yes!" Shorty exclaimed, jumping up from his seat and hugging the both of you tightly, tears welling up in his eyes. You chuckled softly, rubbing Shorty's back gently as you hugged him back, tears falling down your own cheeks at the sight. "Really?" He asked, as if you weren't serious, but Indy nodded.

"Yeah, kid. we really want to adopt you." He spoke and Shorty smiled.

"Thank you!" Shorty cried in complete joy. He pulled away and looked at you and Indy as you wiped away the tears that ran down his cheeks.

"Of course, honey. We love you very much. More than anything." You responded and Shorty smiled, throwing himself back into your arms.

"I love you too." Shorty muttered into your shirt, snuggling close as he held onto both of you. You felt Indy wrap his arms around the two of you, pulling you tighter against him as he laid his head on top of yours. 

You let out a shaky happy sigh, resting the top of your head on Shorty’s cap, before letting out a small laugh of pure joy. 

~~~

In the next couple of months, Shorty was enrolled in school, learning great lessons from science to astrology. He improved on his English and even joined a few school clubs. During breaks and Summer, Indy would take you and Shorty on trips around the world, Greece, Egypt, New York, and even Iceland. You spent birthdays at parks and arcades, playing pinball machines and eating ice cream. He even started calling you and Indy, mom and dad…

Then there came the point that Shorty was old enough to go to high school, where he made more friends and joined more clubs including joining the math decathlon and even an art club, to which he was both very successful at. During breaks and Summers, Shorty would participate in helping Indy find artifacts, finding Archaeology to be a real calling to him, just like his dad.

When he wasn’t finding gold and treasure with Indy, he was with you at home. He’d help you around the house, cooking and even taking up a few chores so you had less to do. He was going up to be such a sweet and kind gentleman. Yet, he never lost that bravery and curiosity that he had as a child. 

Before you knew it, he was off on his own. Traveling the world with Indy and recovering old artifacts. Though he was pretty busy, Shorty would never forget to write you letters home, retelling his amazing adventures and all that he discovered. You’d keep those letters close, rereading them often as you missed your son. You’d check off the days on the calendar, waiting patiently for your son to come home.

[kkami-writes]

waiting for us — chapter twenty one. yn ↝ wc. 513 + 6 SS

Jeongin had intended to act on his plan right away, but when he saw you at the table, he faltered for just a second. You had looked so pretty just working on your lab paperwork, looking so carefree that he couldn’t help himself. Honestly Jeongin thought you were pretty everyday, so effortlessly stylish and he had been in awe of you since he had met you. You had been too focused on your work to even notice the boy had arrived. 

You had to be their soulmate. There was just no way that all of them had found you attractive, that all of them had felt that same tingle deep in their chests. Yet there was something stopping him, a fear deep inside of his heart. What if - what if you really weren’t their soulmate? That in his desperation he had imagined a connection with the first girl he thought was pretty. This fear had gripped him and he had frozen when he saw you, the words dying on his lips.

He had to know though. It was seriously killing him. If you truly weren’t his soulmate, their soulmate, he would deal with the consequences later. Jeongin takes a deep breath to steady himself before taking a step towards you. “YN” He loves the way the name rolls off his tongue. It just feels so right.

“Yeah?” You question, turning to face the boy who is now openly gaping at you, eyebrows furrowing at his weird expression before you gasp. Your hand flies to your mouth, eyes turning wide as you realize your mistake. 

A sigh falls from your lips as you squeeze your eyes closed, a pained look upon your face. When your eyes open again Jeongin still hasn’t said a word, but he looks at you expectantly, a stupid smile on his face.

“Jeongin” Your voice is all but a whisper but the moment his name leaves your lips it happens. That intense tingle, a vibration running through every inch of your body. You could no longer deny the connection between the two of you. Deny the truth that you have been trying to avoid this whole time.

You were his soulmate. Their soulmate. “YN?” The name sends a shudder down your spine and you can’t deny that you love the way your name sounds on his lips. You ignore him though, packing all your shit into your bag, uncaring if you were squishing anything important. Quickly, you run right past him, attempting to try and stop the wave of tears that are already filling your eyes. There’s too many emotions filling your chest and it scares you. You want it to stop, yet you also never want it to stop, this feeling of love that you’ve never felt before.

Jeongin tries to make you stay but he’s reminded of what had happened the last time and pulls his hand back on reflex. 

So yet again, he watches you run away and he can’t help but wonder if this was going to be a common occurrence between the two of you.

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[dilfwaynes]

NEW GOTHAM | S.K

summary: the vampires successfully burned the world and rebuilding the edges in their hierarchy, gotham included — but selina’s thing for strays remains, just more enhanced.

⚢ pairings; dark!vampire!selina x fem!reader.

✗ warnings; dom!selina x sub!reader, noncon/dubcon, degradation, virgin!reader, choking, fingering, slight praise, selina claiming u as her little slave. NOT PROOFREAD/EDITED.

✎ word count; 2.2k.

gotham coalesced to a mass of utter disaster by the vampires, any ritzy of the city gone and longed with languid, and there was not one thing you could do about it, batman’s dead and so was the rest of your family; but nightwing emblazoned quite well his act of innocence with zero suspicion gained from you all on his below the surface.

you somehow survived, or richard allowed your breathing, far from delighted at his generous grace of kingship — you presume it’s his twisted way of making you suffer, knowing he was the grim reaper of your siblings and bruce, fooled them and betrayed them far worse than any enemy, and there’s nothing you can do about it, or at least knowing selina’s short lease keeps you tight far enough.

abrasive you suppose, but selina onuses herself for you when she’s farthest from being required to do so, and you hope your gratitude for selina beams brightly, maybe her reasoning for clothing, feeding you, guarding you from the despair of gotham and whatever else was some profoundly sense of duty of debt to bruce; you truly don’t know why selina took you in but you’re thankful regardless. you’re jaunty of selina, and in ways you know she retracts the same from the fact of her allowance of you sneaking in her room every night to seep comfort.

any buoyant of such is bleary tonight though, her reaction nulled to hearing your presence entering the living room, the large area purging somber and murk more than usual, and from the raised peaks of your top, colder too. the ambience blatantly indignant, perched perfectly cat-like on the stem in the nook under the window overlooking, her face scowled in anger.

“where’s harley?” you ask quietly and padding towards the nearby wooden table next to selina,   genuinely curious, as well as wanting to spark a conversation, maybe also seeking some attention from her.

her gaze intakes yours with her attention  focusing on you now, features algid and spleen, and for a second you think her brise fire is aimed at you, the mere thought almost has you bawling hot tears with a deep pout. her features softens from your flash of expression, her brows creasing a frown, albeit towards an approach.

“she left us, a stupid dream of escape out of gotham.” selina rolls her eyes and turns back to the darken green outside the glass, the angst of her mien side forge; induce flawed compared to her other acts of facades that it almost infuriated with the weak ink ticking at her nerves to put better effort, until she reminds herself you’re the naïve ever trusting human of hers, probably the only bat that ever trusted her. the thought of her being asinine about harley’s self demise is funny enough to take strength for selina not to laugh, with harley out of the picture you’re in the free ground of her complete taking. sparing a side glance to your reaction, deferring a hiss from the glimpse of excitement and hope in your eyes.

a burning rage engages in her chest, her gums throbbing in an effort of withholding her fangs, seemingly it goes unnoticed by you, probably endeavoring cloud your senses and  surroundings with all sorts of rebellion and hopes to reunite with what remains of the justice league; she couldn’t —wouldn’t— allow you to have any dreams or chance for any of those thoughts and ideas swimming in your head. she’ll break you down and crush any batman form of sense and value in you, hallow you out to be perfect as minutes before, or even better than before.

“why didn’t you tell me? why didn’t she take me with her?” you ramble out frantically, vexation snapping your tone, why wouldn’t selina tell you harley found a way out of gotham? she’s privy to everything you could accomplish if your foot touches outside of the city. pinning on your heel impatiently for a reasoning, facing her and becoming taken aback at selina’s anger pointed at you, her jaw strained and lips stretched in a snarl. you  swallow some and shake your head, in another state of mind you would probably be crying from selina staring at you with her expression but with any chance of being able to leave gotham has your full heed.” if i leave now i can maybe catch up to her.”

“no!” you stumble back in haggard afeard steps, selina’s hand gearing your head towards her now exposed fangs wide in a hissing, her eyes bright with scarlet instead of green, torrid acid strips your throat to your stomach; that quite literally feels like it dropped to the stone floor with your heart rapidly beating to the point for a good solid second you think it’s actually out of your chest with the intense drubbing. shock startles under all the nerves connected within, fear and a jolt of seething betrayal following suit. selina’s features still clinched with her fangs retracing barely some, her grip remaining sturdy.”greedy little brat, i clothe you; i feed you and you wanna leave me?”

“get the fuck off me!” you scream as your thrusts of your arms glosses-over, your attempt evidently occurred to her already at her lack of faze other than brief annoyance.”i fucking hate you, you’re one of them, a filthy leech.”

flaming skin presses against yours, strangling a choked high pitched whine with your head coming into contact towards the desk, selina fully towering over you with your back spread across the hard oak; the sharp of her slight abjured fangs now gleaning in full effort of their beauty. throwing your head to the side, screwing your eyes closed to escape your view, selina being a vampire slamming a jack hammer into the same wound of the realization of dick’s true self, maybe even more with your newly blossomed feelings since she’d taken you in.

her lips gliding back into a growl,”you’re mine honey, my darling human slave,” you keep your eye sight closed, wishing to close off her words as well, especially with the unwanted aroused pulling at your stomach. her nostrils twitch some before inhaling deeply, a smirk calming down the storm on her face”does my little bat likes being addressed as my slave?.”

you draw out a whine that quickly results into a hitch, selina’s nails engraving into your flesh as you feel a butterfly’s jitter against your senses, her lips barely brushing yours has you letting out a meekly moan unconsciously.

“i can smell you little bat, begging to be devoured extra tonight,” you opted still with silence, ignoring her words and the waving flood of embarrassment of unknown, your mind flashing of each time you were titillate by her throughout the months.”i’ll fuck you tonight, finally make you a woman, something bruce never had the chance to do..” you squeezed your already closed eyes, your legs following along as far as they can with selina being slot between them, her words painfully having an effect as she takes another deep inhale.

“open your eyes,” her demand that quickly gets dismissed from your lack of operating and sealing your eyes shut, bursting a gasp when selina’s hand coaxing one out of you, grasping your throat to it feels like your windpipe is crushing on itself, with you clawing at her hands serving no justice.”open your eyes sweetheart.”

unable to breathe you fly open your eyes and mewt her darken green ones, her lips craving into a smirk again, grip lighting but leaving her hand in place without the strength.” you look so darling like this,” she coo’s gently, composure smooth without any wrinkles from past seconds of behavior before, her fingers nimbly jutting downwards to the exposed opening of your sundress, ghosting along the lace lining of your panties. pulling and letting them snap back to your hips with a sting, exhaling a breathy whine out of you, enduring any sense stored in you from whatever twisted arousal you’re feeling.”stop.” you faintly whisper that goes undermined.

“if only bruce could see you now, sprawled out so pretty for me,” her words weighting down your guilt evermore, the heat from the confusing swirl of anger and lust directed at selina, she seems perfectly occupied with other matters with her hand gripping inch and inch your thigh under your dress, this time roughly pulling down your panties that you’re sure you heard a ripple, until you’re confirmed so when shreds of the material comes in your eyesight.”all mine.” she purrs happily in a possessively manner, nuzzling her nose up and down across the base of your throat.

her thumb pressing down on your clit while  ravishing in your meek response of delight or complaint, you, yourself couldn’t separate the borderlines, she assumes it’s the first with your pitched whine when her lips attach in the dip of your  shoulder blade and neck and kissing along, suddenly sinking her fingers inside you and earning a high breathy moan out of you with a jarring of your back going upwards, feeling her lips  stretching into a smirk against your skin. open palm brushing your nerves as she set a steady trusting, clear that she’s not merciful in the path with her rhythm harsh and no warm-up, tears burning the back of your eyelids from the rush ample stretch of selina’s digits, the pain twisting itself in pleasure.

the pain subsiding some and the pleasure of selina rolling her fingers inside you taking over, biting your lip to contain any noise and give selina the satisfaction of letting her know she’s fucking you good, her fingers edging to the tip of your g-spot as she splits you open so good, her lips skimming your neck delicately that it reminds you of your selina, almost, blaring a gasp with sudden fangs barring into your skin; crying out in a blend of an intense added pleasure from selina’s fire sunk in, a weird feeling sense of burning euphoria, selina continuing to pump inside you roughly.

your legs shaking and only feeling selina to the point of being blind to anything else but her, your eyes beginning to roll to the back of your head and becoming faint with the blood selina is withdrawing out of your system, pulsating every jagged trust of selina’s. a white-hot flash comprehending your sense of awareness entirely, a strange coil-ready feeling emerging at the bottom of your stomach, selina tugging your clit forcibly gives you enough of a push towards your climbmax and has you crying out and seeing dotted jetted stars.

she softens her pace to help ride out your orgasm and releasing her fangs from your neck. “i wonder if you taste as good in other areas,” she questions teasingly and pulling out her fingers, staring at you while putting her fingers in her mouth, stopping midway abruptly,”but i do prefer to taste from the source.”