#i blacked out while in the middle of writing this so if only one part makes sense im very sorry

[lucidfairies]

— m'lady [part one]

introduction

synopsis: your sister was in need of something, anything to reel her in, and a handsome new knight was just the one for the job.

pairing: sister's!knight!sevika x queen!reader

warnings: forbidden/off limits, slow burn ish, extreme sexual tension, pet names, heavy pronoun use in the middle (she/her), reader masturbation but in a fade to black way, SO MUCH FLIRTING, eventual smut (see: parts 4, 6, probably more)

wc: 3.5k

a/n: once again I must honor my amazing @sevsgiirl !!!!!! tossing around ideas with them is like therapy. she's the best ever so everyone go show them love!!!

“Sarah,” you said softly, with a gentle rasp at her door, “may I come in?” When you heard her ‘yes’ through the wood, you pushed the heavy material open with Sevika and the other knights at your toes. You had mentally prepared for this moment, expecting lots of glares and snotty comments, and to no surprise, that was exactly what you got. "Sarah, this is Steb, Loris, and Sevika. You have proven that this is the step we need to take to get you into place, and I’m acting on it. I expect respect.”

“All of you can see yourselves out.” She responded, not looking up from her spot at her desk. She was writing something, most likely a letter to another neighboring kingdom. “They’re not staying.” She followed up when the group didn’t leave.

“I don’t remember when you were appointed Queen.” You quipped. She let out a harsh breath and turned towards the four of you. “They will each have an eight hour shift, meaning you will have a knight on duty all day, every single day. It doesn’t have to remain this way if you can prove that you’ve gotten your life together, but you’re nowhere near that point.”

“This isn’t fair,” she gritted out, teeth clenched and jaw locked in anger.

“Life isn’t fair. Loris is your starting knight, as of ten minutes ago. You are the princess of Piltover, and I expect you to start acting like it.” With that, you, the knights, and Elora left the room, Loris taking station outside the door. “The schedule is posted on a script in the gym. While one of you is posted at her door, one of you will be training, and the other will be off the clock.” You spoke to Steb and Sevika as you walked throughout the halls. You had already given the three a formal tour, but you took them back to the training grounds regardless to present the schedule. “Knights will go in the order of Loris, Steb, Sevika, and you’ll go from knighthood to training. That’s all, and you’re free to go to your stations.”

You didn’t wait for a response from either of them, instead turning on your heel and walking back towards your writing chambers with Elora. You couldn’t help but let your mind wander to the way Sevika’s arms looked in her uniform, or the way she glanced over at you while you spoke.

Sevika would never tell you to your face that you were right. It had only been three weeks, and sometimes she wondered if it was three weeks too many, remembering her life before taking this godforsaken job. Chasing Sarah around was like trying to grab a bar of soap with wet hands - she was quick to slip away, and hard to hold onto when she was there. Trying to wrangle her in was a full time job in and of itself, let alone the addition of security, training, sleeping, and eating. She'd been working double, covering for the other guards as they weren't nearly as experienced as she was. And for you, it was almost torture.

You saw the woman everywhere, especially when she was off duty. It was like she followed you around, and showed up everywhere just to draw your attention away from the things that needed it. She would be in the same hallway as you, walking in the same direction, and happen to strike up a conversation that left you blushing. She was in the kitchen when you wanted a snack, making the whole room laugh, and in the stables helping the coachmen when you wanted a ride. She watched you mount and caught your eye as the horse carried you out of the stable. Everywhere you went, she was.

Though your mind argued, it wasn’t difficult to find yourself attracted to Sevika. Her high cheekbones, dark eyes, wide lips. It all drew you in. But nothing in the world could compel you to act on the attraction, because it was nothing more than that. But, you did enjoy the sight of the curve of muscle in her arm, and the way the material of her pants fit around her thighs.

However, nothing beat the way she looked in uniform.

“Sarah, this is all wrong,” you huffed angrily, watching your younger sister stumble and trip over her own feet as she attempted to ballroom dance with her partner. The boy wasn’t particularly fantastic either, but with a girl in stilettos stepping on your feet and on her own dress, you couldn’t imagine it was that easy to look good. “The ball is around the corner and you’re making your official debut. Whatever this is, it needs to be fixed by the next time I see you.”

It was not on your doc for today to sit through Sarah’s etiquette lessons. She had done them  biweekly since she could walk, and there was no reason she needed a chaperone now. But, because you had put so much time and effort into planning this ball, Elora insisted that you saw the progress she was making. It was important that she wooed the crowd, seeing as she was your successor.

And, well, you used the word “progress” lightly.

Sarah seethed, stomping like a child having a tantrum. “If you’re so sure that I’m doing it wrong, why don’t you do it? Since apparently my sister is the best ballroom dancer on earth, let’s all watch her!” She was being sarcastic, and gestured around the room. The few people that were in there ducked their heads, as if not to embarrass her or you. Well, aside from Sevika. She was looking down and laughing, and you glared at her with daggers in your eyes. “Oh and look, dick rider Sevika is laughing too, why don’t you dance together? Match made in heaven, huh?” You shot up.

“Sarah, reign it in,” you spoke harshly, grabbing her forearm in a tight grip as she flailed. “I will show you how to do it once. After that I expect you to figure out how to do it.” You marched onto the ball floor, looking over at the boy Sarah was dancing with a grimacing.

Before you could join him in a dance, there was a tap at your shoulder. You spun around quickly, and you were immediately met with Sevika. She was smirking as she bowed before you, reaching out to take your hand. “May I?” You looked over at Sarah who encouraged you to take her hand, and to your dismay, you did.

Her hand was warm around yours as you took it, and you could feel each groove of her palm beneath your soft fingers. She tightened her grip around you as she stood, mechanical arm slipping around your waist. You were irrationally tense, so much so that it was almost difficult for you to pull your arm up and drape it over her shoulder.

Subtly, she pulled your body against her own as the music began. Chest to chest, her mouth fell just above your ear, and you listened to her breathing pick up. You spun delicately, trying your hardest to focus on your footing. This wasn't the time to embarrass yourself, especially after all the talk you made earlier.

“A bit tense, aren't we, m'lady?” She whispered, lips grazing the shell of your ear as her head cocked to the side ever so slightly. Blush found your cheeks swiftly, and you were sure you got even more tense. “Relax, you're doing great.” You pushed her back ever so slightly, just enough to look at her.

“Cut it out,” you whispered through gritted teeth. The song sped up, and she quickly spun you out of her arms, pulling you back in so that her thick, muscled arm was wrapped around you and her mech hand was tight around your hip. Your back was pressed to her front, the strong muscle gracing you as her heart pounded against you.

“Cut what out?” she chuckled deeply. “For someone who insisted they were so good at dancing, I have to say you're very tight, my queen.” You forgot all of your steps as your brain replayed Sevika insisting that you were tight. “You're doing so good, sweetheart. Need you to breathe.” A chuckle chased her words.

The song ended and you pushed away from her, storming out of the room without even so much as glancing back. Elora was outside, and watched you as you slammed your back against the wall and practically panted. You placed a hand over your heart and a hand on the wall, doing what you could to find your breath again.

“My queen, are you okay? Did something happen?” Elora rushed to you. “Shall I ring the doctor?” You shook your head, unable to meet her eyes. It felt almost sinful, what you just allowed yourself to indulge in. Disgusting, even.

“No, no. I'm going to take the rest of the day for myself. I'll see you at dinner.” You made your way back to your chambers with haste, slamming the door behind you and falling onto your bed. You grabbed one of the numerous pillows and pulled it to your chest as you balled yourself up, screaming into it as your body relived the moments over and over again.

“I'm sorry about that,” Sarah said to Sevika, who was looking at the door as if her gaze would make you reappear. “She's not normally so… jumpy, but I guess you have that effect on her. I also don't think that she has danced with someone since her own etiquette lessons. You didn't do anything wrong.” Sarah laughed to herself and Sevika turned to face her.

“She's been courted, no? Wouldn't that give her a reason to dance?” Sarah's laughs thickened, leaving Sevika to confusion. Sevika scowled, rolling her eyes. “You can't just start a conversation and then laugh at me, princess.”

“I can do as I please,” she shrugged, “however, since you're so kind, I've found it in my heart to tell you that my sister doesn't let suitors court her. To my knowledge, no man or woman has laid hands on her since our father died. She's a prize, in the world of royalty. Kingdom after kingdom have sent suitors, and they all get rejected at the door.” Sevika spent a moment in silence, her mind putting together pieces that were previously lacking.

This was why the queen had no interest in her faux advances. Not only was she unaware of flirting, but she also refused to be courted. This opened something in Sevika, and she was determined to find out why you didn't allow for suitors.

“I see,” Sevika nodded, pensive. “What does she do when the kingdom hosts balls? It’s all she’s been talking about for weeks.” Sarah sighed, as if this topic was strenuous.

“She keeps herself busy. Makes conversation with heads of houses and other leaders. If, by some miracle, a list to dance develops, she sees herself out before she’s had an opportunity to dance with them. As I said, she doesn’t allow herself to be courted, and I doubt she ever will. She’ll die alone, and a virgin.” Sevika chuckled, imagining you at the royal ball approaching, turning down kingdom princes and princesses.

“Nobody with a face like hers dies alone, or a virgin.” Sevika glanced down at her hands, the same hands that held you against her just minutes ago. She didn’t like you, not romantically at least. You weren’t exactly kind to her, and she had been sleeping with a girl at the brothel for several weeks now. She just enjoyed the way it felt to have a body pressed against her own.

However -

The thought of courting you did wander through her mind. Jumping through hoops to impress you, prove to you that, contrary to your belief, she could handle a woman like you. Do anything you wanted, protect you with her life. In an ideal world, if she were to wind up with you, she would be the Queen’s Guard, and be with you all of the time. In true Sevika fashion, Sarah’s comment regarding your purity status had her mind spinning, but she pushed those thoughts away.

But it wasn’t like that, and it couldn’t be. It was easy to tell that you were going out of your way to avoid finding a suitor, and she was your sister’s knight. Therefore, all factors decimated that idea. And, of course, she doesn’t like you.

It took you the rest of the day to build up the confidence to apologize to Sevika. You paced your room intermittently (in between freaking out), planning how you would approach her and what you would say. Her training shift ended after dinner, and you decided to seek her out in the knights’ common room since she wouldn’t be busy. Though, the ‘what to say’ part was still up for discussion in your mind.

Dinner came and went, and you decided that dwelling on what to say wasn’t going to get you anywhere. Unfortunately, it would have to be an in-the-moment thing, or else the moment would pass, and you wouldn’t be able to apologize to her, and that was far worse than embarrassing yourself in front of her once (or twice, if you included every single interaction that happened between the both of you today).

Truth be told, you had never seen the knights’ common rooms. Your knight had no reason to bring you down here, and you had no reason to be driven to the rooms. There were several of them, organized into what knights guarded who. They were like burrows; your knights had a common room and sleeping areas, the princess’ knights had a common room and sleeping area, the grounds’ knights, etcetera.

The room was dim, making the knock upon Sevika’s chamber door even more intimidating. It was just you, insisting that your knight and Elora remain upstairs in the writing room. This needed to be you and her, so that she was sure you meant it.

There was a quick, “come in!” and you pushed the door open, closing it behind you before you had a chance to look up. When you did, the few words you had decided on died in your throat. Sevika was standing before you, back toward you, and you got a front row seat as she pulled her shirt over her head by the collar in one swift motion. Underneath she bared nothing but binding wrap, a usual for female knights.

She tossed the shirt to the side and turned to face you, face dropping into a toothy grin. Her tooth gap met your view, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how perfectly it fit her face. “My queen,” she said, her grin transforming to a smirk at the look on your face.

Your eyes were shot, trying to find a spot to look that was anything other than her, or her shirt on the ground. Your cheeks were most definitely redder than they had ever been, and you felt as if you were glowing with how warm they were. But, what intrigued Sevika the most was the part in your lips, and the way your chest rose and fell with belligerent haste. You were thinking of her and she could tell.

She allowed herself to tip against a poster of her bed, arms crossing over her chest. “Lucky you caught me, I was about to take off my arm,” she joked. “What can I do for you?” It took you a moment longer than it should’ve for your brain to click back into place.

“I, um,” you swallowed harshly. “I can come back another time if you’re busy,” your hands were sweating mercilessly. “Or if you want to take off your arm.” She snorted, laughing with a shake of her head.

“Now’s fine, pretty.” She was most definitely Pavlov-ing you somehow, with all of these little names, and the way she was saying them. The way she said it, made it feel like it was yours - there was no way to move on from that, or come back from the way it made you feel. Nobody else could call you pretty now that she had, or refer to you as their lady now that she had.

“Okay, well, I w-wanted to apologize for earlier. I shouldn’t have rushed out like that. I had to attend to- to some business.” She pushed off of the wall and took a few steps closer to you, making you step back until your back was pressed against the door.

“Business, of course,” she said with a smile. “Your sister says that that was the first time you’ve danced since your own lessons. I must say, you did a fantastic job, sweetheart.” You briefly scowled at the idea of Sarah spreading your private information to someone that was basically a stranger to you.

That idea made this entire thing worse. This woman was essentially a stranger, and yet her words and actions were taking an affect on you in a way that nobody else's ever had. No suitor, no man from the street, no woman at the brothel. And you hardly knew her. Your mother would have an aneurysm if she were here to see this.

“You’re not too bad yourself.” You said, weakly. She was so close now. You could practically reach out and stroke her cheek if you wanted to. But that would be terrible, gross even. All of this was terrible. You could be planning for the ball, and instead you were here, allowing this to happen. Indulging in it.

“Well my queen, if you don’t need anything else, then you should allow me to walk you to your chambers,” she reached around you, large body caging you in. “A pretty thing like you needs her beauty sleep.” You were surely suffocating between the door and her body. You looked up at her, and driven by something in your mind, you lifted up on your toes and-

The door clicked open, and shifted behind you. With deep embarrassment, you slipped through the cage of her arms and out into the common space, cool air hitting you and bringing your facial temperature down, thank god. The both of you made it back to your quarters quickly and silently, seeing as you were far too embarrassed to hold a conversation.

“If you find yourself without someone to dance with at your fancy little ball, you can always come and find me, m’lady. Sweet dreams.” She winked and strode off, making your head absolutely spiral.

There were things that needed to be done. The education budget needed to be finalized, and the caterers for the ball needed an official date. Not to mention you had been requested to a new elementary school’s opening, and asked to read a book.

But right now, right now. All that mattered was the way your skin burned where Sevika touched it hours ago, and the way her words felt as they were poured over you, like she wanted you. Like you were some sort of prize, exactly where she wanted you. No matter how terrible it was, no matter how much needed to be done, all that mattered right now was Sevika.

Laying back on your bed as your mind wandered miles, you couldn’t help but run your fingertips along your skin, grazing your nipple over your night dress. It was frustration, really. You would never get off to the thought of a stranger, especially someone on your staff, that was so close to you and your family. You had to wonder, though, what the cool metal of mech fingers would feel like against the burning skin of your nipple, or what her mouth would feel like replacing it.

And, well, the thoughts didn’t halt when your fingers slipped into your underwear, or when you came, messy and sinful all over your hand.

taglist: @lovinglynny @ferxanda @lilithyys @ayooooohush @jiungmcvv @yoursimhannah @tigerbat @armeenix @mommymilkers0526 @unadulteratedcoffeetastemaker @inyavika @acidblum @everegretseverything @nerddivision @reneesub @trvpstvrkai @noirotakusstuff @rhian88

[arabellascented]

angel!reader x dark!constantine.

warnings! kidnapping, dead dove to not eat, stockholm syndrome, abuse, naive reader.

authors note! As I said, this isn’t good as I wanted it to be. I got blocked in the middle of the writing and couldn’t get it out, but I wanted to get this out of my mind soon so I can focus on other wips. I might make a part two with smut, but right now I didn’t felt like writing it </3

When Constantine saw you for the first time, all pristine and perfect sitting close to Gabriel at a church, he knew he needed you. It was an unfamiliar urge, something that scared him deeply. John Constantine, the demon hunter, wasn’t supposed to feel infatuated with a bloody angel.

That’s why his defensive brain started to act and think of a reason for his feelings, because the idea of failing in love was as repulsive as vomit for him, maybe even more. He couldn’t be in love with a divine creature, something god himself created. It would be an irony, a deep disgrace for his very own damned existence.

This infatuation was quickly replaced with vengeance. His very own revenge against God. All the suffering god put him through, now would he repaid, with his very own daughter.

Constantine was static when he discovered not only you were an angel, but a guardian-angel. The race of angels that were forever bound to the earth, weaker, softer, their empathetic nature making them completely dumb and vulnerable.

His plan was perfect. He walked to the church, seeing you there, all alone, pristine wings spread while you prayed for protection for those who suffered. Dumb, silly angel, he thought. God is never going to hear you.

When Constantine approached you, you flinched slightly, eyes wide. Humans didn’t had the ability to see or interact with divine beings, it was the major rule, but then you remembered the man you saw Gabriel talking with last week. One of the rare humans that had been in hell and returned. You feel sorry for him, for what he been through.

— What can I do for you, John? — You asked softly, eyes attentive, your whole focus being direct to him. Constantine scoffed, ripping a cloth from his pocket, pressing it against your face with a pressure that sent you panicking, his other arm curling around your shoulders to keep you in place. You try to kick, squirm, scream, flap your wings uncontrollably, but nothing works against the black spots dancing around in your vision, growing and growing until you were unconscious.

Waking up was a rough feeling you never expected before. You felt sore all around, mouth dry like you chewed cotton. While your head pounded, the first feeling you recognized were from your wings, tied tightly in your back, making it impossible for you to move. Looking around, you recognized the structure of a human house, and before you could even get up, you saw Constantine joining you in the room.

— Ah, you are finally awake, little angel. — He said, snarky tone making every hair of yours stand on end. He seemed even taller from where you were standing, sitting in the floor, arms bound, wings tied so you couldn’t even try to fly. It hurt, your sensitive feathers being tugged by the rough rope. You felt utterly confused, your pure heart not being able to understand such a mean action coming from a human.

— W-why are you doing this? — You asked, voice trembling with fear. He only chucked, the sound cold and cruel, crouching down, standing with eye level to you. When you saw his hand coming closer to your face, you tried to squirm away, but he was faster, huge hand covering your whole jaw with ease. He lifted your head, gazes matching. When John saw your eyes, full of naivety, purity and fear, something inside him trembled, as if his body knew how he was doing something truly irreversible and monstrous, but even if the human part of him screamed at how wrong this was, he needed the revenge, to spit right in God’s face after all the shit he had been put trough.

— Creatures like you never fail do disgust me… all pretentious, playing dolls with humans, all high and mighty, while humans are bound to this disgrace…— Constantine spat the words right on your face, and he wanted to laugh at how pathetically your eyes welled up with tears at his words.

— I-I’m sorry…— You murmured, feeling sorry for him, all he passed. You yelped when the sharp sting of his palm connected with your cheek, tears you tried so badly to hold failing freely now. Constantine felt a sense of satisfaction at seeing your distress, but also a sharp sting in his stomach. Damn it.

— You’re going to be, half-breed, I’m going to show you exactly how humans feel, and God is going to watch it, his pretty little creation so flaunted as any mortal…— He said in your ear, and your heart started to thump uncomfortably inside your chest, the sound ringing in your ears. He moved through the room, opening a drawer. You eyes widened when he grabbed a dagger, cries only getting louder.

Constantine wasn’t merciful at all, grabbing you by your bound wings, making a loud, sharp cry escape from your throat as he positioned you on your stomach. He had the dagger right in the juncture where your skin meet the fluff of your feathers, when he caught a glimpse of your angelical face looking back at him, a look of pure misery and pleading in your eyes. Like a prey asking for the predators mercy. Your cheeks were red and glistening with tears, lips wobbling. You weren’t even fighting back, that’s wasn’t fair.

His hand stayed in place as he looked at you for several seconds, trying to gather the courage he needed.

— Fuck it! — Constantine dropped your wings, and you sighed in relief, your back aching where he was pulling.

He felt confused. It was like a part of him denied to hurt such a beautiful creature. Angelic, pure, innocent, untainted, everything that he wasn’t, everything that he would never be. Placing the knife aside, he looked at you closer, hands now uncharacteristic gentler, holding you up in his arms, carrying you to a bed, the soft mattress dipping behind your weight.

His rough, heavy hand came closer to your face, and you flinched again, but this time it wasn’t a slap, but rather a gentle caress to your cheek. You felt conflicted, looking at him confusedly.

— I’m not going to hurt you anymore..— He murmured, face coming closer until his lips found yours. You gasped at the unfamiliar feeling, melting right at his lips, the sensation making your head spin.

— Hurting you will be no good, Angel… but I am going to make you as tainted as me…— He murmured in your ear, the promise sending shivers through your skin. And in this moment, you knew you were completely in his hands.

[paulyenvol6]

Try it, Bite it

I HAD to write some smutty one shot after seeing Pedro's interview on Jimmy Kimmel which resulted in this fanfiction. Enjoy :)

Contains: smut, p in v, unprotected sex, riding, arm/hand kink?, fingering (f receiving), a little bit of oral (f receiving), choking, fluff, lots of praise and sweetness, a little bit of angst in the beginning, established relationship, Pedro being a literal dream

Wordcount: 5,198

Masterlist

You felt your breath fastening up and simulatenously wanted to roll your eyes.

How was it possible that you weren't able to control yourself for once? You were supposed to support Pedro and here you were practically drooling at the sight of him your brain being a total mush.

It had already started before he even had walked out to sit on the couch when you had wished him good luck backstage. He wore this goddamn black t-shirt that showed off his trained arms too well and was the cause of this whole mess.

You had only run your eyes over him once, pupils dilating at his toned biceps and were just glad that Pedro hadn't seemed to notice your reaction. Then you had said goodbye to take your seat in the audience your cheeks flushing as you had felt his strong arms tightly wrapped around you and a part of you was relieved to get out of his room because you were scared of what you might have done if you had spent another second with him alone.

You had felt like a horny teenage boy that had only sex on his mind and had needed a moment to calm down after the encounter with your husband. And now, almost an hour later you were at the exact same point.

When Pedro had came out a couple of minutes ago you had cheered along with everyone else, glowing with pride of him but when you had watched him hug Jimmy Kimmel the smile on your lips had faded your eyes glued to his arms.

'Fuck,' you had cursed inside of your head and tried your best to hide your arousal as you simply couldn't look anywhere else. You obviously knew how well-trained Pedro was at the moment and had never felt shy to give his arms and shoulders a special treatment during sex but it had never been that bad.

You wanted him so badly that you would have run up to him and pull him into a hug just to feel how strong he was at once hadn't there been this quiet rational voice in your head urging you to act normal and not embarrass your husband.

Now it was the middle of the show and you felt incredibly bad for not being able to listen to the interview but your mind traveled elsewhere all the time no matter how hard you concentrated on their conversation. Your eyes relentlessly wandered to his shoulders and arms that were so perfectly hugged and shown off by the shirt.

You wished to sink your teeth into his muscles, trace them with your fingers or tongue and spoil him until he would fall asleep. You wanted him to show you how strong his arms were by pinning you down on the bed and holding you there while pounding into you and – Fuck.

This couldn't be true. You seriously sat there a few feet away from your husband who gave an interview on one of America's biggest late night shows and you daydreamed about him fucking you? Not only did you have zero restraint, no, you were also a very bad wife.

You blinked a few times and shook with your head trying to make the heat in your face vanish and then forced yourself to listen to what they were talking about. You suceeded for a few seconds but then the interview was already over and you quickly rose to your feet and clapped with your hands feeling worse with every second. You had barely heard anything because you were too fucking horny. Fuck.

Once the applause had died down you sat back in your seat inhaling deeply and savoured the fresh air entering your lungs. Now that Pedro had vanished behind the curtain your mind started to feel more clear again, of course. But now it was too late and you had kind of missed your husband's whole appearance. You sighed again hands folding in your lap and chewed on your bottom lip while Coco next to you searched for something in her purse.

"He was amazing, wasn't he?" she then asked turning to you with a big smile.

You forced a chuckle out of you that sounded much more insecure than you had imagined but quickly nodded. "Yes. He really was."

"Are you alright?" Coco then wanted to know and you wished to disappear in the ground.

"Y-Yes. It's just a little warm in here, don't you think?"

Well done. Out of everything you could have said, that was the answer you had come up with. If Coco hadn't already realized what was wrong with you she surely did now.

"A little. But we will be out of here soon."

You nodded looking down at your hands counting the minutes until you could leave and go to the bathroom to splash some cold water in your face. But of course you had to be patient for almost 30 more minutes until you finally had the opportunity to rush to the toilets after having let Coco know.

Once there you rested your hands on either side of the sink taking deep breaths before letting cold water pour into your hands and splashing it onto your cheeks careful not to ruin your makeup. It worked wonders and after doing it a few more times you started to feel like a normal human being again. Of course you still felt a little bad but at least your body had cooled down and you felt kind of ready to meet with Pedro. If only he would take off this goddamn shirt already and then you might be able to focus on the words coming out of his mouth.

You met Pedro backstage in his wardrobe again and to your misfortune he hadn't changed yet.

"Hi baby," he smiled immediately pulling you towards him and you almost moaned at the way his arms locked you to his body.

"Hey," you whispered already failing in acting normally. "You did so wonderful, Pedro, I loved it."

To say you felt bad saying this was an understatement. It broke your heart to lie to him but at the same time you definitely wouldn't tell him that you hadn't listened to a single word of the interview right after.

"Thank you, honey. I had such a good time. I feel like the vibe was there, right?"

You nodded against his chest feeling grateful that he didn't see your guilty expression.

"Yes. It was, I… I did…"

Your voice broke tears welling in your eyes because you simply couldn't do that. You hated lying and what you hated even more was lying to your husband. Therefore you hugged him tighter seeking comfort snuggled up against his chest and sniffed when Pedro kissed your hair.

"Are you alright, baby? What's wrong?"

You slightly pulled away so you could look up to him but made sure that he didn't let go off you.

"I'm sorry, Pedro. I… I'm really sorry."

He frowned a deep crease appearing between his brows as he questioningly tilted his head at you.

"For what?"

You dropped your gaze your hands caressing his chest and shoulder before cradling the back of his head.

"I… I'm sorry. I was kind of distracted during the interview and I… I didn't really listen to most of what you were saying. I'm sorry, I know I'm a terrible person and wife and I regret it so much and I'm feeling really terrible right now but I can't lie to you and pretend and… Fuck, I don't know."

You rubbed over your eyes lips forming a pout but then Pedro pulled you to his chest again carefully pressing your head to his nape.

"Stop," he chuckled and traced patterns over the back of your head.

"No. I'm sorry. I wanted to be there for you and support you and I didn't. I let you down and I'm gonna make it up to you, I promise."

Pedro sighed and kissed your forehead while gently combing through your hair.

"Jesus, y/n… I don't think you know how much you've supported me these last couple of weeks and months. And today as well. Just because you haven't listened to the interview doesn't mean you let me down. You were here for me the whole day, letting me complain about my anxiety and nervousness, you listened to me and were so patient with me although I was a nightmare. I should be the one apologizing to you."

You shook with your head reaching with your hand to his mouth in order to shut him up but missed and the both of you had to laugh as you pressed your hand against his chin. But then you got serious again pulling away from his chest so you could meet his gaze and make sure he took your words to heart.

"Don't say that, Pedro. Don't say you were a nightmare. I'm so fucking proud of you for all of this and don't you dare apologize for anything. You're the sweetest and kindest and funniest person every single day and the very least I can do on days like these is listening to your goddamn interviews."

He broke into a smirk at your words shaking his head in disapprovement but then pulled you in for a kiss.

"Please don't beat yourself up for this, baby. I'm so far from being mad at you about it and you are aware that we can watch the interview together on youtube tonight, right? It's not a big deal, I promise. Please look at me."

Your eyes darted up to him again smiling softly as his finger trailed up your jawline.

"I love you and I would still love you if you missed my next 50 interviews."

"I will never miss any interview of yours again," you quickly stated cradling his cheek but Pedro interrupted you bringing a finger to your mouth.

"Baby, I appreciate your support so much and you can't seriously believe that you're a bad wife just because you didn't properly listen to one interview. I can't imagine how a person could support me better and be there for me more than you are and I mean every. Single. Word."

You teared up at his words wrapping your arms around him with a new determination and shut your eyes simply enjoying to smell his familiar scent and listen to his heartbeat.

"I love you, Pedro."

You could feel him smile against your head and then the two of you stood like that until he took your face in both of his large hands holding you away from him a little. "Baby?"

"Mhm?" you lazily made blinking a couple of times as though you had just woken up from a heavenly dream.

"But why were you distracted?"

Your heart sank into your legs at the question and you instantly felt the heat rising in your face as you tried to come up with an answer as quickly as possible. Pedro was your husband and you definitely shouldn't feel ashamed about yearning for a particular body part of his and yet you couldn't help but feel flustered as he curiously observed you.

"What is it, honey? What drew your attention away from me?"

You shyly grinned looking down at his shirt so you wouldn't have to deal with his piercing eyes because this was already enough to handle.

"Nothing, I… I think it was just… you?"

He narrowed his eyes looking more confused now than before. "What?"

You sighed and gave up in this moment your shoulders dropping but you simply couldn't meet his gaze.

"I think… I was distracted by… you know, your shirt… and the way it makes you look…," you mumbled while nibbling at your thumb that you had brought up to your mouth.

At first you didn't see Pedro's reaction to your words still too shy to take your eyes off the floor but then you heard him chuckle his thumb drawing lazy circles over your cheeks.

"Is that so?" he asked his tone having completely shifted in a way that made your heart skip a beat and goosebumps rise on your arms.

"What about it?"

"Pedro," you whispered pleadingly staring up to him.

"What?" he repeated a mischievious smile sparkling on his lips.

"Your arms. Your shoulders. Your hands."

You had whispered these words close to his nape and in response Pedro's hands ran down your side his grip now firmer and heated up.

"Tell me more," he whispered in your ear holding on to your waist while he started to push you back towards the wall.

"I… I was thinking about kissing your arms and… feeling you grab and hug me. You looked so fucking hot, Pedro, god…," you whimpered feeling him squeeze your waist.

"You're a naughty girl, aren't you?" he chuckled leaving little kisses on your cheek and then when he trailed his hands over your stomach and then to the button of your pants you gasped for air.

"We can't, Pedro. Not in here."

"Why, baby? It's just you and me."

Within seconds of him devouring your swollen lips like it was his tastiest meal and a simple glance downwards to where his hands fumbled with the opening of your pants you were a mush in his arms head falling backwards to rest on the wall and your desire for him taking over your brain.

"Pedro," you whined again your hands gripping his muscular arms the way you had wanted to all night which evoked a low growl in him.

"Yeah honey… Take what you want from me…," he murmured against your parted lips and then finally opened your pants and shoved them down your legs.

The heat pooled in your stomach making your whole body feel like it was on fire and you were sure sweat was already dripping down your forehead just like you were certain your pants were beyond soaked.

Pedro seemingly was wondering the same thing bringing a finger to your clothed pussy and running it over your slit.

"Mhmm yes, there we go… Is that from right now or from the show earlier?"

You once again blushed still not feeling completely free of embarrassment when you thought about the way you had been utterly swept off you feet just because his arms had happened to be on display tonight.

"Both," you plainly answered which wasn't even a lie and then, feeling so eager to fight the throbbing ache between your legs, you rocked your core against him to create some friction with his hand between your thighs.

Pedro laughed which was the happiest and most beautiful sound you had ever heard and then started to suck on your neck his tongue tracing your delicate thin skin.

"I know you need it so badly, mhm? I'm gonna give it to you, baby, I promise. Just tell me what you need."

Your eyes rolled back in your head as your clit brushed against the palm of his hand and your trembling hands held on to his thick arms.

"Need… your hand, Pedro, please."

He smirked a crooked smile, complying to your want though and started to go through your folds with two thick fingers to tease you before stopping at your clit and circling it through the fabric of your underwear. You moaned eyes springing open again and then your eyes darted at his bicep for a brief moment which Pedro obviously noticed.

"Oh honey…," he sniggered his left hand squeezing your waist firmly. "Go on," he then said his husky voice sending you spiraling.

"No need to get shy on me. I told you, I want you to take from me whatever you want. You can look at it, you can kiss it, you can bite it…"

He caressed your chin tilting your head a little so you had no choice but to meet his gaze but his eyes looked so sincere and warm that you had to believe him. Feeling reassured you glanced at his arms again and bit your lip at the way his right arm flexed so wonderfully as he was still busy flicking and toying with your clit.

"Pedro… Oh my fucking god, I need you."

It seemed like these were the words that made him push down the rest of the fabric separating your needy pussy from him and once you were bare he didn't waste any more time collecting your arousal with the pat of two fingers and smearing it all over your cunt.

You writhed and shifted, your whole body shaking with anticipation and the need to push yourself impossibly close to your husband and then when Pedro finally pressed his digits against your throbbing clit you cried out arms wrapping around the back of his neck.

"Fuck, Pedro… Huh," you panted your thighs threatening to close around his hand.

"The things I wanna do to you…," Pedro's hot breath brushed over your ear and it definitely wasn't helping.

He enclosed your clit between two fingers creating delicious friction and teasingly flicking the little nub. When he felt like giving you more he rubbed in tight circles using your arousal as lubrication and soon your wetness was running down your legs which probably would have made you feel embarrassed had he not have you wrapped around his little finger, drooling and salivating at how he knew his way around your body like he had studied you.

"I need you to come for me, baby. I need to see you come all over my hand."

You started to rock your body against him riding his hand to bring yourself closer to your orgasm while Pedro whispered sweet words of encouragement in your ear. Your eyes were fluttering, hand clenching in fists to get rid of the tension in your body but you knew reaching your high would be the only relief that would help you so you tried to get off, rubbing your clit against his hand in time with the movement of his fingers.

But before you could come there was a wish lingering in your head that you just had to express as it had consumed you all night and you knew telling him was what Pedro wanted.

"I need your arms, Pedro," you therefore pleaded helplessly grasping his bicep and without even knowing what exactly it was you needed him to do, he picked you up under your arms, carried you to the carpet in front of the couch and sat down on it.

He turned you around so you could settle between his legs with your back pressed against his chest and then instantly got back to work fingering your pussy while your head was spinning. You seriously wondered how he managed to stay so cool and clear-headed while you were utterly stunned by this new position and when Pedro wrapped his arms around your abdomen his large hand sprawling on top of your stomach your pussy clenched and your body tensed up.

"I'm gonna cum," you whimpered eyes widening while you watched his hand and arms around you and before you could even listen to his answer a fire exploded inside of you and you saw white. You allowed yourself to drop back, your head resting on his shoulder and Pedro was happy to catch you as his arms held you firmly and his mouth whispered phrases of comfort.

"That's good, baby, that's right… You're being such a good girl for me right now… I'm so proud of you for being so honest with me."

He kissed your hair softly cradling your body and trailing his hands up and down your arms.

"I always wanna give you just what you want. Because I love you and I wanna make you feel good."

You let out another whine but this time it was the sound of a cat that had just found her favourite position in the world that she never intended to leave. You snuggled up in his arms adjusting yourself to be closer to him and closed your eyes while listening to his heartbeat.

"That was so perfect, Pedro," you whispered and your smile intensed when he offered you his arm to coil your body around and cling to for dear life. Your fingers were buried in his muscles which sent little shockwaves through his body every now and then and when you started to kiss his skin the both of you almost lost it.

"Baby…," Pedro moaned trying to move his arm away a little but you were determined hands clutching him tightly.

Your mouth traced his veins leaving open-mouthed kisses and the sheer thickness of his biceps alone drove you insane. The prominent bulge that pressed up against your ass didn't go unnoticed by you and to tease him even more, you began rocking yourself against him. Pedro reacted to it by sighing into your ear the hand of his right arm, that you hadn't captured, moving up your leg.

"Baby. I need you."

Instead of answering you continued, eager to evoke more of these sweet little whines in him and to say that you were doing a good job was an understatement. Considering the amount of pressure with which he squeezed your thigh he really was in need of some relief and the huge bulge beneath you hinted at the fact that he was already close to busting. Now you had him right where you wanted him and if there was one thing in the world you were addicted to, it was driving Pedro Pascal mad.

"Baby, I need you. I need to fuck you… jesus fucking christ."

The combination of your pretty ass rubbing against him and your mouth devouring his biceps like it was something holy and admirable made his mind go blank and all he could think about was feeling your pussy clench around him.

"Fuck me," you answered, not any less able to hide your lust and then felt Pedro lift you by your waist and then turning you around so you could sit on his lap.

You didn't stop with your hip movement, your core desperately grinding down on him and now it was the perfect angle for your clit to get some stimulation as well.

"I want you to ride me, baby," Pedro demanded and you were quick to reply by opening the button of his pants.

Despite your trembling hands you succeeded pulling them down, his underwear following just enough so his cock was freed. His dick looked so delicious and hard that you just had to lean down to kiss the tip and taste his precum for a few seconds but Pedro's fingers unpatiently pressed in your ass letting you know what he wanted.

That was why you eventually pulled away again straightening up and wrapping a hand around his cock while you moved in his lap until your entrance was hovering over his leaking dick. Your eyes locked, Pedro's hand connecting with the side of your face and the both of you let out a gasp when you slowly sank down on his length, lashes fluttering as you felt him disappear in you inch by inch.

"Oh fuck me," he grunted head dropping to his chest and his hands resting behind him on the carpet to keep himself up. Your knees were on either side of his body on the ground, your hands all over his face and head while you began to ride him. You simply loved how vocal and responsive he was, not shy about reacting to each roll of your hips with a deep gasp or growl.

"That's it, baby," his raspy voice soothed you, his hands still lingering at your waist.

"You're doing so well for me. Treating my cock so fucking well."

"Pedro," you sighed out hands trailing down his chest and over this damn shirt. "Choke me. Please. Hard."

An evil smile appeared on his lips the slight bite on his bottom lip sending you straight to heaven and hell at the same time and of course your precious husband was happy to fulfill your wish bringing his right hand to your neck and applying light pressure.

"You dirty, dirty girl," he snarled blaring his teeth when your lips parted in order to gasp for air.

Your eyes shot down to his arms to admire the way his muscles tensed and by now you were so far gone that no part of you felt ashamed for your clear obsession with his bicep anymore. Pedro didn't neither; he kept his hands tight around your throat, enjoying the way you squirmed while you tried to uphold your steady pace of bouncing on his cock.

It was obvious that you struggled your rhythm getting destroyed by his light squeezes every now and then but Pedro had too much fun watching you try so hard for him that he just smirked at your frustrated moans. He then suddenly pulled you towards him your hands coming up to rest on top of his hand around your neck, his mouth so close to your ear you felt his hot breath sending shivers down your spine.

"You want me to take over, mhm?"

You could only nod your whole body aching and burning from the exhaustion, your limbs feeling like you had just run a marathon although it had barely been 10 minutes of riding him.

"Alright, babygirl," he whispered the dominant and caring side of him having taken over now and his main purpose from now on was to make you come again for him. Just for him.

He pushed you backwards until you fell over but of course caught you before your head would hit the floor and gently laid you down on your back. Pedro hovered over you his knees parting your legs, aligned his cock with your entrance once more and then started to thrust in you at his pace now.

The room was filled with pornographic sounds that were more than inappropriate to be heard in the wardrobe of a late night show but the two of you couldn't care less. You were so drenched that the wet sound of his cock pounding your pussy echoed against the walls along with your heavy pantings and the little pleas escaping your lips every few seconds. Pedro's balls slapped against your core, his fingers additionally playing with your clit now and you knew it would be a matter of seconds until you would come again.

Scared to leave your husband behind you scratched over his hand that was still tight around your throat to let him know that you needed to say something and luckily he understood loosening his grip slightly.

"I'm close, baby, I'm gonna come."

"Come for me, honey. I'm close too. Just let go for me, baby."

Finding that you might need the extra thrill Pedro tightened his hand around your neck again, a little more intense this time so you choked on a gasp and actually reached your high in this very moment. You cried out, your whole body arching underneath him and Pedro lovingly watched each of your little squirms and twists.

"Yes, baby. That's what I wanna see, yeah…"

His hand didn't leave your clit for once, wanting to tease out every last bit of your exquisite release and when your glossy eyes rolled back a milky shimmer covering your pupils he decided that you had enough and as he didn't want to push you too far Pedro eased his hand choking you and stopped circling your clit.

Now it was time for him to orgasm as well and so he finally allowed the knot in his stomach to tighten and explode and the effects of it were truly divine.

Pleasure spread all throughout his body, little shockwaves making his limbs twitch and soon he couldn't hold himself up anymore crashing into your body and breathing heavily against your nape.

"Ohh baby… You feel so goddamn perfect, jesus… Don't know what I did to deserve you."

Pedro closed his eyes focusing on savouring the beautiful emotions his orgasm evoked in him and then carefully moved his hips making sure his cum would stay inside of you which you reacted to with a jolt, your pussy aching at the overstimulation.

"Shh…," he soothed you moving a strand of your sweaty hair behind your ear his hand lingering at your waist while pulling out of you.

"There you go... You're a fucking dream, baby."

You twitched again quietly moaning when Pedro gently fondled your shoulders while moving down your body to get a taste from your pussy. He licked through your folds collecting your wetness mixed with his cum and hummed in pleasure as he relished your releases.

You watched him quietly, your breath still hatching in your throat and your eyes glowing with the aftermath of your high. Pedro took his time cleaning your cunt and then gave your clit one last kiss that made you jerk as it felt beyond swollen.

He crawled up to you again pressing his lips on yours which made you taste him and you on your tongue but it was only a brief moment before there was a loud bang on the door echoing against the walls and you widened your eyes in shock.

"Pedro? Are you in there? And have you seen y/n?"

A wide smirk appeared on your husband's face seemingly feeling a lot more amused about this than you were, whose fear was clearly visible on your face. Pedro carefully stroked your cheek fingers tracing the area under your eyes and then turned his head to the door.

"It's fine, Coco. Y/n is with me and we'll be ready to go soon."

At first there was no reply and you furrowed your brow but then a loud "Alright. I'll wait down the hall for you." made you exhale in relief and Pedro crawled off you to stand up.

"Relax, honey. Coco wouldn't just burst in on someone like that. And even if she had, you believe she thinks we don't sleep with each other?"

You rolled your eyes getting up as well and adjusting your clothes while Pedro did the same.

"Of course not. But that doesn't mean I want her to catch us doing it."

"Fair. But she didn't."

He closed his belt pursing his lips as he watched you comb through your messy hair and then approached you pulling you in for a deep kiss.

"We shouldn't make Coco wait," you whispered at some point already lost in the closeness of his body again and just because you had just orgasmed didn't mean that his gorgeous arms didn't have this special kind of effect on you anymore.

"I know…," Pedro mumbled the sound muffled by your lips but he didn't make an attempt to pull away.

Eventually you managed to break away though kissing the tip of his nose with a peaceful smile on your lips and took his hand to guide him to the door.

You just wanted to open it to finally step outside when you heard him lowly chuckle next to you so you stopped in the movement curiously looking up to him.

"I think I should keep this t-shirt."

[meganegatari]

Bro I literally eat up ur writing every time😭can u do ellie using a vibe on u?

before you read.

☆: KILLING 3 BIRDS W ONE STONE HEHE. i feel these all go well, so why not. sorry for the insane wait, and the wildly lazy writing...me putting this off forever only to bang out a crappy blurb in like 2 mins...also can't stick to a single aesthetic WHATEVA.

◇: vibrator use, fingering, porn w/out plot (sawry), dom-ish ellie (but she's still kinda silly), overstimulation, squirting, aftercare at the end (all r! recieving).

"you can take it, doin' so good." she murmurs under her breath, her face contorted in concentration.

you squeal when ellie presses the vibrator hard against your poor, overworked clit, the sensations almost too much to bear. but no matter how overwhelming it may be, it's still so mind numbingly good. the device has been set on a mode midway for the past...however long, and you've completely lost count of how many times she's made you cum thus far. for all you knew, it could have been well into the double digits, and she didn't seem to be stopping any time soon.

ellie’s eyes were dark, low with blown out pupils. they remain trained on you, flickering between observing your facial expressions, your squirming body, covered in a shiny layer of sweat, and what's going on under her hands. "...ellie, hold on...wait." you gasp out, struggling to catch your breath.

she detaches the device from you, her tattooed hand traveling up your body, settling on the side of your face to cup your cheek, and wipe away a stray tear that had escaped from your eye. "need a break, babe?" she says, her gaze softening. that honey voice she puts on, featuring a light domineering timbre, it immediately makes you wet all over again and you whimper quietly, bucking your hips up in pursuit of more stimulation. she notices—of course she does, observant as a fox—and her lips stretch into a sneer, "yeah that's what i thought, still need more." she chuckles, before thrusting the tip of the toy back onto your swollen clit, biting her lip when she watches you arch backward, mantras of her name and pleas falling from your lips.

her free hand, which was previously resting on your knee, flies down the inside of your parted thighs, grazing the heated skin, and she teases your hole with two digits, eagerly observing the reactions. she quickly stuffs her middle two fingers inside with ease, slick and pearly cum leaking down her slender knuckles. curling upwards to massage your g-spot, the pleasure is causing explosions of colors to appear in your vision, your eyes are filling with tears once again.

"just gimme one more, okay?" ellie orders gently, clicking buttons to increase the intensity of the vibrator even more, and you nearly shriek. out of instinct your legs fight to close around her hands, but she's quick to push your knee to the side again, tutting. "nuh-uh, don't do that. just one more. say the safeword if you really want me to stop, alright?" you open one eye and nod meekly at her, and she resumes. within no time at all you feel the brink of orgasm swell in your lower abdomen once more, your legs trembling at every purr of the toy. and she can tell as well by the way you're whining and panting, all with a fucked out, lazy smile playing on your face.

silent moans trapped in your throat, you feel the blinding ecstasy overtake your body, blacking out your senses for a moment. she has lessened the setting to work you through it effectively, all while muttering sweet praises throughout.

"god, look at that." she whispers in awe once it's over, discarding the device on the floor and rubbing her hands across your legs to ease the tension in your thighs, making sure you're okay. she hovers over you to press a tender kiss to your forehead, then over your entire face, grinning when she hears you laugh.

her goofy tone returns, "fuckin' squirted all over me, baby. we'll clean up just gimme a sec." she cuddles up to you, nuzzling her face in the crook of your neck, sighing and softly stroking the top of your head. "next time we'll do a couple more, make a new personal best, whaddaya think?"

tags (idk why some didn’t work): @andersonfilms @ch6douin @aouiaa @sapphic-ovaries @astro-cat2 @paqerings @r3starttt @littlefallenangel111 @srooch @sinfulprayerss @lvlymicha @sunnsh1ine @anniee333 @flowrmoth @liddysflyer @fortune777 @claude999 @brunaedn @lanabaezzzz

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Infernal Shadows

Synopsis: Being one of the most powerful overlords in Hell, you like to keep up with colonies and overlord plans. Recently with the new extermination date out, you hold your annual gala sooner than usual. You hadn’t expected to get in the middle of the already heated feud between the Radio Demon and the head of Vox Tech.

Warnings: She/Her pronouns used for the reader, mentions of blood, voodoo?, Angel Dust being a horn-bag, Reader is referred too as Madame to the public. Vox and Alastor feud because I live for it.

Song for this chapter: The world we knew by Frank Sinatra.

A/N: I wanna make this a three part short story, so if anyone is interested in being tagged in the second part just let me know!! I hope you enjoy!!

Word count: 2655

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!! // Serendipity Writes (event) // Part two

Getting an invite to the annual crimson ball, hosted by yours truly, was nothing but an honor. Every overlord and every sinner in the pride ring waited anxiously for a letter. A black card with white letter in a cursive font stating ‘You have been personally invited by Hells biggest designer. The list of the gala was simple. The usual overlords, Zestial, Carmilla Carmine and her daughters, Zeezie, Rosie, Fredrick Von Eldritch and Bethesda von Eldritch. Alastor who had came back after seven years of hiding god knows where, and by special request, the three vee’s who had never attended the gala before. Then it becomes a bit more political.

Next on the list was the Goetia family, inviting the recently divorced prince with his daughter. Inviting Lucifer and Lilith, though they only ever came when everyone was gone. Then was their daughter Charlotte, who got a plus one as a special perk of being the princess of hell. Husk because he had been an old friend of yours before his status of Overlord was taken from him by none other than Alastor. He was also given a plus one, though he usually never brought anyone extra. Sir Pentious was a candidate, but ultimately scrapped from your list of invites as you felt he was too childish.

The gala was tonight and everything was going smoothly. Preparations were almost done, the foyer was spotless just the way you liked it, and everything seemed to be falling into place. You stared at yourself in the mirror. You had spent months designing your perfect dress for tonight. Everyone attending the gala knew there was only ever one color off limits, because you always wore it best. The color black always suited you perfectly. No one could wear it better than you.

Back at the hotel, Charlie felt guilty for using her authority as princess to have people help her get ready for this gala. Based on what Alastor had told her, there would be a lot of political powers and fellow overlords there. She wanted to look her best if she was going to pitch the hotel to them. She needed more people on board with the project, maybe someone who didn’t think it was complete and utterly ridiculous joke like Alastor did.

“How do I look?” Charlie asked as the makeup and hair artists stepped away from her. Charlie stepped out, allowing Vaggie to get a better look at her in a tailored charcoal gray suit, a departure from her usual vibrant red attire. The jacket, adorned with subtle pinstripes, accentuated her frame, while the crisp, white silk shirt underneath added a touch of formality. Completing the ensemble, she wore a black tie with a discreet pattern that hinted at both elegance and authority. The ensemble was a strategic choice, projecting confidence and a readiness to engage with the political powers present at the gala for the sake of her hotel. Vaggie smiled and hugged Charlie deeply, their embrace making Charlie feel a little less nervous about the whole ordeal.

“Charlie you look amazing. What happened to the red?” Vaggie asked, before Charlie just chuckled.

“Well, I wanted a change for tonight. I’m always in red, and I feel like they’ll take me more serious if I’m not walking in there with my usual attire. Besides, you read the invitation, ‘formal attire, look your best’.” Charlie said. Vaggie nodded, and Charlie pulled back from the hug to admire Vaggie in her dress. She was wearing a sleek and modern grey dress that gracefully embraced the formal occasion. The dress, with its tailored fit and subtle shimmer, exuded class. The knee-length hemline added a contemporary touch, and Vaggie had decided to pair it with black heels to complete the ensemble. The choice of grey complemented Charlie’s charcoal gray suit, creating a coordinated yet distinct look that would surely make an impression at the gala. Charlie felt her cheeks heat up taking in her appearance, her long hair gently pinned back, the loose pieces of hair framing her face.

“Aww, Vaggie you look so pretty!!” Charlie said excitedly. Vaggie just smiled, ignoring the way her cheeks heated up at Charlies compliment.

“I agree, you look good vagina.” Angel said mockingly, causing Vaggie to glare at him. Charlie just gushed.

“Angel be nice. This is really important for the hotel.” Charlie explained. He just nodded, tilting his head back and downing a bottle of liquor. The staff however was interrupted by Angel making a purring sound at Husk, who was dressed in a nice white suave dinner jacket, with perfect cutouts for his wings, along with some sleek black trousers and some black dress shoes. The match, he had a black silk lapel.

“I can think of another place that suit would look.” Angel said, leaning onto Husk. He rolls his eyes, bottle in hand.

“Do I even wanna know?” He asks, and Angel just grins.

“On my bedroom floo-“ Angel doesn’t get to finish, being shrugged off by Husk who just walks away with a shake of his head.

“Oh my gosh! Husk you look amazing!” Charlie squealed in delight. Husk just smiled softly before setting his drink on the bar counter.

“It appears everyone is ready.” Alastor said, the focus of the room shifting to him. Niffty was at his side studying his outfit from head to toe.

Alastor emerged in an ensemble that deviated from his usual eccentricity, opting for a more formal yet captivating look. A deep red velvet tailcoat adorned his frame, its luxurious texture catching the light. Dark-red lapels, meticulously piped with gold, added a touch of opulence. Underneath, he wore a perfectly tailored crimson dress shirt, the power emitting off of him. Suddenly, the room grew just a tad bit darker, the shadows of the room stretching just a bit. Complementing the ensemble, he chose a pair of well-fitted black dress pants, allowing the bold red hue to take center stage on his appearance. His choice of footwear shifted to polished black oxford shoes, a departure from his usual pointed-toe boots. The finishing touches of the outfit included a matching red silk bowtie, neatly knotted at his throat, and black leather gloves that added a refined edge. Alastor’s presence was commanding, radiating an air of formality while retaining the distinctive charm that defined him. The room was captivated by the Radio Demon’s unexpected transformation into a vision of refined class and style.

“You took forever for that?” Niffty said, before Angel Dust tossed a pillow at her.

“Shut it you. We, we are keeping,” Angel said, hands waving around Alastor, “to whatever this is.”

“Style.” Alastor said confidently. Vaggie just face palmed while Charlie clapped her hands together excitedly.

“Okay, I think everyone’s ready. Should we head out?” Charlie asked. Vaggie nodded, before Alastor dug the invitation out of his coat pocket. Standing near a wall, he traced the symbol on the back of the card on the wall. “Uh, Al? What are you doing?” Charlie asked. He grinned, putting his hand flat on the wall. The symbol began to glow green, before it opened a portal. On the other side, was a large house. The grand Victorian mansion stood as a testament to opulence, its imposing facade adorned with intricate wrought-iron black railings and embellished balconies with hints of chains. Tall, arched windows with stained glass panels framed the exterior, allowing glimpses of the soft glow emanating from within. The entrance, marked by a sweeping staircase, welcomed guests with ornate, carved intricate detailed doors. Charlie, Vaggie and Husk followed Alastor through the portal, Charlie waving goodbye to Niffty, and Angel. Sir Pentious was most likely hiding out in a room somewhere with his egg boys.

As guests approached, they marveled at the meticulous details of the architecture – elaborate moldings, corbels, and friezes adorned every corner. Ivy-clad walls added a touch of nature’s grace, intertwining with wrought-iron lampposts that cast a warm ambiance over the meticulously landscaped gardens.Inside, the grand foyer unfolded, revealing a sweeping staircase adorned with a rich, mahogany handrail. Crystal chandeliers hung from soaring ceilings, their light refracted by ornate mirrors that lined the walls. Plush Victorian-era furnishings, upholstered in rich fabrics, adorned the parlor rooms, creating intimate spaces for guests to gather and converse.Every room whispered of a bygone era – intricately patterned wallpaper, gilded frames displaying classical art, and the faint fragrance of aged wood and lavender.

The air was infused with a sense of refinement, transporting guests to a time when elegance reigned supreme. The Victorian mansion, a splendid backdrop for the gala, promised an evening steeped in grandeur and charm. In the middle of the exterior grounds, a grand fountain of blood took center stage. Its sculpted marble figures spouted blood into the air, catching the moonlight in a dance of liquid elegance. The fountain, surrounded by manicured gardens and flowering shrubs, became a focal point for guests as they strolled through the outdoor spaces, the gentle sound of cascading blood adding a serene touch to the gala’s errie atmosphere.

The overlords arrival made the event much more real. Alastor hums to himself as he walks around the outside grounds. There are servants of all kinds walking around with glasses of champagne. Rosie is sitting on a bench, plucking thorns off a rose. Alastor smiles to himself, happy to see a familiar face he know he can confide in.

“Rosie dear! So nice to see you.” Alastor said with a smile. She smiles at him, teeth razor sharp.

“Do you think you’ll be getting a seat tonight?” She asks, snapping the rose off its stem and tossing it to the side.

“Well of course I will. It’d be a mistake if I wasn’t.” Alastor said with a smile, crossing his legs as he sat down next to her. Sinners from all over the pride ring were socializing outside of the large mansion. He knew you were inside finalizing preparations and possibly screaming your head off. Overall, the air was chilled with a comfortable atmosphere. Well, it had been comfortable, until a loud noisy vehicle stopped at the front gates. Everyone’s heads were turning, Rosie and Alastor looking at each other with strained smiles. Stepping out of the large limousine were the three vee’s, vulgar music blaring from the vehicles speakers as the three made their way through the now open gates. Reporters lined the edges of the gates, trying desperately to see the overlords inside and to try and sneak into the gala, which was starting soon.

“Mr.Vox! Mr.Vox!” News reporters shouted. Velvet was busy taking selfies of her and her outfit, her assistant following close behind her. Valentino was busy looking down at everyone, smoking his usual, while taking his long strides next to Vox, who was in the middle of the three.

On Vox’s right was Valentino, who donned a captivating look for the gala. His tailored white suit boasted a jacket that reached just above the knee, a subtle departure from his usual floor-length coat. The crimson silk lining peeked through, adding a luxurious touch to the outfit. The coat, reminiscent of his extravagant style, also had a vivid-red hue with his signature white fur trim at the wrists. The black and white striped fur trim along the center-front added a distinctive flair. A gold chain and love-heart-shaped broach fastenings adorned the coat, creating an opulent yet alluring look. Finally, he wore polished black heeled boots, maintaining the sleek and captivating allure that defined Valentino’s presence. The familiar color scheme remained intact, blending sophistication with a hint of provocative charm for the grand gala.

On Vox’s left was Velvet, who had spent months perfecting her outfit for the gala, in hopes she’d be invited of course. She had begged the boys to keep a good public appearance, in hopes they’d be recognized and invited to the crimson gala. Velvette, deciding to ditch her usual style, embraced a lavish and over-the-top look that represented her brand. Dressed in a knee-length dress, the garment had a striking blend of black and red hues. The dress, fitted at the waist, flowed into a voluminous skirt, creating a sense of extravagance. The bodice of the dress featured intricate lace detailing. A white collar adorned with a velvet bow added a playful yet mature flair. The sleeves, a fusion of burgundy and white patterns, contributed to the overall lavish aesthetic she had been going for. Her accessories took on a more refined form. Velvet gloves, adorned with delicate lace, graced her hands, and a pearl necklace adorned her neck, adding a classic touch, completed with maroon heels, each step resonating with a sense of grandeur. Velvet’s transformation into this upscale attire reflected her desire to make a statement at the Crimson Gala.

In the middle, and the brains of the three vee’s, was none other than the head of Vox Tech, Vox himself. He wore a sleek and modern dark blue tuxedo, tailored with precision. Of course he could only have the best. The suit featured subtle futuristic patterns that enhanced his ‘perfect’ sense of style. To complement his high-tech vibe, Vox wore a light blue undershirt with an upside-down broadcast symbol. Vox's gala attire seamlessly blended power and control with his technological edge, creating a memorable look in shades of dark blue, which in his opinion, was the best color.

Upon seeing Alastor, Vox’s eye twitched noticeably. The gates shut behind the three vee’s, closing off the gala to the public. The overlords begin to get closer together unknowingly, Zestial finding a comfortable corner to watch things play out. Carmilla and Zeezie stand close together, whispering to one another as both Rosie and Alastor stand from the bench. Vox, Valentino and Velvet make their way to the Radio Demon and his colleagues.

“I see the grandpa’s were invited.” Velvet says with a scoff, scrolling through her phone.

“So disrespectful.” Carmilla says under her breath, looking away from the three vee’s.

“Hm, interesting, and I was beginning to think the only interesting thing tonight would be the dinner.” Bethesda said, her brother nodding.

“Well, it seems the children brought their play date to the public then.” Zeezie says. The other overlords laugh and Valentino sneers at her.

“Well an idiota like you would think so. Then again, don’t you all do the same with your diapers?” He asked, puffing the smoke into her face. She growls at him, fists clenching at her side, but Carmilla stops her.

“Didn’t they say this was an adult only gala?” Carmilla asked, Rosie chuckling at her words.

“Oh can it grandma.” Velvete said. But Vox remained silent, having his own personal staring match with Alastor, whose smile was stretched ear to ear, teeth on full display.

“I thought this gala was meant for real talent?” Vox asked, stepping closer to Alastor.

“Well it was until you showed up.” Alastor said with a smile. “There’s no originality in copying someone else.” He tuts. Vox narrows his eyes, face twisting with anger as he steps closer to Alastor again.

“You wanna tell me something, you old piece of-“ Vox is stopped, the lights to the exterior of the mansion dimming. The lights behind the large front doors opening slowly. Two tall black shadowy figures stepped from the door, smoke at their feet.

“Thank you all for your attendance. As we know, the annual Crimson Gala is held every year, and this year is no different. With the new extermination date, important decisions must be made. Tonight, ten individuals will be selected to sit at Madame’s table where she will discuss private plans on how to move forward.” The two said in unison. Everyone fell silent as more shadows appeared, each one sitting on the sides of the steps. Lights around the staircases began to light up, and people began making their way up the stairs.

“Well~ this should be fun.”

[watchmegetobsessed]

PLAYER

A/N: this fic has been on my mind for over a week, but i just couldn't get it written the way i wanted, im still not entirely satisfied with it, but at least it's done and i didn't stop writing after the first paragraph like i did about six times lol

WORD COUNT: 3.4k

SUMMARY: Your roommate has locked you out of your room for a hookup, so you end up having to spend the night at Harry's, the boy you've been eager to keep yourself away from since you shared a rather passionate kiss. You 're convinced that the two of you do not belong together... right?

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

The place feels eerily empty even though there was a raging party happening just an hour ago, but now only the trash and leftover snacks and drinks reminds you of it all. You’re standing in the middle of the living room, arms folded over your chest as you assess the room, especially the couch. It seems comfortable enough to accommodate you for the night, but the wine stain in the middle is what concerns you the most. Maybe if you covered it with a blanket or something, it wouldn’t be that–

“Hope you’re not thinking about sleeping on that couch.”

Harry’s voice makes you jump, even though you’ve been hearing him moving around in the kitchen, collecting trash. He is still wearing the same black shirt he wore at the party, but most of the buttons are undone, giving you a great view of his tattooed chest and you can’t push down the memory of the feeling of it under your touch when you were kissing him just a few weeks ago. 

Nope, you cannot be thinking about that. You have to be strong, you remind yourself. That kiss is something that will never happen again, no matter how badly your body is aching for it. 

You and Harry do not belong together, that’s a fact. If you took that one passionate kiss further, that would result in a disaster, you’re certain about that. 

Your eyes snap up to his face, realizing you haven’t answered him and you have no doubt he knows what you’ve been thinking about, that tiny smirk hiding in the corner of his mouth is a tell he can see right through you, but you choose to ignore it. 

“I’ll be fine for just one night,” you nod, hoping to look a lot more confident than you feel right now. 

“Y/N, some freshman spilled a whole cup of wine on the cushion.”

“I can just… turn it around, it’s alright.”

“Okay, then you might want to know that I have caught Niall having sex on that couch several times.”

At that, your eyes widen and that makes Harry laugh. 

“And you let people sit on it, knowing his bare… parts rubbed on it?” You give him a disgusted look, but he just shrugs his shoulders with a smirk, grabbing two empty beer bottles from the coffee table. 

“You’d be surprised how many surfaces you’ve touched in your life that were used for sex.”

“Don’t even plant that thought into my head,” you hold a hand up. He disappears in the kitchen and you hear the rustling of a trash bag, then he returns with one in hand and he starts collecting the abandoned cups and glasses. You feel stupid just standing around, so you start helping him. 

“I’ll just sleep in this armchair,” you offer, pointing at the comfy looking furniture in the corner of the room, but as soon as you look at Harry, you know it’s out of the game as well. “Jesus, is there a surface in this place where he hasn’t had sex?” you groan.

“Yeah, in my room. So you’re sleeping in my bed.” Harry answers, like it’s nothing, when your heart just jumped at the thought of sharing a bed with him. 

“I’m not sleeping with you.”

“Okay, then I’ll take the couch then,” he sighs, but guilt bubbles in your gut instantly. You can’t make him sleep on that couch when he is doing you a favor by letting you stay here while your roommate is occupying your dorm room with a guy she met tonight. 

“No, I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing you’re sleeping on… that.”

“Then we are out of options, Y/N. We either sleep in my bed or one of us doesn’t sleep.” He tilts his head at you and something is telling you he already knows you’ll give in. 

Of course you will.

“Okay,” you say, shoulders falling forward in defeat. “Thanks,” you add, to which he just nods. 

You help him clean for a bit more, but at around four in the morning you both decide the mess can wait until the morning. 

Entering Harry’s room your pulse instantly jumps again, it feels way too intimate. Seeing his rumpled sheets, the pile of laundry next to his wardrobe, his books stacked on the shelves and on his desk, the little trinkets here and there and the few photos on the wall above his desk. But your gaze inevitably migrates towards the bed that you’re about to share with him. 

“You can pick a side,” Harry says as he moves over to his wardrobe and grabbing a t-shirt with a pair of shorts, he steps to you, holding the clothes out. “The white towel in the bathroom is clean, you can use it.”

“Thanks,” you take them, your cheeks burning when your fingers brush against his for a second. Your gaze wanders over to the bed again and this time he catches it.

“If you’re worried my bed has the same issue as the couch, I’ll let you know nothing has ever happened here.”

That’s not what you were thinking about, but his confession surprises you. Harry is known as the guy every girl wants to hook up with and you’ve heard several rumors of one night stands spent with him, told by different girls on campus. Yet he is now telling you no one has ever had sex in his bed, including him.

“Nothing?” you ask, eyebrows rising. “What about…”

“All the gossip?” He arches an eyebrow at you, almost in an annoyed manner that makes you shut your mouth immediately. “Most of them aren’t true. I’ve only hooked up with two girls from school, both happened in their rooms.”

“Two? I’ve heard way more than that,” you say and almost instantly want to take it back when you see a hint of sadness in his eyes, though it passes quickly. 

“I admit I kissed more than just two, but some girls like to spread stories that never actually happened.”

“And you let them?”

Harry shrugs, though something is telling you he is not that nonchalant about this as he shows. He turns his back to you as he is rummaging through the wardrobe, though you feel like he is just trying to keep himself busy with something so he doesn’t have to look you in the eyes.

“What’s the use in embarrassing them and calling them out on the lie? They must have their reasons to tell people all that shit.”

“So you just let them spread whatever they want about you?”

“It always dies down after a while and I save myself the energy. Besides, some might still think I’m just denying it. It’s not like I can prove that something never happened.”

You open your mouth, ready to throw him another question, but none comes. In a weird, twisted way you understand his reasoning even though you don’t agree with it fully. But thinking about it you realize that he is right that not everyone might believe him over the girls, especially not now that so many stories have gone around about his alleged hookups. Who would believe they didn’t even happen?

And the worst of it? That you believed them too, never questioning them, not even when you started getting to know him. It’s been one of your biggest concerns about Harry, that he is just a typical fuckboy who likes to fool around with girls and then move on to the next one.

It’s one of the reasons you’ve been talking yourself out of giving him a chance.

“I’m sorry,” you manage to say and for him it sounds like you’re sorry he is so misjudged, but in your mind, you’re saying sorry for being one of those who misjudged him. 

“It’s fine, I don’t really care,” he shrugs, finally looking you in the eyes. “So, you want to go first?” he asks, nodding towards the bathroom. 

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

The shower feels nice, but Harry’s clothes on you feel nicer. You stare at yourself in the fogged up mirror you tried to clean with your hand. The clothes he handed you were surely clean, but still, you can smell his scent on them and it messes with your head to have it lingering around you at all times. 

You wash your teeth with your finger and make sure you don’t look like a raccoon, wiping off all the mascara from under your eyes before unlocking the door and stepping out, holding your own clothes to your chest. 

Harry is lying on the bed, scrolling on his phone and when he sees you, he puts the phone to the night stand, rising from the bed. 

“Pick a side,” he smiles before disappearing in the bathroom and a few moments later you hear the water running. 

You still feel quite out of place in his room, but at last you put your clothes to the chair by his desk, your eyes wandering up to the photos on the wall. In the middle you see one with two women and you catch on the resemblance right away, guessing it’s his mom and sister he has told you about before. He has one more with each of them too, the rest is with friends, some you know from school, some seemingly unknown to you, probably from home. He is smiling in almost all of them, except a few candid ones. 

This is the side of him you’ve gotten to know lately and this is the one that’s been pulling you in for sure. A side you didn’t know he had when you only knew The Harry Styles people often talked about on campus. Guilt washes over you once again for being so judgy about him. When you met him by total accident in the beginning of the semester, sitting next to each other at Economics and getting paired up for an assignment you couldn’t imagine a version of himself that wasn’t a cliché, popular guy who probably thought he owned the campus just for looking good, but as time went by and you got to know him better you had to realize your assumptions weren’t as accurate as you thought, though they remained in the back of your head. Especially when things started taking a different turn at a party a few weeks ago and you ended up making out in a dark room. It was probably the most passionate kiss you’ve ever gotten, but once the haze wore off panic settled in and you ran. 

Something in you convinced you that he just wants to hook up with you and nothing more, that he would throw you away once he got what he wanted so you told him it’s never happening and you two will only stay friends. 

He didn’t protest, though you saw something in his eyes that had you unsettled, maybe sadness, maybe disappointment, you couldn’t tell for sure, because it was gone quickly. 

You expected him to never talk to you again, but he was just as friendly to you in and out of class as before, though you could feel a sense of coldness in him that wasn’t there before. You’ve spent the past few weeks trying to convince yourself you and Harry would never work out, but now it seems like the biggest bullshit you’ve ever thought of. Harry has proven that he is not the guy people like to gossip about and now you feel like a jerk for never even giving him the chance. 

The bathroom door opens and you turn around, seeing him walk out in nothing else but a pair of boxer briefs. He steps to the wardrobe and grabs a white t-shirt, pulling it on while you try to gulp with a dry mouth. When he turns around you quickly try to pretend like you weren’t ogling him. Walking over to the bed you take the opposite side of where he laid before and you’re quick to get under the sheets, pulling them up to your neck. Harry shuffles around the room for a bit before getting in bed as well and when the mattress dips under his weight, your heart is beating in your throat. 

You’re so tired, you’d probably fall asleep right away if you closed your eyes, but you also kind of don’t want to sleep just yet, not when Harry is lying right next to you. 

“Thanks again for letting me stay,” you say, turning to your side to face him. 

“Well, you kind of just stayed without asking…”

At first your eyes widen, thinking that’s what happened, but then you see the cheeky smile spreading on his face and you know he is just messing with you. 

“Shut up! I did ask if I could stay and you said yes!” Laughing, you try to smack his head, but he is quick to grab your wrist, tugging on you a little so you end up moving closer to him. 

“You know I would always say yes to you, Y/N.”

The laughing has ended and your face is so close to his, you can feel his breath on your skin. His hand is still holding your wrist and your heart is pounding against your chest when your gaze drops to his lips for a moment. 

But then you completely chicken out. 

Clearing your throat, you pull back and Harry lets go of your wrist as you lie back to your pillow. 

“Great, now I know who to ask for help if I need to hide a body,” you try to joke, but it only pulls a smile from him before he reaches for the light switch and flicks it, darkness falling over the room. 

“Good night, Y/N,” he murmurs and you feel him move around a bit before he stills and you’re left staring up at the ceiling, thinking about how you could be such a dumbass. 

Then you close your eyes and let sleep take away the shame. 

When you wake the next time, it’s still not fully bright outside, the early dawn is casting just enough light on the room for you to make out where you are, but it takes you a few moments to realize that it’s not your dorm room, but Harry’s bedroom. 

Then the next realization is that you’re hugging something warm that’s soft on the outside, but hard on the inside and you have to assess your surroundings for a minute before you make out what it is. You’re lying on your side in Harry’s bed, hugging his forearm like a teddy bear, your face resting in his palm while he is sleeping next to you, lying on his side, his face mushed into his pillow just inches away from yours. 

He looks like an angel, so calm and soft, you just want to reach out and touch his face, run your fingers through his curls. But instead, you tighten your hold on his arm, running a hand over it gently, sliding it between his hand and the pillow, cupping the back of his hand. 

He stirs in his sleep and you still, not wanting to wake him up, but then he opens his eyes the tiniest bit and you expect him to pull his hand back, but he doesn’t move. 

“You okay?” he asks, voice groggy and so fucking sexy, you almost let out a sigh. 

“Yeah,” you nod into his hand.

He nods as well, closing his eyes, ready to go back to sleep, thinking you’ll do the same, but suddenly, you feel wide awake. 

“Harry?” you whisper, though you have no idea what you want to tell him.

“Hm?” he hums, keeping his eyes closed. You don’t answer him and you think he has fallen back asleep, but then he opens his eyes again, looking at you in the dim light. “What is it?”

Reaching out with his other hand he brushes your hair out of your forehead before letting it drop between your faces as he waits for you to speak, but the words are dead on your tongue, you’re way too lost in him. 

So you decide to act instead. 

Before you could give it a second thought you start moving, closing the distance between the two of you, your lips pressing against his. 

At first it stops there, just lips touching, unsure what is going to happen next and you start doubting yourself right when his lips open and he takes the kiss further without hesitation. 

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to get fully tangled, in the sheets and in each other as well, the warmth under the covers is increasing rapidly, especially when his hands slip under your (his) shirt, running up and down your back while hook a leg over him, trying to press up against him as close as possible. At one point you roll around so that he is above you, his hips wedging between your thighs and you can’t hold back the sigh that slips past your lips when you feel just how much he wants you right now and it just riles you up even more. 

He starts kissing down your neck, gently sucking and nipping at the tender skin over your collarbone while you keep raking through his hair with your eager fingers, your hips involuntarily rolling against him, desperate for more friction. Your hands move down, bunching the fabric of his shirt, tugging it up on his body and when he finally pulls back from you, he is quick to rid himself of it, throwing it to the side. 

It’s not your first time seeing him without a shirt on, but the effect it has on you is major now, especially because you get to reach out and touch him, feel the soft, warm skin that stretches over his hard muscles. 

To match his lack of clothing your shirt comes off pretty fast as well before Harry comes down, above you, his lips reconnecting with yours in a demanding kiss. But as heated as it started, it slowly starts to die down until the kiss ends entirely and he is clearly holding himself back, but you have no idea why. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, brushing his hair out of his forehead. 

“I just…” He exhales heavily, shaking his head before looking at you. “I don’t want you to wake up and… regret it and change your mind. If we go back to being friends after this, I would rather just… not have it happen.”

Your chest aches at his words, the hurt now clearly visible in his expression, it’s apparent just how much you fucked up when you judged him by what other people tell about him. You were so damn stupid. 

Cupping his face between your hands you pull him down for a short, sweet kiss before speaking up.

“I’m sorry for being such a coward. I was afraid all you want is just… some fun and then you’d move on. I was proven wrong.”

“I’m not who people think I am.”

“I know that now,” you smile at him bashfully. “And… I want to see where this could go.”

It’s silly to feel nervous admitting that you want more with him when you’re literally half naked, in bed, with clear signs that he wants you as well, but still, your pulse picks up as Harry just stares down at you. 

Then slowly, a sweet smile spreads across his lips that mirrors on your face as well, easing the nerves almost instantly and when he leans down, clearly with the intention of kissing you, but using the sudden boost of confidence, you push him onto his back, throw a leg over him and get on top of him. You see a spark of excitement in his eyes and his palms are quick to run over your back, teasing the elastic of your bralette that’s still on you. His gaze wanders down your body as well and he thrusts his hips upward just enough to earn a moan from you at the sensation. 

“You better not be playing with me, Styles,” you warn him as you lean forward, lips brushing against his, but not kissing him just yet. 

“I’m not a player when it comes to you,” he answers, his gaze locked with yours and for a second you feel like you can see into his soul. With a relieved smile, you finally kiss him and after weeks of battling your own desires you finally give in and let yourself fall right into Harry’s arms. 

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[empyrealix]

⊹ ࣪˖ BUT DADDY I LOVE HIM | #CL16

pairing. charles leclerc x wolff!reader

genre. fluff; maybe a twinge of angst

synopsis. being toto wolff's child, you never expected to fall in love with charles leclerc, until you did. the subsequent relationship is a well-kept secret, until a certain carlos sainz stumbles upon you and charles doing something you definitely shouldn't be doing—at least according to toto. you're almost late to the race and nothing goes according to plan.

warnings. none; carlos going through it

word count. 2.8k

note. i'm apparently incapable of writing pieces that are short (i'll try, one day). also, wishing for a good result for charles and lewis on sunday!!

MASTERLIST ; part two ; requests open

TOTO HAD BEEN MILDLY CONFUSED when you, sitting across from him in a café in Vienna, asked if you could go with him to the next Grand Prix. You couldn’t understand why he was so confused at your request; you had gone with him to various Grands Prix since he started working in Formula 1. He froze with his coffee cup halfway to his lips—black, he always took his coffee black with no sugar and no milk. Somehow, through his—in your opinion—unfounded shock, he choked out a question.

“You want to go to the Grand Prix?”

When you nodded, offering him a small smile, his face softened, a smile curled up his lips; wrinkles appeared around his eyes and his mouth. Formula 1 had, despite growing up surrounded by it, never particularly interested you—perhaps the reason it never interested you was precisely because you had grown up surrounded by it. You were not, and had never been, a stranger to the paddock; Toto had brought you since he bought shares in Williams in 2009. As you grew older, your presence in the paddock and in the Mercedes garage became more and more sporadic; the Mercedes garage was slowly replaced by classrooms and long days in old libraries surrounded by towers of books.

“Of course you can come to the Grand Prix, schatz.”

Days later, you walked through the security gates, your access card—which Toto had handed to you at the airport in Vienna with a smile etched onto his face—hung around your neck. Your heart beat ferociously in your chest, threatening to burst through your ribcage. This was a terrible idea. For each step you took, for every metre closer you got to the Mercedes motorhome, your heartbeat quickened and your resolve faltered. Standing in the middle of the paddock, surrounded by engineers, the press, and various trainers and managers, it felt as though the earth would open up and swallow you; you wished it would.

Charles had planted the idea—then a seed, now a tree—in your mind one night as you laid tangled in him and his bedsheets in his flat in Monaco. That evening felt vivid, material, as though you could reach out and conjure it up again; as though you could escape the stifling paddock with all its expectations to Charles’ warm, comforting bed with none of those expectations, where the only expectation was—as he told you jokingly one evening—that you laugh at his jokes, regardless of how terrible they may be. His hand had softly caressed your side, while his mouth pressed gentle, barely-there kisses to your neck. You had agreed when he suggested you come to the next Grand Prix; the proposition was mumbled against your neck, you had to pull away and ask Charles to repeat it; he did, with a crooked smile on his face which made your heart soar in your chest. Looking into his hopeful green eyes, your resolve weakened; any reservation you might have had against Charles’—utterly insane—plan faded away. He had smiled so brightly, pressed a kiss to your lips, whispered “je t’aime” so reverently against your lips that blood rushed to your cheeks when you agreed.

You had missed practice three, instead stepping onto the paddock in time to meet your father for lunch before watching the qualifying. Walking by the Ferrari motorhome—squeezed between the McLaren and the Red Bull motorhomes—a hand brushed over your back; fingers curling around your wrist; cold rings pressed against your warm skin. Charles. Your eyes met his green ones; they glistened, shining with happiness at the sight of you. His soft lips—which you had become so well acquainted with over the past few months—quirked up into a smile. The Monégasque driver, still sweaty and clad in his Ferrari suit, beckoned you to follow him between the Ferrari and Red Bull motorhomes; you followed him—you always would,ever since the first time he smiled that devastatingly charming smile at you, you were lost, completely and utterly.

“I missed you.” He murmured, pulling you against him in a hug. You closed your eyes, letting his warmth spread over you and settle around you like a soft blanket; his mere presence had always been enough to make you forget about the consequences of what you were doing; he always made you forget about the betrayal your father would feel if he found out—when he finds out, rather. You would tell him at some point, but for now you were content with just you and Charles knowing; it was a secret you were happy to keep. You mumbled his words back to him as his lips pressed against yours; one hand settling at your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to him—almost as if he wanted to fuse with you—the other hand cradling your jaw, his fingers ghosting against the skin behind your ear. You wrapped your hands around his neck, your fingers tangling in the mop of brown hair atop his head. Sweat clung to your fingertips. Neither of you knew how much time eclipsed before the need for air became greater than the need of having Charles pressed against you, his lips moving against yours in a familiar dance as they whispered reverent words only meant for you.

“I have to go, I promised papa I’d meet him for lunch.”

The secrecy tore at you—almost pulling you apart with its sharp claws. The idea of simply telling Toto had been discussed at length, but neither of you knew how to broach the topic. You had always been close to your father, ever since you were little. Vivid memories of you pulling him away from his work with a book clutched in your small hand flashed through your mind. Toto would gently take the book from your hands—it was Heidi more often than not—and he would read to you; he acted it out for you; pretending to be the characters in the novel. It always amused you how quickly he could go from being Heidi’s grumpy grandfather to being Heidi running around the summer pasture surrounded by the Swiss alps.

You kissed Charles once more before leaving him in the sanctuary you had created for yourselves between the Ferrari and Red Bull motorhomes.

You didn’t see Charles until after qualifying—he qualified for pole. During qualifying, you stood in the back of the Mercedes garage, a headset placed on your head, hoping that Charles would do well; trying not to look too happy when he was three hundreds faster than George Russell. With some terrible excuse, which no one probably believed, you left the Mercedes garage. This time it was your turn to beckon Charles to a secluded corner of the paddock; he didn’t hesitate to follow you—he never really had. You still remembered how exhilarating it was the first time you pulled Charles with you to some empty room in the Mercedes garage just to kiss him; you remembered the way your heart had jumped in your chest and your face flushed as his hands slithered under the shirt you were wearing. Charles grinned at you as soon as you stopped and turned towards him; he laughed as you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in the crook of his neck. He smelled like sweat, petrol, and rubber—a smell which was so unlike the one which surrounded him off-track.

“Pole, Charlie! That’s great news for tomorrow.” Charles nodded, kissing the top of your head. Any reservation you may have had against coming to the race disappeared completely at the feeling of Charles’ arms wrapped around you; dissipated like storm clouds after heavy rain at the knowledge that you would get to spend two days together—two days spent sneaking around, kissing in shadowed corners of the paddock away from its prying eyes. He pulled away from the hug, his fingers entwining with yours; his eyes softened in the way they always seemed to whenever he looked at you—as if he was trying to memorise every pore, every crease of your skin, every imperfection (to Charles, they weren’t imperfections, they were part of what made you, you).

“Stay the night with me, mon ange.” His nose pressed into your scalp as he placed another kiss to the crown of your head, “we’ll order dinner and cuddle and talk.” It had always confused you why Charles felt the need to argue for the things he suggested; you didn’t need to be convinced, you’d happily go along with whatever he suggested as long as you got to spend time with him.

“I was planning on doing that regardless.” You teased, your fingers tangling in his hair. Laughter bubbled past his lips; his eyes closing; his mouth stretched into a smile; his dimples appearing. He tugged you closer to him, gently tilting your chin up to meet his lips; his nose brushing against yours. 

Wrapped in your own bubble, neither of you noticed that the relative safety you had created had burst. Carlos, who had simply been looking for a place far removed from the ever watchful eye of the paddock, had wandered straight into yours and Charles’ hideout behind a motorhome. It took him a second to process what he was seeing, but when he did, all colour drained from his face; this was the last thing he wanted to see. His knuckles whitened around his water bottle. No matter how much Carlos wanted to leave, he couldn’t—it was as if he was rooted to the grass he was standing on, watching something private, almost forbidden; something not meant for his eyes.

Your eyes met Carlos’, making eye contact with him, your entire body froze. Charles pulled away, confusion written all over his face—he couldn’t understand why you would suddenly stop kissing him; it was so out of character for you; you were always the one to pull him in for another kiss when the first inevitably broke, when the need for air became too great. With a shaky finger, you pointed to Carlos standing a few metres behind you and Charles; Charles spun around, his eyes widening as he spotted his former teammate. His cheeks flushed; his hand found yours, entwining your fingers—you’d first noticed a few weeks into dating how he seemed to always want to touch you in some way when you were near, almost as if you were an anchor he used to ground himself; to reassure himself that you were real and not just someone his imagination had conjured.

Carlos stared at you, then at Charles, then at your hand entwined with Charles’. Carlos closed his eyes, rubbing his temples—as though he hoped that you would be gone and he would be alone when he opened them again; this was a futile wish. When he opened his eyes again, you were still standing in front of him, and you were still holding hands; that was probably the worst part of the entire situation. He was perhaps overreacting; in truth, he was happy for you—he had seen you and Charles hopelessly pine for the other; he’d listened to Charles talk about someone he liked and completely shutting down when Carlos asked who it was, eventually Carlos stopped asking.

“Carlos.” You took a step towards him, your voice was slow—uncertain—like a bird leaving its nest for the first time, not knowing if it would shatter against the ground or soar towards the sky. Carlos pointed between you and Charles; the shock of finding you kissing had settled; confusion replaced it; his mind struggled to process the implications of what he had stumbled upon—he wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted to consider the implications of it.

“What? How long has this been going on?”

Charles stepped closer to you, his hand landing on your hip, gently tugging you closer towards him. You couldn’t take your eyes off Carlos. In an attempt—a failed attempt—to ease the tension that had settled between the three of you, you cracked a smile; it did nothing—the tension still laid around you, thick and strangling.

“A couple months. We meant to tell people, but we never figured out how to.” You had opened your mouth to answer—the words had formed on your tongue—when Charles interrupted you; his accent was heavier than usual. Carlos’ face broke out into a smile. He muttered something about being happy for you before turning around; he’d begun to walk away when your voice ringing out across the space between you stopped him.

“Don’t tell anyone, please.”

“I won’t. I don’t want to be how Toto finds out.” His words hung in the air long after he had rounded a corner and disappeared. When Carlos had gone, you turned to Charles; he pressed his lips together, his eyes sparkling with mirth. A burst of laughter slipped past your lips; you clamped your hand over your mouth; relief flooded your body. Before long, you and Charles had succumbed to laughter; it didn’t stop as you left the sanctuary you had created and—for now—abandoned the paddock.

Wearing Charles’ Ferrari jacket to the paddock was a terrible idea. In the haze of waking up in Charles’ arms and the ensuing chaos once you both realised that you were late, it had seemed like a great idea; he had handed it to you—”It’s going to be cold today, mon amour.”—you had taken it, without really thinking about what jacket it was, only that it was Charles’ jacket and that it would shield you against the cold Charles predicted. Realisation washed over you the moment you—walking beside Charles—stepped onto the paddock; no one had noticed yet, but it was only a matter of time until someone looked over and spotted the bright red—rosso corsa—jacket you were wearing. You assumed panic would take you—that a ball would grow in your throat until it was difficult to breathe—it never did; an eerie calmness settled over you; sunk into your bones as if it had always belonged there.

“I think you should wear Ferrari red all the time. It looks better than the black.” Charles’ lips ghosted against the shell of your ear as he whispered; his hand brushing over the small of your back. You looked up at him, pulling his jacket tighter around you—he had been right; it was cold.

Carlos, who had just stepped out of the Williams motorhome, stilled completely—for the second time in two days—when he saw you and Charles; his mouth fell open; the coffee he had just brewed himself, burned his fingers through the brown paper cup; he muttered a curse word in Spanish, ‘mierda’. He glanced around the paddock, no one had noticed yet; people were milling around, minding their own business—an unusual sight in the paddock. Carlos watched as you laughed as Charles whispered something to you; his hand tenderly—softly, like you were precious and would break if he was too heavy-handed—brushed over the small of your back. Joy radiated from the both of you, despite the chaos this—Charles’ and your relationship; Charles’ jacket draped over your shoulder like it was normal—would cause. The shock which had run through Carlos like a current when he caught you kissing after qualifying had settled; it had been replaced by happiness—he was happy that you had accidentally revealed it; Carlos no longer had to face Toto, pretending that he knew nothing about how your extracurricular activities involved a certain Monégasque Ferrari driver.

You stopped outside the Mercedes motorhome—unsure if you would be welcome, the team colours of Ferrari a stark contrast to the black you normally wore. Kimi and George sat outside; George’s legs stretched out in front of him; Kimi sat pouring over a book, a pen clutched in his hands—probably his Italian homework. George’s eyes widened—much in the same way Carlos’ eyes had widened the day before—when he saw you and Charles; he elbowed Kimi, who yelped, before he looked up from his homework, his eyes landed on you and Charles—Charles laughed at something you told him; a smile etched onto your face as you pulled his jacket tighter around yourself to shield you from the cold gust sweeping through the paddock. 

As if on cue, the door to the motorhome slid open; Toto Wolff, dressed in his usual crisp white shirt and black trousers, stood in the doorway. He blinked slowly—struggling to process the scene that met him; Carlos standing by the Williams motorhome, a smug grin playing at his lips; George and Kimi sitting by a table in front of the Mercedes motorhome, eyes wide with shock; Charles and you standing far too close, Charles’ jacket draped over your shoulders as Charles giggled—giggled—at something you told him. The bright red jacket was the first thing Toto noticed; Charles’ proximity to you was the second. Toto pressed his lips together, his face twisting into a sourly expression; as Toto stood in the doorway leading into the Mercedes motorhome, he had this creeping feeling that the scene playing out in front of him was something he had never wished to see. The entire paddock froze as his voice—loud and crystal clear—rang out,

“Can someone explain why my daughter is wearing Leclerc’s Ferrari jacket?”

[chloe-petrichors]

seething, blooming // jace x reader

your father has always been something of an opportunist, but trying to marry you off to the blacks while he courts the greens? this is taking playing the game to a whole new level.

the rose discovers she is an instrument of war. —victor hugo.

fandom; house of the dragon pairing; jacaerys velaryon x f!tyrell!reader (no use of y/n) warnings; canon au (set after aegon takes the crown but before luke's death bc luke will never die in my eyes), altered timeline (jace and reader are in their 20s), arranged marriage, mention parental death/death in childbed (reader's mother), love at first sight vibes, jace is a flirtatious little shit with his betrothed, tooth rotting fluff, love confessions. word count; 6k+ notes; one day i might write for another man. but that day is not today. jace velaryon u have my heart. i'm not majorly pleased w this fic but it's given me enough trouble and it's as good as it's gonna get! this was longer originally, and was meant to be a bit more political at first hence the blurb/quote choice, but i haaated some of the scenes so ended up scrapping 'em. she's not as long as predicted as a result but still an ok length i think. some of the scenes i scrapped were tragically the smut ones, so have this fairly pg one-shot with the promise of the smut-shot sitting in my drafts coming ur way soon. fair warning that the scrapping of scenes has fudged with the pacing a bit but honestly i can't take this fic sitting in my drafts any longer so here u go!! i have a taglist now, mostly cos eldrith keeps telling me i have to tag her in everything, so lmk if you'd like to be added to it! requests; are open !

the rising sun paints highgarden in shades of pink and gold.

you stand upon your balcony, finger curled loosely over the pale marble as you stare distantly out over the rolling green fields and blooming gardens. the faint bubbling of the river mander in the distance adds to the peaceful morning, the early wash of sunlight coaxing the sleeping world into life. a cool breeze carries the sweet smell of roses and you take a steadying breath, eyes fluttering shut as you tilt your face up to the sun.

it's a morning that starts like many others. you’ve always risen from bed early, the slow blooming of morning stirring you from slumber more often than not. birds chirp and bees buzz and the river flows and you rise with it, like part of you calls to the breaking dawn.

if not for the thick sheaf of parchment discarded on your father’s desk, it could be a morning like any other. but the parchment is there, and this day will be like no other before it.

today, a dragon is expected at highgarden.

a targaryen has not stepped foot in the reach since before you were born. you don’t think even the princess rhaenyra – queen, now, according to some – had come this far on her marriage tour years ago. but your father has taken it upon himself to invite a prince to your home.

you love your father deeply, but in this you think he must be a fool. as lord paramount of the reach he is, in theory, the power of this kingdom. but anyone with a lick of sense knows that it’s the hightowers that the people look to; oldtown is home to the starry sept, the citadel and, perhaps more importantly, the dowager queen’s family line.

the tyrells have only been in power for a few generations, and people’s memories are long. too many know the truth of how house tyrell had been only a steward when the gardener kings had ruled before the conquest. and so too many see tyrell as a house grasping for power that should be beyond their fingers, and your father is apparently determined to prove them all right.

he’s been careful about his neutrality as war threatens to break out between the targaryen kin, brother and sister both claiming their right to the throne and the realm splitting down the middle. your father has not officially allied with either side, walking a careful tightrope to appease both. up until now you had assumed he sided more with the greens, but he’d sent your assumptions crumbling with only a few sheets of parchment.

your father has always been too ambitious for his own good.

gods, how you miss your mother. when she’d been alive, she’d tempered the worst of your father’s foolishness. she’d been a stark before she’d married, steadfast and sensible in the face of your father’s folly. she’d been a woman unlike any other you’ve known; ferocious and a little wild, but with a good heart and a warm smile for any she’d met.

she’d taught you how to be a lady, but so much more than that – she’d taught you to know your own mind. to know when to mind your tongue and when to speak, how to grow your roots so deep you will always stand tall, flourishing and growing like the most determined of flowers. she’d taught you a little of that northern ice, too, reminding you oft that for as much as you were a rose of highgarden you were equally a wolf of the north, and the wolf’s blood has always run thick in your veins. 

she’d called you her little winter rose; delicate and steely and a rare bloom, indeed. she had loved you so fiercely you’d flourished with her tender care, just as the patch of winter roses she’d brought from the glass gardens of winterfell had bloomed ‘neath her careful ministrations. a piece of the north she’d brought south with her, a tiny bit of her home that she’d cradled and cared for until the day you’d lost her to the birthing bed.

your little brother is nearing six, now, and many moons have passed since the sudden grief of your mother had overwhelmed you. but, in recent days you have ached with her loss more often, wondering what she would think of your father’s plans, what she would say to soothe your storm of anxiety. with your looming marriage you find yourself missing your mother acutely, the grief a reopened wound in your chest.

because you are a betrothed woman, now, to be married to a stranger, a prince who is sure to be fighting a war against his kin in the moons to come.

the velaryon prince arrives on dragon back as the sun reaches its peak in the sky.

he dismounts his winged steed in an empty stretch of land a distance from the keep itself, and your father greets him there with a host of staff to accompany him back to the entrance courtyard.

your brother leo bounces in place beside you where you stand with the rest of the household in the courtyard, fairly vibrating with energy at the prospect of seeing a real-life dragon. since the news of the prince’s arrival was announced a sennight ago, leo has done little else but babble about dragons and magic and targaryens. you wish you could share his excitement, his sheer uncomplicated joy, but this visit comes with too many conflicting emotions for you to enjoy it at all.

you’ve always known you would not marry for love. you are the eldest child and only daughter of the lord of the reach – love has never been a factor you could afford to consider. you would do your duty and marry for your house, to seal whatever alliance your father deemed important enough. you’d resigned yourself to this fate as a young girl when your mother had told you in slow, halting words the fear she had felt coming south to marry your father.

but you’d not expected to marry a total stranger. you’d thought your father would at least do you the courtesy of allowing you to meet a suitor before betrothing you to them, but in his feverish ambition to sit his blood on the iron throne he’d promised you to a man you’ve never laid eyes upon.

you don’t want to be queen.

frankly, you think yourself a touch unsuited for it. your father has many times bemoaned your wildness, the wolfs blood that drives you to stubborn recklessness. though you’ve mellowed a little with age and experience, you think you’re still a bit too prone to chaos to be queen of the seven kingdoms one day. never mind the complexities added by the fact that queen rhaenyra’s claim is so fiercely contested, and her half-brother is the one currently physically sitting the iron throne.

thinking about the mess you’re marrying into too much makes your head ache, and the blazing noon sun does little to ease it. leo beside you continues to whisper rapidly about everything he knows about dragons, which is actually quite a lot considering his young age. you think absently you might need to have a word with the maester’s again; leo has wrapped most of the household around his finger, and the elderly maester is prone to indulging your brother when he fixates on a new topic of interest instead of sticking to his lessons.

the sound of hooves on cobble stones startles you from your meandering thoughts, and you straighten your spine as your eyes take in the unfamiliar man riding into the courtyard beside your father while your brother finally falls silent.

he’s handsome, at least; a tumble of dark curls brushing his shoulders, a sharp jaw and a strong nose. though you like to think yourself more than superficial, it eases at least some of your worries to know the prince is attractive to you. your mother had done you the courtesy of explaining what was expected of you on your wedding night after your first moons blood, and in secret since you’d perused the library for books detailing more lustful acts in an effort to satiate your unending curiosity.

you’re worried enough about completing your wifely duties without having to worry about finding the man lying with you repulsive, and so you allow yourself a few moments of relief at his pretty face.

your father dismounts first, gesturing for you to step forward as the prince gets down from his own horse. leo moves forward with you, eyes wide and shining with something akin to hero worship as he gazes at jacaerys. you have a wry thought that perhaps he should marry him since he is so clearly already enamoured, but you brush that aside as your father and the prince approach.

“i am most pleased to introduce my daughter, your grace, as well as my son and heir, leo,” your father says as they reach you, his satisfaction in his successful planning clear as he smiles smugly.

you dip into a perfect curtsey as leo bows a touch clumsily at your side. as heir it would traditionally be leo’s job to greet the prince, but when you send him a sidelong glance you see he is too busy making moon eyes at the darkhaired man to say anything, and so you take it upon yourself to speak.

“welcome to highgarden, my prince. we are honoured to host you,” you greet, finally meeting jacaerys’s eyes. they’re a warm amber shade, the noon sun turning them to liquid honey as he looks at you, and you feel your cheeks flush with the appreciation you can see in his gaze as he drinks you in. it seems he does not find you repulsive either, at least.

he sketches a quick bow, eyes never leaving yours, and you feel your heart start to race in your chest at his attention. “it is an honour to be here, my lady, and to finally make your acquaintance.” he smiles at you then, small and a little crooked but there, and your flush deepens. “i look forward to getting to know you better in the coming days.”

you swallow, hoping your budding attraction is not as obvious as you fear it is. your father is looking increasingly smug as he watches the interaction, though it seems to war with some paternal annoyance as jacaerys lightly flirts with you.

“and i you,” you return softly, a smile quirking on your lips.

“—can i meet your dragon?” leo bursts out, seemingly unable to contain himself any longer, and jacaerys blinks down at him in surprise as you resist the urge to press your palm to your face.

“leo,” you scold immediately as your father chortles at his heir’s enthusiasm for dragons. “the prince has had a long journey. you should give him a chance to settle in before demanding anything of him.”

“right you are, my dear.” your father waves to the household steward before turning to the prince. “alyn will show you to your rooms, your grace, so that you might freshen up, and then we have a feast prepared for this evening to welcome you to highgarden.”

jacaerys nods easily as the greeting crowd begins to disperse, the maester corralling leo to take him for his lessons with fond exasperation even as the boy loudly protests. you mean to go walk the gardens, and so you stay standing in place as the prince trails after your father and steward alyn.

he pauses beside you, though, a slight smile on his face as you look up at him questioningly. your eyes catch on the smattering of freckles on his face, and it takes a moment for you to process his words. “i look forward to speaking to you further at the feast, my lady.”

you smile back at him, cheeks flushing once again as his eyes linger on your mouth for a breathless moment. “i shall save you a dance, my prince,” you return a touch coyly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“only one dance?” he teases, eyebrow arching.

you hum, head tilting to the side in mock consideration as something like satisfaction gleams in jacaerys’s eyes. “i shall have to use the first dance to judge your dancing skills, your grace, before i risk promising you another.”

he laughs then, a little surprised but no doubt pleased as his eyes crinkle with his wide smile. “then i shall do my best to meet your standards, my lady.” he dips into a quick bow of farewell, then, as you finally take note of your father lingering on the steps to the keep with raised eyebrows.

“we shall see,” you return as you curtsey.

you allow yourself a moment to watch his retreating back, eyes dragging over the strong line of his shoulders before you internally shake yourself and head to the gardens, thoughts swimming with honey brown eyes and tanned, freckled skin and a slow dawning certainty that while this betrothal may be unexpected, you doubt it will leave you unsatisfied.

the feast is in full swing by the time the prince arrives at the hall.

the minstrels are playing a jaunty tune as couples twirl on the dance floor. you sit at the head table with leo and your father, watching with a careful eye as your brother cuts up his food. he’s only just mastered the art of eating his food without spilling half if it down his doublet, but as distracted as he is by the festivities and the prospect of seeing a dragon close up, you worry he’s at risk of making a mess of himself regardless.

so absorbed in your task you are, it takes a long moment for you to realise jacaerys has arrived. it’s only when your skin prickles with awareness that you look up from leo and catch sight of the prince winding his way across the floor to the head table, eyes fixed on you. your head tilts to the side slightly as you watch him move, graceful and controlled, through the crowd.

he’s in black and red again, just as he had been when he’d arrived. it seems your father had been right when he’d stated that jacaerys favours his mother’s house colours. you smooth your hand over the skirts of your dress, the deep wine-red of the material feeling less out of place now, before standing with your father to greet the prince.

you all exchange pleasantries quickly as the noise in the hall dims, people realising the prince has arrived. your father ushers jacaerys into the empty seat between you and your father as he raises his goblet to the hall before speaking in his booming voice.

you don’t pay attention to your father’s speech, too aware of the warmth radiating from jacaerys who stands only inches from you to focus. you risk a glance at him from the corner of your eyes only to find his dark honey eyes fixed on you, and you cannot help but smile to yourself even as you flush, turning your eyes back to the crowd.

rousing applause and cheers draw you back to the moment, and you catch yourself in time to raise your wine in toast with your father. you go to sit back down as the crowd returns to its revelries, but the soft brush of a hand on your arm halts your movement. you turn expectingly to the prince, a soft smile on your lips.

“yes, your grace?”

“would you do me the honour of a dance, my lady?”

your lips quirk into a sly smile even as you bob your head in a nod. “i suppose i did promise you one, did i not?”

“that you did, my lady, and i have thought of nothing else since.” dark honey eyes sparkle with mirth as he offers you his hand, and with a quiet giggle you take it and allow him to lead you to the dance floor.

you feel the heat of his hand on your waist like a brand even through the layers of your dress, and it makes your breath catch in your throat. you inhale deeply in an effort to steady yourself as you rest your palm on his strong shoulder, and are immediately overwhelmed by the woodsy scent of him as he claps your hand in his and begins to dance.

you start the dance in comfortable silence, both of you taking a few moments to get a feel for the other and settle into the steps, and when you feel comfortable enough you speak.

“how are you finding highgarden, prince jacaerys?”

“jace, please,” he entreats, and elaborates only when you blink at him in confusion. “my friends and family call me jace, not jacaerys. we are to be married, my lady. it would please me a great deal for my future wife to refer to me as such.”

you nod in acceptance, butterflies erupting in your stomach at his eager expression. “jace it is, then,” you say, and try not to feel the way your heart flutters at his radiant smile in response. “although you have not answered my question. how are you finding highgarden?”

he hums, twirling you as the dance requires and then pulling you closer before responding. “your father has been very hospitable, and it is certainly beautiful here. the grounds especially, though i’m afraid i’ve not had the opportunity to see much of them as yet.”

“a shame we shall have to rectify, i think.” you offer him a small smile as you press just an inch closer, finding yourself wanting to be nearer him. “perhaps i could show you the gardens on the morrow?”

“yes,” he agrees a touch too quickly, and you giggle as his cheeks turn pink. “that is to say— i should like that very much, my lady. very much indeed.”

you lapse into silence once more as the dance reaches its crescendo, and you find yourself reluctant to leave the comfort of his hands as the music pauses while the minstrels ready their next song.

jace seems to share the sentiment, it seems, as his eyes linger on your entwined hands for a long moment before returning to your face. “have i met your standards enough for another dance, then?”

you take a moment to pretend to consider it, eyes narrowing slightly as you hum. he shuffles on his feet as he waits for your response, and you find the nervous motion far too endearing.

“i suppose so,” you concede after a moment, grinning at his smugly pleased smile as he tugs you closer.

“and what about the dance after that?” he asks lightly, something cheeky in his eyes as the music starts up again and he sweeps you along the floor.

“you should not press your luck, jace,” you say imperiously, although the effect is rather ruined by the silly smile on your face as he laughs with you.

jacaerys smirks. “my lady, since meeting you, i have felt nothing but a lucky man.”

you smother a snort, shaking your head at his unrepentant expression. “you are incorrigible.” it comes out a touch exasperated and yet far too fond.

“yes,” the prince agrees readily, a sly twinkle in his eyes. “but i think you rather enjoy it.”

your startled laugh is loud, though thankfully not so loud as to be heard over the minstrels. “perhaps.”

after that, the night is lost to flirtatious banter and dance after dance in your betrothed’s arms as a seed of affection is planted deep in your heart. and when you wake in the morning after dreaming of nothing but jace’s lips and eyes and words, you can think only one thought;

gods, i am in so much trouble.

time passes in a slow trickle of syrupy summer heat.

as the days go by, you find yourself spending more and more time in jace’s company. you’re always chaperoned, of course, a household guard following at a respectful distance wherever the two of you choose to roam. you find the whole thing a touch ridiculous; jace is to be your husband. it’s hardly like spending time together alone would be a significant scandal in light of your impending marriage, but your father insists there will be no doubts about your honour before the marriage actually takes place and so ser dickon is assigned as your reluctant shadow.

the date of the wedding itself remains unset as you and jace start to know one another. your father wishes for the marriage to wait until the war is done – a last-ditch chance to keep his options open, perhaps. Or, if you are feeling generous, a way to try and keep you safe from the greens when war inevitably rages. jace’s mother wishes the marriage to happen as soon as can be arranged – a way to try and ensure further heirs with the uncertainty of war looming, you assume.

you find yourself hoping the queen’s will wins the day as time creeps on. jace becomes ever dearer to you the more you learn about him, and soon you think of your impending marriage with nothing but hope and warm desire.

because oh, how you want him. from the first moment you’d laid eyes upon him you’d been attracted to him, but the more you get to know him, the more your heart opens to him – the more you ache for him. for his mouth on yours, his fingertips on your skin, his voice in your ear. if you were a less reckless woman, a little less shameless, you’d be embarrassed of how easily you think of him in your moments apart.

but late at night when the candles burn low and you are alone in your bed, there is no shame to be found, only the wildness of your wolfs blood and liquid heat as your hand drifts between your legs and you find completion with your betrothed’s name on your lips.

beyond the desire, though, is a slow blooming affection. it feels like every time you learn something new about him or share a new experience together, another petal of tenderness unfurls in your chest. when your father had first told you about your betrothal, you’d not dared to hope for more than civility with your husband-to-be, but now you find yourself harbouring deep fondness on top of steadily burning desire, and you look to your future as his wife with little else but excitement.

you’re not sure if jace feels the same. you don’t doubt he desires you; his flirtation and the weight of his gaze on your form is too frequent a thing for you to think otherwise. but desire is not the same as affection, and though you hope desperately that the way he always seeks your presence whenever he steps into a room means what you want it to mean, you can’t be sure.

after a week passes, you both start to chafe at the relentless presence of ser dickon. it feels like every time you so much as think about inching closer to jacaerys, ser dickon is there with his stern glare of disapproval. and so, when one morning jace suggests taking you to meet his dragon, alone, you are quick to agree.

you leave your guard long behind at jace’s instruction; he doesn’t want vermax crowded with strangers, he explains, but you personally think he seems a little too gleeful at the idea of being alone with you for that to be sole reason behind his insistence ser dickon stays far away. you don’t say anything since you’re equally pleased to finally be spending some time with your betrothed without feeling others curious eyes on you.

your excitement starts to waver, however, as you and jace get closer to his dragon. you’ve only seen vermax from a distance before this, and though it perhaps shouldn’t the size of him startles you. he’s just so large and fierce looking, the sharp spines on his back catching your eye. the beast yawns as you slow to a stop, jace sending you a quick smile before he continues on to greet his dragon with fondness, and the glimpse into vermax’s open maw – gods, there as so many teeth – has your palms starting to sweat.

jace stands beside his dragon, murmuring soothing words in high valyrian that you don’t understand as his hand smooths along his snout. your heart races in your chest, nerves making your hands shake when faced with this great beast. you curse your reckless curiosity, your northern stubbornness that makes it impossible for you to refuse a challenge. you have no idea how jace can look so at ease, the line of his shoulders relaxed and the slightest smile on his face as he talks to his winged steed, but there he stands.

“you can come closer now.” he turns to you, brown eyes shining with excitement and, yes, a hint of challenge.

he expects you to back out, you think, and that realisation has you straightening your spine and pressing your lips together. you twist your fingers in your skirts to hide the way they tremble as you step cautiously forward, eyes darting from jace to vermax and back. when you’re within touching distance of the velaryon prince, he reaches for your hand. the shock of his bare skin against yours arrests you for a moment, the slide of calloused fingers around your wrist startling in how easily it sparks desire in you.

you’re so distracted by the feel of him that you don’t realise until it’s too late that jace has tugged you closer, guiding your hand until it’s pressed to vermax’s scales, and then you’re too busy being surprised by how soft they feel to be annoyed that he’s so easily coaxed you into this position.

you still as the dragon rumbles, swallowing thickly as your fingers twitch against green scales. he blinks lazily at you, an alien intellect gleaming there as he seems to consider you for a long moment, and as you blink back at him some of the fear in your chest shakes loose.

because this is not just some beast, you realise. this is fire and blood and magic made flesh. there is life and intelligence in vermax’s eyes, not one you recognise but one you immediately respect. being this close to the dragon is a heady rush of awe and adrenaline; the knowledge that vermax could so easily harm you at any moment but is choosing not to because he trusts his rider. it’s staggering and wonderful and beside you jace is beaming, eyes shining with happiness at seeing you greet his draconic companion, and you are helplessly, hopelessly, wholly overwhelmed by your affection, your desire, by jace.

you kiss him.

it’s barely a kiss, more a breathless press of your mouth against his, and he startles at the sensation even as his arm loops around your waist. you break apart for the barest moment, nose sliding against his as you tilt your head, and jacaerys sighs out your name with heavy relief before he captures your mouth once more.

you’ve been kissed before, so you know the mechanics of it, but it’s never been like this. his lips move smoothly against yours as his hand flexes on your waist, drawing you closer until your chest is pressed against his. your hand tangles in his hair, fingers twisting in the soft curls and he moans with it, hand dragging up your back to cradle the back of your head tenderly as his tongue sweeps over your lips.

the gentle pressure of it has you gasping and he takes the opportunity immediately, tongue sliding against yours as heat pools in your core. your thoughts tumble wildly, incoherent as you can think of nothing but of how desperately you want more. the taste – the smell – the feel of him is drowning everything out that isn’t jace and you cannot resist it, do not even want to.

you want to kiss him forever, want his hand in your hair and his tongue in your mouth for always. you think he might even let you with how relentless he is, barely giving you a moments pause to catch your breath before consuming you in another desperate kiss.

you finally part only when vermax grumbles, cheeks blazing with heat as you step out of jace’s arms. jace murmurs lowly to his dragon in valyrian, and he nudges his great snout against jace’s shoulder in response before stepping away and curling down into the long grass to sleep. you take the moment to properly catch your breath again, hand pressing to your heaving chest in an effort to soothe your racing heart.

when you peek up at jace from beneath your lashes, you flush deeply at the sight of him. his curls are a mess, his lips swollen and cheeks pink beneath his tan. he looks almost debauched, and it sends a rush of desire through you. you suddenly can think of nothing other than him looking like this only flusher and skin glistening with sweat and in your bed.

the thought startles you into dropping your gaze to your feet, and you shuffle uncertainly. you feel – unsettled. you don’t think there’s anything wrong with sharing a kiss with your betrothed, and yet something like guilt curdles in your stomach as you worry at your bottom lip. you had kissed him. for all that he’d kissed you back, you worry that now he will think differently of you. think worse of you.

a knuckle tucks under your chin, then, lifting your face so that you meet jace’s eyes. you feel small and strangely vulnerable in the aftermath of your kiss, like you have somehow shown him something you never intended to, and the urge to shy away remains. but you are not a winter rose for nothing and so you tuck the doubt away as jace runs his thumb soothingly along the line of your jaw.

“i have been thinking of doing that since the moment you first smiled at me,” he confesses, a hint of shyness in the quirk of his lips even as he stares steadily into your eyes.

“oh.” you blink at him once in surprise, the uneasiness in you finally settling at the fondness in his gaze. “oh. that’s— good.” you curse yourself for your lack of wit in this moment as jace snickers.  “i-i mean, i’m glad that it was not… unwelcome.”

your betrothed looks at you with deep affection, then, cupping your cheek and ducking down to press a fleeting, butterfly-soft kiss to your mouth before reluctantly parting from you. “it was most welcome, my lady. most welcome, indeed.” his eyes sparkle with mirth. “i find myself looking forward to the next time you greet vermax, if this is the kind of response such a thing garners.”

“jace!” you narrow your eyes at him in pretend annoyance, even as you smother a giggle with your fingers. “you should not expect me to indulge in such desires again, then, if you persist in being so smug about it.”

his laugh warms you as the two of you fall into easy banter, leaving vermax to his rest and returning to the ever-watchful ser dickon, and all the while all you can think of is how much you cannot wait to kiss him again.

as the air cools with the dying light of day, you lead jace to the gardens.

in the week since your first kiss, jace has oft tugged you into shadowy corners for more kisses any chance he’s had. his desire for you is matched only by your own for him, and as your confidence in your mutual attraction has grown, you have been equally as likely to pull him into a dark alcove to trade sweet words and sweet kisses in secret.

it’s thrilling and exciting and wonderful, but as the week passes you find a growing doubt whispering in the back of your mind.

while you cannot doubt jace desires you, not when he is so relentless in chasing after your smiling mouth, neither of you breathe a word of any feeling between you beyond attraction. perhaps it is reckless of you, foolhardy to fall for him so quickly – but then you are your parent’s daughter, all wolfs blood and deep roots, and you know no other way of being than this.

so you take him to the gardens as the moon rises in the sky, sneak past the night guards and out into the fresh air. you guide him through the blooming flowers and swaying trees, stopping along the while when the fancy takes one of you to stop and examine an interesting bloom or inhale a sweet scent. at least three times he stops you to slot his mouth against yours, to swallow your breathless giggling with feverish kisses, and each time he does it takes longer and longer for you to disentangle yourselves from each other.

eventually, with swollen lips and mussed hair, the two of you reach the winter roses. your effervescent mood becomes sombre as the moon shines on the blue flowers, turning the petals almost silver, and jace seems to recognise the change in atmosphere, a seriousness overtaking him as he watches you approach the flowers.

“my mother planted the first of these roses,” you tell jace as you kneel at the edge of the flowerbed, uncaring of the risk of dirt on your dress as you brush fingers over the pale blue petals tenderly. “winter roses, they are, from the north. from winterfell. she was born a stark, you see, and when she was betrothed to my father the only thing she asked was to be able to bring a few blooms from the glass gardens. she used to call me her little winter rose when i was a child, and she would bring me here and show me how to tend to them.”

jace kneels beside you, glancing at the side of your face before turning to look curiously at the blue flowers. “they’re beautiful,” he tells you sincerely.

“i’ve always thought so, too,” you agree almost absently, stroking the petals in an effort to calm your racing heart. “everyone told my mother she’d never be able to get them to grow so far south. they’re very rare, you see, and need very particular conditions.” your lips quirk up into a fond smile. “but my mother, for all that she became a tyrell, was always a stark at heart. stubborn, you know. and now look at them, thriving.”

you gesture out at the carefully tended rows of roses. “nobody else comes here, now, other than the gardeners and me. i think… i think my father finds it too hard, being here. it makes him miss her too much. so i come here when i need to be alone. or when i wish to be reminded of her. it's the one place in the world where i feel i can be wholly myself, without any pretence or worry.”

jace’s gaze is fixed on you, now, eyes almost black in the faint moonlight as understanding dawns on him. “thank you for bringing me here.”

you nod once, climbing back to your feet, and jace follows you. he watches you so intently, like he’s afraid that you might disappear if he dares to look away. you feel a little like you might, feel tenuous and vulnerable and a breath away from cracking your chest open.

“i’ve never brought anyone else here,” you confess quietly, flexing your fingers with nerves as jace’s lips part in surprise. “i wished… i wished to share this with you. to share who i am, myself, with you, i suppose.” you laugh a little self-deprecatingly. “however pretentious that sounds.”

“it doesn’t,” jace denies immediately. you sense he wants to say more, but he seems to understand that you’re building to saying something yourself, and so he stays quiet, expression earnest and open and fond as he gazes down at you.

“i know it’s perhaps too soon – we have only known each other a few weeks. but i… when i first found out we were betrothed, i was so scared. i worried you would be some arrogant princeling, and i dared not hope for anything more than civility between us. i’ve always known i would not marry for love, but i did not ever consider i would marry a man i had never met.”

you pause for long enough to suck in a breath, feeling a little like the floodgates have opened and you simply can’t stop speaking, can’t stop the feeling pouring freely from you. “and then i met you, and you were so unlike anything i’d expected. i know we still have so much more to learn about each other, and i know that things are— complicated, with the war, and that our marriage may be a ways off yet, but still— i find myself feeling for you, and i cannot hide it anymore. i don’t wish to hide it from you anymore.”

you let the open affection in his face buoy you as you steel yourself, pressing your shoulders back in a mimicry of confidence. “i wanted to show you this part of me, this place, because i….” you hesitate for a breathless moment, biting your lip, before gathering every scrap of courage you possess and diving in headfirst. “i am falling in love with you, jacaerys.”

you inhale the sweet scent of the pale blue petals deeply, let the familiar scent soothe you as jace stares at you with wide eyes. the winter roses are something that, until now, have been so uniquely yours. as you’d told jace, none other than you and the gardeners comes to this corner of the gardens now. the staff that tend so carefully to the flowers know to leave you well enough alone if they stumble across you, skirts splayed on the ground and fingers diligently caring for the roses. you’ve never even brought your sweet little brother, though you can admit that’s for practicality as much as anything else – his childish energy is a bit too boisterous for these delicate blooms.

bringing jace here, bringing him here to confess the deepening affection you harbour for him, feels raw. feels like you’re tearing your heart out of your chest and offering it up to him for perusal, hands bloody and soul bare. feels like saying ‘this is all that i am and all that i have been and all i will ever be and i hope, i hope, i hope it’s enough.’

jace finally, finally speaks, sighs your name, soft and sweet and tender, and hope blooms in your chest.

“oh, my sweet lady,” he murmurs, crowding into your space as he cups your cheek, and the smell of woodsmoke and dragon and jace floods your senses. “i am falling so unbelievably in love with you. only, it does not feel so much like falling as it is like choosing it, like walking into love with you with my eyes wide open and seeing nothing but you.”

it's almost unbearable, the blazing heat of his gaze as he presses his forehead against yours, and it makes you tremble as your hands clutch as his elbows in an effort to ground yourself to this moment, to him. “our betrothal was decided for us without care or consideration for our own desires,” he says, lips brushing against your own with every whispered word. “i know that as well as you, but i need you to know that if i had the choice i would choose this. i would choose you, your stubborn heart, your fierce spirit, your gracious soul.”

his hand slides from your cheek to your hair, holds you so tenderly like you are something precious, and it steals your breath from your lungs as you revel in his unbridled affection. “i care not when we marry, if we marry, in truth, because in my heart you are already mine just as i am already yours.”

he kisses you, then, a desperate and greedy thing, as if he can no longer restrain himself from devouring you whole. and you are just as needy, hands fisting in his doublet as you press yourself against him and somehow finding yourself wishing to be closer still. the world narrows down to him and him only; his mouth, his hands, his hair. you can think of nothing else, and do not wish to, because in this moment you are wholly yourself and he is wholly himself and it’s enough, it’s wonderful and delicate and it’s enough.

and, there beneath the moonlight and amongst the winter roses, deep and enduring affection, the kind of love the bards sing songs about, takes root.

taglist; @eldrith

[ruewritesoccasionally]

Shades of Red | Terry Richmond

Pairing: Dark!Toxic!Terry Richmond x Black!Reader

Warnings: dark themes + smut 18+, breaking + entering, jealousy, possessiveness, toxic themes, slight power dynamics, rough sex, choking, light slapping, spitting, overstimulation, oral (f receiving), squirting, breeding kink } everything is consensual but read at your own risk !

Summary: Passion, anger, lust, jealousy—all woven together into one man. Terry is charming, entitled, enticing and dangerous. YN couldn’t have seen his latest move coming….

Word count: 4.7K

a/n: This is my first time writing anything remotely dark and I think I really stepped outside of my little box. I wanted to craft a toxic love letter of sorts and I'd love to hear your thoughts..

Terry Richmond wasn’t the kind of man who stayed anywhere too long. His life was like a shifting tide—here today, gone tomorrow, always pulling away just when you thought you had him figured out. The nomadic way he moved through life suited him. He’d had his fill of staying still, of people poking too closely at the layers of armour he’d carefully crafted. Shelby Springs was just another pit stop, a place he landed when the world got too loud. And it’s where he met YN.

They’d been introduced a couple of years back through a mutual friend who had the bright idea of setting them up. “You two would be perfect for each other,” the friend had said with entirely too much conviction. But what had started as a well-intentioned matchmaking attempt quickly took a detour.

From the jump, Terry and YN decided that dating wasn’t in the cards. He was too restless, too unpredictable. She had her own life, full and vibrant, with no room to babysit someone who disappeared for weeks at a time with no explanation. Still, their chemistry was undeniable, electric in a way neither could ignore. They both wanted something—each other. And so, they reached a compromise: friends with benefits. No strings, no expectations, no hard feelings.

For the most part, it worked. YN respected Terry’s need for space, and he appreciated that she didn’t cling or demand more than he was willing to give. She had her own thing going on—a career she loved, friends who kept her laughing, and a life that was full even without him in it. She’d grown used to his disappearing acts, the way he’d go rogue and vanish for weeks or months at a time. He always came back, though. And when he did, he always found his way to her.

He was good at that—finding her. A text here, a call there, a late-night knock on her door. She’d let him in every time because, for all his flaws, there was something about Terry that drew her in. Maybe it was his charm, that easy confidence that made her roll her eyes even as it made her pulse quicken. Or maybe it was the way he looked at her, like she was the only thing that mattered when he was near. Whatever it was, she couldn’t quite quit him. And truthfully, she didn’t want to.

But this time felt different.

His text came in the middle of the day while her phone was on silent. She didn’t see it until much later, after the rush of meetings and emails had finally died down.

“Be back in town tomorrow night. Clear your schedule for me.”

The audacity of it made her laugh out loud. Terry had never been one to ask—he told. It was part of his charm and part of what made her want to strangle him sometimes. Still, she wasn’t mad. She got as much out of their arrangement as he did, and she’d been known to hit him up with the same kind of energy when the mood struck. They were equals in that way, unapologetic about what they wanted from each other.

But tonight, she couldn’t clear her schedule for him.

She typed out her response quickly, a small smirk on her lips as she imagined his reaction.

“Can’t tomorrow. Got a date.”

The reply came faster than she expected.

“A date, huh?”

That was it. No teasing, no snide comments, no flirty jabs. Just three little words that carried a weight she couldn’t quite place.

She frowned at the screen, re-reading the message as if the meaning would suddenly reveal itself. It was unlike Terry not to have some kind of comeback, some witty remark designed to get under her skin. The lack of it left her unsettled. But she shrugged it off, chalking it up to him being busy or distracted.

On the other side of the phone, though, Terry wasn’t as calm as he seemed.

Sitting in a dingy motel room on the outskirts of God-knows-where, he stared at her message, his jaw tight. A date. Someone else was taking her out, sitting across from her, making her laugh, looking at her the way he looked at her. And worse, someone else might be touching her, staking a claim to what he’d quietly, possessively come to think of as his.

He took a slow, steadying breath, forcing himself to calm the anger bubbling just beneath the surface. She wasn’t his. Not really. They didn’t have that kind of relationship. But the thought of someone else having her, even for one night, made his chest burn with something he couldn’t quite name.

Terry’s fingers hovered over the screen, itching to say something, to tell her to cancel, to remind her who always had her coming back. But he stopped himself. No, he’d let her have her little date. Let her laugh and flirt and pretend that whoever this guy was could give her what she needed. Because when it was all said and done, she’d come back to him.

And when she did, he’d make damn sure she remembered exactly who she belonged to.

Terry Richmond wasn’t an easy man to forget, and that much was evident as YN stood in her bathroom mirror, smoothing on her lipstick for the finishing touch. Tonight was a rare occasion for her—a date with someone who wasn’t him. She tilted her head slightly, assessing her reflection. The soft waves in her hair framed her face just right, the shimmer on her eyelids caught the light, and the dress she’d chosen fit like a second skin. She looked good. She felt good.

Still, a shadow lingered in the back of her mind, one with piercing eyes and an infuriatingly smug smirk. YN had spent the last two hours convincing herself this date was just what she needed: a change, something uncomplicated. Terry was Terry—a storm she willingly walked into time and time again. But tonight? Tonight was about something different, something quieter.

Her phone buzzed on the counter, and her eyes flicked to the screen. A simple text from her date: “Looking forward to tonight. See you soon!”

She smiled faintly, but the expression didn’t quite reach her eyes. YN tucked the phone into her clutch, grabbed her coat, and headed out. It was time to leave Terry Richmond out of her headspace—for now.

The restaurant was cozy and inviting, the kind of place that struck a balance between intimate and casual. Her date, Mark, had chosen well. He was polite, attentive, and easy on the eyes—a charming blend of confidence and warmth. They’d talked about work, travel, books, and even swapped a couple of funny anecdotes about their childhoods. By all accounts, it should’ve been perfect.

But halfway through Mark’s story about his latest hiking trip, YN caught herself tuning out. Not entirely—she was still nodding at the right moments, laughing softly where appropriate—but her mind drifted, unbidden, to another memory. One of Terry.

She could almost hear his voice, teasing and sharp. “Hiking, huh? Bet he’s one of those guys who carries a selfie stick to the summit just to post about it.” The thought was so vivid, so him, that YN nearly laughed aloud. She caught herself, her smile faltering for a moment before she refocused on Mark.

“So, what about you? Do you hike much?” he asked, his tone genuinely curious.

“Not really,” YN replied smoothly, pushing the thought of Terry aside. “But it sounds like you’ve had some incredible adventures.”

Mark beamed, and the conversation continued. YN did her best to stay present, to enjoy the evening for what it was. By the time dessert came around, she’d almost succeeded in compartmentalizing the storm that was Terry Richmond.

Almost.

The date ended as expected—with polite goodbyes and the suggestion that they should “do this again sometime.” Mark walked her to her car like a gentleman, and she thanked him for the lovely evening. As she slipped into the driver’s seat and shut the door, YN let out a small sigh.

It hadn’t been a bad date—not by a long shot. Mark was sweet, thoughtful, and seemed genuinely interested in her. But he wasn’t...well, she refused to finish that thought.

Her hands gripped the steering wheel as she started the engine, the soft purr of the car filling the quiet night. She glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. The lipstick was still perfectly intact, the curls still falling in place. By all accounts, the night had been a success. So why did it feel like something was missing?

Across town, Terry sat in his truck, parked a few blocks from YN’s apartment. His phone screen glowed faintly in the darkness as he scanned the messages she hadn’t yet responded to. His jaw tightened. The thought of her out with someone else wasn’t one he could swallow easily, no matter how cool and composed he pretended to be.

Reaching over to the passenger seat, he grabbed the small black bag he’d brought with him. It contained exactly what he needed—what he’d planned for. With practiced ease, Terry slid out of the truck and moved through the shadows. The street was quiet, the kind of stillness that came late at night when most people were already home.

It didn’t take him long to reach her place. The familiarity of it was almost comforting. Almost. He worked quickly, his movements precise and deliberate, the product of years spent learning how to move unseen, unheard. Within moments, he was inside.

The scent of her perfume—light, floral, undeniably her—lingered in the air. Terry inhaled deeply, a dark smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He made his way to the living room, his boots barely making a sound against the hardwood floors.

There, on the coffee table, was the bottle of whiskey she kept for him. He chuckled softly, pouring himself a glass and settling into the armchair in the corner of the room. The dim light from the streetlamp outside cast long shadows across the walls, and Terry sat there, waiting.

She’d be home soon. And when she walked through that door, she’d find out exactly what happened when you tried to leave Terry Richmond behind.

The hum of her car engine faded into the quiet night as YN pulled into her driveway, the evening’s events still replaying in her mind. The date had been pleasant enough—a nice dinner, polite conversation, and a genuine, if not thrilling, connection. But as she turned off the ignition, an inexplicable sense of unease settled over her, clawing its way into her chest. It had been faint earlier, an odd niggling in the back of her mind, but now it was undeniable. Something was off.

Stepping out of the car, she adjusted her coat and approached her front door, her heels clicking softly against the pavement. As her hand reached for the keys in her bag, she froze. The door wasn’t locked. Her pulse quickened, and she stood there for a moment, staring at the slightly ajar entrance.

No. She distinctly remembered locking it before leaving. Didn’t she?

"Shit," she muttered under her breath, her mind racing. Maybe she had been distracted and forgotten in her rush to leave. But no matter how she tried to rationalise it, the unease only deepened. The air around her felt heavy, charged, as though the house itself was holding its breath.

Pushing the door open, she stepped inside cautiously, her senses on high alert. The room was unnervingly quiet, and yet something wasn’t right. There was an energy in the space that hadn’t been there before, a presence she couldn’t see but could feel. She paused in the doorway, her hand still gripping the doorknob as her eyes scanned the dimly lit room.

Then it hit her—the faintest trace of cologne lingering in the air, mingling with the rich, unmistakable scent of whiskey. Her stomach dropped. It couldn’t be. Could it?

Her voice cut through the silence, firm but edged with trepidation. "Terry?"

No answer. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she took a tentative step further into the house. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat echoing like a drum in her ears. "Terrance Richmond," she called again, louder this time, her tone sharper, more demanding. "If this is some kind of joke, I swear—"

Her words faltered as her eyes adjusted to the low light, finally spotting the shadowed figure seated in the corner of the room. The amber glow of a table lamp barely illuminated his silhouette, but she didn’t need to see his face to know. She would recognise his posture anywhere, relaxed yet commanding, his arm draped over the back of her chair as though he owned the place. The glass in his hand caught the light as he raised it to his lips, the sound of ice clinking faintly breaking the silence.

"Terry," she breathed, her voice a mix of anger and disbelief.

He set the glass down with deliberate slowness, leaning forward just enough for the light to catch his features—a smirk playing on his lips, his eyes glinting with an unsettling mix of amusement and something darker. "Welcome home, Princess."

“You’re home late,” he said, his voice smooth and low.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she snapped, her heart pounding as adrenaline coursed through her veins. “How did you even get in?”

He raised the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip before answering. “You’re not the only one with a key, Princess.”

“I never gave you—”

“You didn’t have to,” he interrupted, setting the glass down with deliberate precision. “I’m a resourceful man.”

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, fury and confusion warring inside her. “You can’t just break into my house, Terry. That’s insane.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze never leaving hers. “What’s insane is you thinking I wouldn’t notice.”

“Notice what?” she demanded, her voice rising.

“You,” he said simply, his tone unnervingly even. “Trying to replace me. With him.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, suffocating and thick. YN stared at him, her mind racing to process what was happening. This wasn’t Terry—at least, not the Terry she thought she knew. The possessiveness in his voice, the casual way he’d invaded her space, it all screamed of something darker, something she wasn’t sure she could handle.

“This isn’t about you,” she said, forcing her voice to steady. “I have a life outside of you, Terry. You don’t get to control that.”

His lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. “I’m not here to control you, YN. Just to remind you who you belong to.”

Terry’s words lingered in the air, heavy with promise and warning, as he took a slow step closer. The air crackled between them, electric, suffocating and sinister. YN felt her pulse thunder in her ears, the thrum of anticipation coursing through her veins like wildfire. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to run, to retreat, to reclaim control of the situation, but her feet refused to move. It wasn’t fear that kept her rooted in place—it was him. The commanding weight of his presence, the way his eyes bore into her with a heat that made her knees tremble.

“Terry,” she began, her voice wavering despite her best efforts to steady it, “I—”

He cut her off with a single step, closing the distance between them until the barest whisper of air separated their bodies. His scent—whiskey, spice, and the faintest trace of cedar—enveloped her senses, dizzying and disarming.

“Don’t,” he growled, tilting his head slightly as if daring her to finish that sentence. “Don’t give me excuses. Don’t feed me lies about him or pretend he’s what you want.” His hand came up, fingers brushing against her jaw, and she flinched—not from fear, but from the raw, undeniable pull between them. “You and I both know that man doesn’t know a damn thing about you.”

Her lips parted, a sharp retort on the tip of her tongue, but he moved faster. His hand slid to the back of her neck, gripping just firm enough to make her gasp. “Say it,” he demanded, his voice a rough rasp against her ear. “Say you thought about me tonight.”

YN’s breath hitched. She wanted to deny it, to tell him he was delusional, but the truth burned hotter in her chest than any denial ever could. She had thought about him. His presence lingered in the back of her mind all night, the ghost of his touch, the memory of his voice. It had tainted every polite smile, every harmless laugh, every fleeting touch from a man who wasn’t him.

“I hate you,” she whispered instead, the words trembling with a mixture of fury and something far more dangerous.

Terry’s mouth twisted into a wolfish grin. “Hate me all you want, Princess,” he drawled, his thumb brushing against her lower lip. “But don’t forget who makes you feel alive.”

Before she could respond, his lips crashed against hers, rough and unyielding. It wasn’t a kiss born of tenderness; it was hunger and frustration, a collision of wills that neither of them intended to lose. YN’s hands pushed against his chest, but it only seemed to fuel him further. He growled low in his throat, his teeth grazing her bottom lip before his tongue swept inside, claiming her in a way that made her knees buckle.

Her defiance melted into something impure, needier. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer even as she cursed herself for it. Terry’s hand slid down her back, gripping her waist and yanking her against him with a force that made her gasp into his mouth.

“You’re a piece of work,” she hissed when they finally broke apart, her chest heaving with shallow breaths.

“And you love every second of it,” he shot back, his voice dripping with arrogance. His hands didn’t stop moving, sliding under the hem of her top to find bare skin. The heat of his touch burned against her, sending shivers cascading down her spine.

“Terry…” Her voice faltered as his fingers dipped lower, tracing the curve of her hip. She hated how easily he unravelled her, how her body betrayed her with every shiver, every hitch of her breath.

“Shh,” he murmured, his lips finding the curve of her neck. He bit down lightly, just enough to make her gasp and clutch at his shoulders. “I told you, I’m not here to control you. But you’re going to remember exactly who you belong to by the time I’m done.”

With one swift motion, he lifted her onto the counter, his hands gripping her thighs with bruising force. YN barely had time to protest before his mouth was on hers again, devouring her in a kiss that left no room for argument. His hands pushed her dress higher, exposing more of her skin to the cool air and his insatiable touch.

She moaned into his mouth as his fingers slid between her thighs, finding her already soaked through. He chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against her lips. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. “All night, you were mine. Even when you were with him.”

“Shut up,” she snapped, her cheeks flushing with a mixture of anger and arousal.

“Make me,” he challenged, his voice dripping with smug defiance.

She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down into another kiss, pouring every ounce of frustration and longing into it. But Terry wasn’t content to let her take control for long. His hand slid further up, his fingers pressing against her with a skill that had her crying out despite herself.

“Say it,” he demanded again, his breath hot against her ear as his fingers worked her relentlessly. “Say you’re mine.”

“Terry,” she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as the tension in her body built to an unbearable crescendo.

“Say it,” he growled, his voice taking on an edge that sent a shiver of both fear and excitement racing through her.

“I—I’m yours,” she choked out, the admission torn from her lips as her body betrayed her completely.

He grinned wickedly, his fingers pushing her over the edge with ruthless precision. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her temple as she shattered in his arms, her cries echoing through the room.

And he wasn’t done yet.

Terry’s grip on YN’s hips tightened, the pads of his fingers digging into her flesh as he hovered above her. His eyes burned into hers, dark and unrelenting, as if trying to burn every unspoken word into her very soul. He leaned down, his mouth a breath away from hers, his lips brushing against hers as he murmured, “You only ever say my name tonight. Nothing else. No one else.”

Before she could respond, his lips descended on hers with bruising intensity. The kiss was all-consuming, a searing mix of dominance and desperation, his tongue delving into her mouth as though he could taste every word she hadn’t yet spoken. When he pulled back, his gaze swept over her swollen lips, and he smirked like a predator.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” he muttered, his voice rough, laced with dark amusement. “Always trying to act tough. Always pretending like you don’t need me. But I’ll fix that.”

Without another word, he moved lower, kissing his way down her neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses across her collarbone and between her breasts. His teeth scraped lightly against her skin, eliciting a shiver that had nothing to do with the chill in the air. He paused for a moment, watching her with an almost sadistic level of patience, as if daring her to tell him to stop.

She didn’t. She couldn’t.

His hands roamed lower, pushing her thighs apart with an ease that made her stomach twist with equal parts annoyance and anticipation. She was already dripping wet, the evidence of her arousal glistening in the low light. Terry groaned at the sight, a deep, primal sound that sent a jolt of electricity through her body.

“Look at you,” he said, almost to himself, as he trailed his fingers along her folds. “So fucking perfect. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Before she could muster any sort of response, he lowered his head between her thighs, his tongue swiping a deliberate, teasing stripe through her slickness. Her back arched involuntarily, a strangled gasp escaping her lips. Terry chuckled against her, the vibrations making her toes curl.

“That’s it,” he murmured, before diving in with a newfound ferocity. His tongue worked her clit in relentless circles, alternating between broad strokes and focused flicks that had her gripping the sheets for dear life. He didn’t stop there, though. Two of his fingers slipped inside her, curling upward in a way that made her see stars.

“Oh, fuck—Terry,” she choked out, her voice raw with desperation.

He hummed in approval, his name falling from her lips like a melody he wanted to hear on repeat. Her thighs began to tremble, the pressure building so quickly it almost scared her. She tried to pull away, overwhelmed by the intensity, but his hands clamped down on her hips, anchoring her in place.

“Uh-uh,” he growled, his lips never leaving her clit. “You’re not running from this. You’re taking everything I give you.”

The overstimulation had her head spinning, tears welling up in her eyes as her orgasm tore through her. She screamed his name, her body shaking uncontrollably as she soaked his fingers, his mouth, everything. Terry groaned in satisfaction, lapping up every drop like a man possessed.

When her body finally went limp, he sat back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes gleamed with something feral as he watched her struggle to catch her breath.

“Good girl,” he said, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “See? You don’t need anyone else. Just me.”

Before she could recover, he was on her again, positioning himself between her legs. He leaned down, spitting directly into her mouth, his gaze daring her to defy him. She swallowed without hesitation, her body responding to his dominance in ways she couldn’t control.

“That’s what I thought,” he muttered, lining himself up at her entrance. He pushed into her slowly, making her feel every inch of him, until he was buried to the hilt. He stayed there for a moment, letting her adjust, his eyes locked on hers.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice low and possessive. “Say it.”

“Yours,” she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as he began to move. His thrusts were deep and deliberate, each one designed to remind her of exactly who she belonged to. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, punctuated by her cries and his grunts.

Her mind was a haze of pleasure and pain, the lines between the two blurring as he pushed her closer to the edge once more. When her responses began to falter, her head lolling to the side, he delivered a sharp slap to her cheek—not enough to hurt, but enough to snap her back into focus.

“Eyes on me,” he commanded, his voice cutting through the fog. “I want to see you come undone for me.”

She obeyed, her gaze locking onto his as her second orgasm ripped through her, even more intense than the first.

The final wave of his dominance surged as Terry pressed her deeper into the mattress, his thrusts growing slow but deliberate, each one hitting with a force that left her breathless. Her legs trembled uncontrollably around his waist, every overstimulated nerve in her body aflame, her cries breaking into fragmented whimpers.

His breathing grew heavier, ragged, the telltale signs of his release building. Still, he didn’t rush—he wanted her to feel it all. Every inch of his claim. His hand tightened around her throat as his lips brushed the shell of her ear, his voice dropping to a rough, guttural growl that sent a shiver down her spine.

"I’m going to cum deep inside you," he rasped, his words slow and deliberate, carrying the weight of his intent. "And you’re not going to let a single drop out. You need to feel me, baby—every part of me."

Her head flung back, her lips parted in a silent gasp, unable to do anything but nod as her body clung to him, every sensation amplified. She didn’t even have time to prepare as he thrust into her one final time, his release hitting her like a brand, searing and unrelenting.

The warmth of him filled her, explored her body like it belonged there, and Terry didn’t move—he stayed there, buried to the hilt, ensuring she took every ounce of him. His hand slid from her throat to her jaw, tilting her head up to meet his intense gaze. The raw satisfaction in his eyes mirrored the shattering chaos within her.

"Mine," he murmured, the word almost reverent, though it carried the weight of a command.

They stayed like that for a moment, tangled together in the aftermath, their breaths mingling as they came down from the high. Terry brushed a stray curl from her face, his touch surprisingly gentle despite everything that had just transpired.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said softly, almost tenderly, though the possessiveness in his tone was unmistakable. “Not tonight. Not ever.”

comments and reblogs are appreciated as well as feedback, i hope you liked it 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

[sh1-n0bu]

♡︎ 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙙𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙖 𝙙𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙤𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙢𝙮 𝙥𝙩3 ♡︎

characters: sub!dragons x dom!gn!reader

warnings: established relationship, dragons have vent that hide their two cocks anatomy, eating out, fingering, handjob, squirting, light mind break, exhibitionism, biting, blood/injury mention

notes: part 1, part 2 is here respectively. genuinely didn’t think this idea would be liked so much it would have two more parts lmao. wasn’t really thinking of writing part 3 since i was all outta thoughts but here we are. dividers from benkeibear

it had been a while since the relationship between you and your beloved dragon had become official. of course, there were bumps along the way and you two still wished to keep your relationship a secret. who knows whatever the hell the court of elders would say or how people would react to you once they find out that it was you who was chosen by the dragon himself specifically to be his mate and not some higher ranking diplomat or a royalty. mainly, it was to keep you safe.

the dragon could give less than two fucks about his title or fame. title be damned, he could care less of society’s judging eyes and open ears on him. he could care less about how the courtiers would argue against his decision. all he cared about was you and he wanted to keep you safe and away from harm. the courtiers included. most specifically the courtiers; he dealt with their shit for long enough on a daily basis, he didn’t wanted them to find out about his most favored treasure and meddle with his personal life.

but mostly, it gets annoying when he wanted to keep his beloved by his side yet his beloved is away on a business trip. a very long one. it has been what? over a month and a week and the poor dragon was desperate to have you by his side again. every moment he catches himself recalling of past moments with you, he finds his tail swishing side to side, a low pleased purr in his throat. or he would recall of moments of comedy; such as when you tripped and fell down the stairs in front of him at your first meeting, how you stuff your face full of your favorite treats like a chipmunk, or when you accidentally drank a cup of hot tea, mistaking it for a cold one and burning your tongue. the dragon finds himself chuckling at that, snorting, turning to his side as he calls out your name to recall said events out loud. only for his wagging tail to droop and a sad whine escape him when he remembered, right; you were away on a business trip and hasn’t returned yet.

his mood was noticed of course. it’s easy to be noticed when all eyes have always been on you since the very beginning of your life. the courtiers asked him of what has been weighing on his mind lately, the soldiers that guard his grand office bowing in respect as their eyes look over him with concern, how the people have already started a rumor amongst themselves.

“the great dragon found a mate they said”, “the great dragon perhaps lost a loved one recently”, “the great dragon’s mood downing reason is his nature. he is a dragon after all, he would surely miss his kin” great dragon this, great dragon that — all he wanted was you. finding himself stuck in the middle, he could barely find the time to even focus on his work. words on the paper in front of him meddled and meshed together into a white and black mess. he could read the words but it wouldn’t register in his brain. instead, what occupied his mind and heart was you with your bright smile that was like the warmth of a sunlight on his skin after a millennia of snowstorm. letting out a sigh for the nth time this past hour, he turns to look at the calendar hung on the wall of his office. a bright red marker circling the 23rd of the next month, making his tail droop as a defeated whine escapes his lips. how could he ever wait patiently for your return?

walking through the long corridors of the grand building where the dragon stays seated for work, you whistle a few tunes as you pass by some of the workers or nod your head in greeting when a guard walks by. the workers of this place knows you by now; or at least have memorized your features. you were a common visitor to the dragon, either called by him or coming by your own accord to tend to some matters. whether it be your lazy work ethnics or the large contracts you’ve struck — no one really knows. no one is yet to suspect that you two are in a relationship. not yet.

knocking on the grand oak doors with dragon symbols carved onto the outside, you push the door open as you saunter inside. the moment the door closes behind you with a soft click! you were nearly tackled over onto the floor as a scaled limb tightly wraps around your thigh. wet kisses trail from your neck down to your collarbone, the tail on your thigh squeezing harshly enough to the point it nearly cuts off your blood flow. laughing, you return the death squeeze, running a hand through his hair as you kiss the base of his horn that had materialized.

“i’ve missed you too, my love” you manage to breathe out, voice nearly a gasp with the way he was about to topple you over with his bigger frame. you could see the shine of his scales on his jaw and chin, the hardened skin having grown vastly in number due to the sudden shift in his mood. and if the room were any but darker, you were sure that his eyes and horns were pulsing a soft glow. just like the thrumming of his heartbeat you could feel over the material of his clothes.

before you could tell him to get off and allow you to breathe, his lips met yours in a manner that was as if he was trying to smash his skull with yours, merging the bones together. he must have been lonely, hands cupping your cheeks tenderly while he desperately kissed your lips over and over as if trying to merge your bodies together. his usually cold veneer be damned, he had missed your scent, your lips, the warmth of your body — you.

the great dragon had missed his beloved mate.

forked tongue licking at your lips, he impatiently pushes the wet muscle inside your mouth. licking at the cavern, messily slurping on your tongue and dismissing your choked noises, your dragon pushes his tongue deeper into your mouth, preening his scales with a low whimper. pulling his tongue out, seeing the saliva connecting you together, he lets out a drawn out whine, grinding his crotch against your own.

“missed you… missed your scent and everything… so bad” he mumbles, a low rumble in his chest as he drags you towards his desk by the tail that was hooked around your thigh. you let out a grunt, almost loosing balance but following along. sharpened claws fumble with his belt and pants, eager yet impatient as he leaves a few tears and holes into the material. disregarding his clothes half heartedly, he lays down on the desk, claws grasping at the edge of the wood as he props his legs up, showing you the weeping slit of his vent. he was already so wet and aroused, acting like he was in heat as his tail tugs you closer to himself.

“look at you, my love. we just shared a hug and a kiss and you’re already dripping wet” you tease him, fingers spreading his vent open as usual. like an excited puppy seeking for validation, his two cocks slip out, reaching for your hand.

“mhm. all wet and eager for you, mate♡︎” he nods enthusiastically, claws leaving the desk to spread his cent open further for you to stare at. just seeing him like this, in a compromising manner with slitted pupils blown wide; it was enough to make your mouth salivate. the fuzzy end of his tail tap against your calf, already telling you to hurry up and bury your face into his vent, take his cock into your mouth, any cock, anything — he doesn’t mind it. the poor pent up dragon just wanted your touch, craving for the high that you deliver so expertly, knowing his body better than he does.

“my my, thank you for the meal” you coo, patting the inside of his thigh gently. hooking the beck of your leg into his chair behind you, you pull it close to yourself before plopping down. the soft cushions felt like clouds to your tired body that was cramped into the workers’ ship, inviting you to sit on it and eat out its owner to your heart’s content.

placing tentative kisses to the small bundle like clit on top of his vent, you flatten your tongue, licking a stripe up the soft scales of his vent and the base of his cocks. just a token of affection and he was already squirming in his place, bucking his hips into your mouth. but he needs yo learn patience when it came to you, something you showed with small little licks to the side of his vent, collecting his juices into your tongue and tasting them. he lets out a punched out whine at that, spreading himself open more to try and entice you. he smelled like a freshly brewed maple syrup, tasted like the nectar of the forbidden fruits on your tongue, sounded like your favorite song in loop.

“hurry it uppp—! aaah♡︎ j-just like that... deep♡︎ deeper♡︎ wan’ your tongue deeper inside my vent♡︎!!” a surprised squeal comes from him, legs jerking in place as if wanting to wrap around your head. reaching a hand out, you push two fingers inside his mouth, muffling his noises and making him choke on the digits. the poor thing tries to make a noise of protest, only succeeding in a meager choked moan.

pushing apart his vent open further with your fingers, you push your tongue inside as far as it could reach. not deep inside to reach that soft spot inside his vent, but certainly deep enough to make him gasp around your fingers. you can feel his forked tongue come up, the long limb slithering around your fingers and between them to try and wet them. his attempts sometimes ended up futile, making the dragon choke on the accumulated saliva on his tongue and your fingers. sometimes, he would get a little too excited, his thighs warming your cheeks and ear until you slap them open again.

he tasted delicious, like a fruit mix syrup that was left in the perfect condition for you to feast on. a nectar of both sin and sweetness, coupled with his cute noises that ask you for more like the greedy dragon he was. dragons were naturally possessive, it didn’t surprise you that your sweetheart pulled you in for a quick fuck inside his own office in broad daylight. flattening your tongue, you ease the muscle in and out smoothly on the soft scaled base of his cock inside his hole. slimy liquid drip down your chin, forcing you to slurp some while the ones you couldn’t taste dirty your jaws and the floor.

“ummgh! s-sho guwd… deeper♡︎ wan’ iwt deeepeeerrr♥︎♥︎” he chokes out around your fingers, rocking his hips back and forth to make your tongue thrust inside his vent more forcefully. your poor pent up dragon, so needy to the point he was fucking his dripping folds into your mouth. taking one of his hands that tried to hold his vent open for you, you guide one of his fingers to rest over the small bundle on top of his slit, making him rub the muscle slowly. it acted like a clit, a tiny muscle that came out when he was aroused, sensitive to the touch.

after a few messy flicks to the clit like muscle, without even having you properly touch his angry red cocks, he was spurting cum into his shirt. it will be a mess to wash them out later but right now, all you focused on was the cute flush of his face and the way his pupils dilated into hearts when his eyes met yours. making a show of his debauchery, the dragon pushes your fingers out just enough to make you watch how he drooled around them, long tongue slithering between the two digits. the hand that was over the small clit like muscles stroked his bigger cock a few times, letting the last few drops of his cum spurt into his chest. just like how you guided his hand earlier, he did the same to yours. letting your wet fingers scoop up the mess on his skin and shirt before wiping them clean with his tongue, suckling on the tips of your fingers as if he was suckling on your cock. were your eyes deceiving you or were the corners of his lips turned up into a smug grin?

taking your fingers out of his mouth, making the dragon whine at the loss, you push your saliva coated fingers into his hole. all the earlier smugness of his face disappears in an instant, throwing his head back with a loud wail as his vent clenches around your tongue. claws that were scratching at the wood of his desk weakly paws at your head, fingers fisting at your scalp as he couldn’t decide between fucking into your tongue deep into his vent or the fingers now scissoring his hole open.

“angh—! ah ah guhhn♡︎♡︎ [n-name]! mmng eengh—♥︎ aah... so gooddd♡︎ m-missed you, missed this—♥︎!” the dragon weakly bucks his hips, wiggling in place unable to decide what to do. all he could do was paw at your head or at his shaking legs that were propped up on the desk, mind melting away into a soft mush. there were nothing in his mind, filled with cotton as he could only hyperfixate on the feeling of your fingers and tongue fucking him open like he was a cheap whore in a brothel and not the great dragon inside his own office.

“ummgh!! umgck— kuhng♥︎♥︎!” a sharp wail of his gets muffled as your place your free hand over his mouth, forcing him to stay quiet. in his own greed for pleasure that your provided, he had forgotten where you two were. not like he could care less. he was disgustingly possessive and his tail refused to budge from its place that was snugly wrapped around your middle. the fluffy end consistently patting against your thigh whenever your fingers pushed deeper, curling up to hit his prostate.

it was dizzying; the pleasure, your tongue squeezing into his vent, the way you roughly fucked into his prostate with your fingers as you force him to muffle his noises. if only he could moan and shriek to his heart’s content and not force himself to shut up.

slipping your fingers out of his hole with a lewd shlick! your hand pumps his smaller cock at an agonizingly fast pace. his smaller cock was more sensitive, another new discovery you used to your heart’s content as his legs thrash around, the dragon’s tail squeezing around your middle painfully. bot that you cared, you were just trying to get him to cum again quicker. if you were correct in your assessment, in half an hour, he had a meeting.

unable to help himself, the dragon bites down on your hand, making you grimace as the sharp fangs in his maw pierce through your skin. he could taste your blood as it trickles into his mouth, making him whine in concern for hurting you before his legs jerk violently, wrapping around your head tightly. back arching on the desk so beautifully, screaming into your hand, his smaller cock spurts out more cum than the one before, his slick juices squirting onto the warmth of your tongue from his vent. slurping up as much as you could, you finally ease your tongue out as his cocks go soft in your hand. the small clit like muscles on top of his vent soften back inside as you push his legs open slowly. taking your hand away from his mouth, you couldn’t help the smug grin that crawls onto your face as you see your cute dragon.

pupils blown wide, covering the color of his irises, a small smear of blood on his lips with his cocks wearily slipping back inside his vent. once safely tucked back inside, the glistening folds of his scaled vent flutters, clenching around the phantom feeling of your tongue showed up inside it. pulling over a pack of wet wipes from one of his desk drawers, you place kisses to the pulsing scales on his chin as you wipe him clean to the best of your ability. satisfied with how he finally had you by his side, his tail weakly pats your leg, a pleased rumble of a purr in his throat as his claws hook into your shirt to yank you down onto the desk on top of him. as quickly as you fell, his arms were around you, keeping you caged in his grasp. huffing out an amused laugh, you decide to indulge in his wishes for cuddles.

only until the doors will be knocked of course.

[serapharua]

୨୧ 一 HYBRID ENHYPEN AND THEIR QUIRKY HYBRID HABITS . . !

enhypen 0T7 — GENRE : imagines headcanon hybrid au fluff — PAIRING : gn.reader — WARNING : none — REQUESTED : nope. ☆ — enha masterlist

note : I changed jay from a hawk hybrid to a black jaguar hybrid. hawks are kinda hard to write for me and also I feel like his parts were always lacking so!! change yippee!!!

HEESEUNG (deer hybrid) :

As a deer hybrid, Heeseung was usually calm and easygoing, but there was one thing you quickly learned about him, he was startled at just about everything.

It wasn’t just loud noises or sudden movements; sometimes, it was the most random things. A bag shifting slightly on the counter? He flinched. A door creaking open a little too fast? He nearly jumped out of his skin. The worst offender? Unexpected touches.

You found this out the hard way one evening when you simply tapped his shoulder while he was lost in thought.

Heeseung practically levitated.

“Ah—!” His ears flicked back as he jolted upright, knocking into the back of the couch with wide eyes.

You barely stifled a laugh. “Hee, it’s just me!”

He exhaled, placing a hand over his chest like you had just shaved years off his lifespan. “You can’t just sneak up on me like that,” he mumbled, still recovering.

“I literally just tapped you,” you said, amused. “What would you do if I actually tried to scare you?”

His ears twitched in protest. “I’d rather not find out.”

Despite how skittish he could be, Heeseung insisted he wasn’t that jumpy. That was, until you tested your theory by simply walking up behind him while he was focused on his phone.

“Heeseung.”

“Ah—!” He nearly tripped over his own feet, clutching the counter for balance. His tail flicked anxiously behind him before he shot you a betrayed look.

You burst into laughter. “See? I didn’t even touch you that time!”

Grumbling, he crossed his arms. “Maybe you should walk louder.”

His flustered reactions never failed to amuse you, but there were times when his deer instincts were genuinely impressive, like how he could detect the slightest changes in the environment, whether it was a shift in your mood or a subtle creak in the floorboards. He’d notice things before anyone else, his ears perking at the softest sounds.

But that didn’t stop you from teasing him whenever he jumped at something as harmless as a falling pillow.

One night, as he reached for a glass of water, you whispered from behind, “Boo.”

Heeseung flinched so hard he nearly knocked the glass over.

“That’s it,” he muttered, ears flattening as he narrowed his eyes at you. “I’m banning you from sneaking up on me.”

JAY (black jaguar hybrid) :

As a black jaguar hybrid, Jay moved with effortless grace, his steps always calculated yet smooth, as if he were prowling through the jungle, even in the middle of your apartment. But his quirkiest habit? He tended to disappear into the shadows, sometimes without even meaning to.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to turn around and find him gone, only for him to reappear moments later, watching you with amused golden eyes.

“Jay?” You glanced around the dimly lit living room, squinting. “Where did you go?”

A low chuckle came from somewhere nearby. “Right here.”

You jumped slightly when he emerged from the dark corner near the bookshelf, looking entirely too pleased with himself. His tail swayed lazily behind him, and his sharp gaze practically glowed in the low light.

“You need to stop doing that,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “You just… blend in.”

He grinned, leaning against the wall with an easy confidence. “It’s not my fault you don’t pay attention.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing full well that even if you did pay attention, he’d still manage to slip past you. His jaguar instincts kicked in at the most random moments, whether it was silently moving through the apartment or suddenly appearing behind you just to see if he could catch you off guard.

One time, you nearly smacked him with a book when he materialized beside you while you were reading.

“Why do you keep doing that?” you groaned, clutching your chest dramatically.

Jay had just smirked, tilting his head. “Gotta keep your reflexes sharp.”

But it wasn’t just about sneaking up on you, he also had an odd habit of perching on high places. Whether it was the back of the couch, the top of your fridge, or even balancing on the armrest of a chair, he always found a way to be above you.

“You’re not a house cat,” you reminded him once, watching as he effortlessly lounged across the top of your bookshelf, one leg dangling off the side.

“Never said I was,” he shot back, flicking his tail. “I just like the view from up here.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “What if you fall?”

He gave you a look that practically screamed, ‘As if I ever would.’ And honestly? He never did. No matter how precarious his position seemed, Jay always moved with the silent, deadly precision of the predator he was.

Still, you couldn’t deny it, it was kind of impressive. And no matter how many times he startled you by suddenly appearing beside you or watching from some impossible vantage point, you always found yourself smiling in the end.

Even if it meant constantly checking over your shoulder to make sure he wasn’t lurking in the shadows, waiting to mess with you.

JAKE (wolf hybrid) :

As a wolf hybrid, Jake had an undeniable pack mentality, always keeping you close, always hyperaware of where you were. But his quirkiest habit? He tended to scent-mark things without realizing it.

It wasn’t like he went around physically marking his territory like an actual wolf, but his instincts showed in small ways—like how he’d drape his hoodie over your chair or “accidentally” leave his scarf around your neck a little longer than necessary.

“Jake,” you sighed, holding up his sweatshirt. “You left this on my bed again.”

He looked up from the couch, ears perking slightly. “Oh, did I? My bad.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You did it on purpose.”

Jake’s grin was easygoing, but the flick of his tail betrayed him. “Maybe,” he admitted, leaning back. “You just smell better with my scent on you.”

You groaned, but your face warmed at the confession. It wasn’t just clothes, either. If you were out in public together, Jake had this habit of casually resting his arm around your shoulders, fingers brushing your collar, or playing with the ends of your hair, little things that kept you in his orbit.

And if someone else got too close? That’s when his wolf side really showed.

One time, a friend had loaned you their jacket, and the moment Jake caught a whiff of someone else’s scent on you, his expression darkened. He didn’t say anything at first, but when you got home, he tugged you into a hug without warning, burying his face against your neck.

“Uh, Jake?” You squirmed slightly.

“Just fixing something,” he murmured against your skin.

You blinked. “Fixing what?”

“You smell like someone else,” he grumbled. “Don’t like it.”

It took you a second to realize what he was doing—rubbing his scent back onto you. The realization made you laugh, but you didn’t push him away. Instead, you let him nuzzle into your shoulder, his tail wagging just a little.

It was possessive in the gentlest way, less about control and more about making sure everyone knew you were his. And honestly? You didn’t mind one bit.

SUNGHOON (snow leopard hybrid) :

As a snow leopard hybrid, Sunghoon was naturally independent and graceful, but one of his quirkiest habits? He had a tendency to perch in high places, bookshelves, counters, even the back of the couch, watching everything with sharp, assessing eyes like he was surveying his territory.

It wasn’t uncommon to walk into a room and find him sitting somewhere he absolutely shouldn’t be.

“Sunghoon,” you deadpanned, staring at him crouched on top of the kitchen counter. “What are you doing up there?”

He blinked at you, completely unbothered. “Just watching.”

“For what? The apocalypse?”

He smirked. “You never know.”

His snow leopard instincts kicked in most when he was feeling playful or particularly attached to you. Sometimes, he’d “stalk” you around the apartment, his silent footsteps making it almost impossible to notice him until he was right behind you.

“You need a bell or something,” you huffed after nearly jumping out of your skin for the third time that week.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he teased, flicking his tail before slipping past you like a ghost.

And then there was his possessiveness, subtle but unmistakable. He wasn’t the type to make a big show of it, but if someone got too close to you, his tail would lash behind him, his gaze sharpening like a warning.

The real giveaway, though, was the way he’d subtly scent-mark you. He never outright admitted to it, but you started noticing how often he’d drape his scarf around your neck or lean against you for just a little longer than necessary.

One evening, you were about to head out when he suddenly pulled you back by the wrist, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Why do you smell like someone else?” he muttered, nose brushing against your shoulder.

You frowned. “Probably from hugging a friend earlier.”

Sunghoon’s expression didn’t change, but the tip of his tail flicked. Without a word, he slipped his jacket off and draped it over your shoulders, his scent instantly surrounding you.

“There. Much better,” he said smoothly, smirking when you rolled your eyes.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, but you still hugged the jacket tighter around you.

Sunghoon just gave you a knowing look, his tail curling lazily. “Only when it comes to you.”

SUNOO (fox hybrid) :

As a fox hybrid, Sunoo had a playful, mischievous nature, but his quirkiest habit? He was an expert at hoarding things, specifically, your things.

It started off small. A missing hoodie here, a misplaced phone charger there. You didn’t think much of it until you found a suspicious pile of your belongings stashed in a cozy nest of blankets on Sunoo’s bed.

“Sunoo,” you said, holding up one of your missing sweaters. “Care to explain?”

He blinked at you innocently from where he was curled up on his bed, his fluffy tail flicking lazily. “Oh, that? Must’ve ended up there by accident.”

You raised an eyebrow. “My hairbrush, my scarf, and—Sunoo, is this my slipper?”

He grinned, not even trying to hide it anymore. “Maybe. I just like having your scent around.”

You couldn’t even be mad. The way he tucked his chin into the hoodie he was currently wearing (yours, of course) and nuzzled into it like it was the coziest thing in the world was unfairly cute.

But the hoarding wasn’t the only habit. Sunoo had a tendency to be extra cuddly when he wanted something, curling up beside you with a sweet smile that you knew meant trouble.

Like now, when he leaned against your shoulder, his fluffy ears twitching as he looked up at you.

“You love me, right?” he asked, voice honeyed.

You eyed him suspiciously. “What do you want?”

“Nothinggg,” he sang, but his tail gave him away, flicking behind him. “Just maybe… can I have your new hoodie?”

You groaned. “Sunoo, you have so many of my clothes already!”

“But this one still smells like you,” he whined, nuzzling against your neck in an attempt to sway you. “And I’ll look really cute in it.”

“You’re impossible.”

He beamed, knowing he’d already won. “I know. But you love me anyway.”

JUNGWON (panther hybrid) :

Like Sunghoon, Jungwon had a naturally quiet and observant presence, but his quirkiest habit? He had a tendency to silently appear out of nowhere, so much so that it almost felt supernatural.

One moment, you’d be alone in the kitchen making tea, and the next, you’d turn around to find him standing right behind you, watching with those sharp eyes of his.

“Jungwon!” you yelped, nearly dropping the mug. “How long have you been there?”

He tilted his head, looking entirely unbothered. “A while.”

“A while?” You placed a hand over your chest, trying to calm your racing heart. “You can’t just sneak up on people like that!”

“I wasn’t sneaking,” he said with a small smirk. “You just didn’t notice me.”

That was the problem, his panther instincts made his footsteps impossibly light, his movements seamless and controlled. Even in a busy room, he could slip between people without a sound, showing up in the last place you expected.

It wasn’t just his stealthy nature, either. Sometimes, he’d silently watch you go about your day, his gaze always calm but intense, as if he was studying you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked one day, catching him staring from across the room.

His ears twitched slightly, and he shrugged. “You’re interesting to watch.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That sounds creepy.”

“Only if you think about it that way,” he said, the corner of his lips tugging up.

Despite how effortlessly he blended into the background, Jungwon had another habit, when he got comfortable, he became incredibly lazy. He’d sprawl out on the couch with the grace of a jungle cat, his long limbs stretching in the sunniest spot he could find.

If you sat next to him, he’d quietly shift closer until he was practically draped over you, his tail curling lazily around your wrist.

“You’re heavy,” you grumbled as he rested his head in your lap, refusing to move.

“You’re warm,” he countered, eyes already shutting like he had no plans of getting up.

“Jungwon—”

Too late. He was already dozing, completely at ease, as if he didn’t just scare you half to death earlier.

You sighed, running your fingers through his soft hair. For all his silent stalking and sudden appearances, he was still just a big cat at heart, one that had you completely wrapped around his finger.

NIKI (tiger hybrid) :

As a tiger hybrid, Niki had an aura of calm confidence, but his quirkiest habit was the way he acted when it came to attention. He might’ve looked like the picture of cool composure, but when it was just the two of you, he was surprisingly clingy.

It started off small. One evening, you were just lounging on the couch, when Niki slid in next to you. He didn’t say anything, just quietly settled in, his head resting on your shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Hey, what’s up with you?” you asked, glancing over at him.

He mumbled, his eyes already half-closed. “Nothing. Just wanna be close to you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh, sure.”

Soon enough, his tail, a sleek, striped extension of himself—began to wrap around your leg. You shot him a look, but he just smirked.

“Stop moving,” he grumbled, not even bothering to open his eyes.

“I’m not moving. You’re the one who keeps wrapping yourself around me.”

He shrugged nonchalantly, like it was totally normal for him to turn into a human blanket. Then, as if on cue, his purring started, a low, soothing sound that made you wonder if he was part housecat. He had a thing for napping in your lap, but it wasn’t just for comfort. His tiger instincts made him crave closeness, needing to mark his territory in the most subtle way possible.

“You’re weird,” you said with a laugh, as you absentmindedly scratched behind his ear.

He purred louder in response, eyes closing in contentment. “Nope. I’m just being honest about what I want.”

The next thing you knew, his arms were wrapped around your waist, and he was holding you in a vice grip as though he didn’t want to ever let you go.

“Niki,” you groaned, “You’re so clingy.”

“I’m not clingy,” he retorted with a playful smirk, “I’m just loyal.”

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t mind. For all his teasing and boldness, Niki was still that sweet, adorable tiger hybrid who just wanted to be close. And if you were being honest? You didn’t mind it one bit.

Word count : 2639 | serapharua, 2025.

[grimeshound]

HWANG INHO NSFW HCS …

cw: 18+, age gap, daddy kink (inho being fatherly …), intox kink, somno, dirty talk, general filth.

a/n: i’m so sorry this came out way too long & messy ,, long & messy…?!?! , may have some typos. i was writing an inho fic but while writing & coming up with possible ideas, i may have gone a little overboard with the hcs… whoops. anyways head full of inho

—-

• has mastered the art of juggling praising and degrading down to a T. when he has you pinned down fucking you stupid, expect to be hearing the filthiest remarks against your ear.

“that’s my pretty girl, so fucking dirty.”

“just a dumb little fleshlight for me to fill, hmm? so, so good. all for me.”

• he calls you his baby, his sweet girl, his angel, & of course, sweetheart.

• possessive is inho’s middle name. but really, is this shocking news?

• inho never would’ve thought himself to have a daddy kink. not like he wasn’t open to the idea, moreso he never thought he’d get the chance to try it. but ever since you came into his life, you gave him the perfect opportunity.

• he took notice of how much his fatherly nature had you wrapped around his finger. you couldn’t help it, really. the way he’s so protective of you, so patient and caring. the day he called himself daddy in bed, you came so hard you could’ve sworn you were on the brink of blacking out.

“my pretty girl just needed daddy to fuck her right, huh? it’s okay, baby. i’ve got you.” he’d murmur, low groans escaping past parted lips as his thrusts turn sloppier, more frantic and messy at the sound of your moans.

• forced intox kink … i will die on this hill. something about seeing you all dumb & drunk, mind clouded after taking a swig of alcohol gets him hot and bothered.

• somnophiliac. he’ll try his best to be gentle at first to not wake you up, but he can’t help getting lost in the pleasure, pounding himself deeper and deeper until your eyes flutter open.

• the times he uses your mouth, you’re woken up by the sensation of being choked, your airway getting tighter and tighter. tears prick at the corner of your eyes as you frantically grip onto him, gasping for air. he’ll just shush you, hands still pressed firmly against both sides of your head as he fucks your throat.

“shh, it’s okay, baby. s’just daddy… go back to bed, angel.”

• on the topic of choking, inho can’t get enough of it. wrapping his hand around your neck during sex, the choked moans that come from you never fails to make his cock twitch. it drives him up a wall.

• he’d never say it outright, but your age gap makes him so fucking hard. just talking about it with him could serve as foreplay, really. he tries to be sneaky with it, mentioning it in passing.

• he mentions how his age is getting to him, or how young and pretty you are, how he’s “practically old enough to be your father,”. you’d say it’s sick, the only problem being you find it equally as hot.

• for someone of his age, he fucks like a madman. you may be the younger one, but sometimes you find yourself huffing trying to keep up with him. he does most of the work, tells you to just “sit pretty and take it.”, but the times when he’s all tired out and still hard? he’ll lay back on the bed, dark eyes fixed on you as he motions for you to ride him. “get yourself off on daddy’s cock, pretty girl.”

and really, how could you turn that offer down?

[luveline]

hey luv (haha) bombshell!reader lives rent free in my head and I have a lil request for you 🫶🏽 can you write spencer calling reader a nickname for the first time and how flustered she gets? especially in front of the team I would ashdfkflsjah i feel like she always teases him with baby, handsome, etc. and he just turns red but when it’s his turn for (non malicious) payback she melts into a puddle of 🥹🫦 and forgets how to act 🥲 thank you queen ily 🫰🏼

thank you! this isn't in front of the team but i can def do that if that was the most important part, ly ♡ fem

"What's that?" you ask, peering over Spencer's shoulder. 

He turns his face to yours, sneaking a kiss against the curve of your neck. Your breath catches at his affection. "It's online shopping," he answers. "Have you seen it? They deliver your parcel the next day, apparently." 

You like the sound of that, wheeling your chair next to Spencer's to sit at his desk side by side. You're in the midst of a very rare occasion in which there's no  case and no paperwork. It won't last long, and you and your teammates are using these spare hours like a paid vacation. You deserve it (even if it isn't technically moral). 

"What are you buying?" you ask, squinting at his glaring screen. 

His gaze flashes between you and the monitor. He turns the brightness down for you. "You need new socks, right?" 

"Don't buy me socks." 

"Why not?" 

"Because I can buy my own socks?" 

"But I can also buy you socks. I felt bad this morning when I didn't have any matching pairs to lend to you. I'll buy you a big pack and this way you'll always have socks when you need them." 

"Spence, that's so sweet," you say, your hand on his bicep, thumb stroking a line he likely can't feel over his layers. "You really don't have to, though. I kind of like the odd sock look." 

Spencer looks down at your shoes. Your socks are mostly hidden. Despite what you've said, you don't like wearing odd ones, it doesn't fit your perfectly kept image, but you like Spencer a whole lot. 

"No, you don't, and that's fine." He clicks on the Buy Now button, a twenty four pack of black and white crew socks jumping into his cart. "What else should we get?" 

"We?" you ask, leaning back. 

You've barely lifted your left leg when Spencer grabs you by the knee and drapes it over his right. "You never have the stuff you need when you come over. We may as well get it all done now while we have time." 

"Are you serious?" you murmur, a slight pout to your lips. 

Spencer's eyes dart down, catch, and lift back to yours. He sounds soft as you do as he says, "Of course I am. Am I being too forward?" 

"You're never too forward. I'm too forward enough for both of us, Spence. But you don't have to buy me things, I can get all of this stuff myself and bring it with me." 

"What kind of boyfriend does that make me?" 

You can't believe he's your boyfriend. You could scream. "The most adorable one ever?" And that's just the half of it. Spencer Reid has a penchant for ignoring his own good looks. He could've been a super model if the whole genius thing didn't work out. "I need a pillow, then. If we're doing this Reid, let's do it. But I'm paying for my stuff." 

"Okay, angel. Whatever you say." 

You almost miss it, his pet name. Your brain assumes sarcasm, but when you play it back, there's only a soft giving in, like he'd do anything you asked him to just because it's you. Because you're an angel. 

You've called him so many pet names and though you knew they flustered him, you're thinking maybe the team was right, and that you were torturing him the whole time. You melt like a little square of butter in the middle of a frying pan, limp in your seat and uncomfortably warm. Angel. It inspires the want to be saccharinely sweet to him, and you would if you could regain your strength. 

You huff a breath up your hot face in hopes of cooling down. 

"What kind of pillow? Do you want a really soft one? They have hypoallergenic, or down feather." He looks at you sideways. "You can't pay for this, it's too expensive." 

"It's sixteen dollars," you say, feeling submerged. 

"Exactly. Are you okay? You look uncomfortable." 

"I'm feeling a bit hot, suddenly. Hot flush." 

Spencer abandons the computer and his online activities to unbutton the top button of your shirt, and then the second, his hands achingly gentle against your collar. "I'll buy a fan," he says, one hand trailing down your arm soothingly as the other searches for paper. "But for now." 

He fashions you an origami fan and fans you diligently. It works for a time, but you remember the dulcet cadence of his voice and the delicate way he strung the syllables together as though 'angel' were the name you were given at birth, and you feel warm all over again. 

[agreeewrites]

im a strong believer that draco would touch you under the table while you’re having a dinner with his parents just to make your life difficult cuz he’s a lil bitch

oh he 100% would. and I can think of a few others who would too...

in the palm of his hand

pair with: Draco Malfoy, Theo Nott, Mattheo Riddle, Evan Rosier, Sirius Black, Billy Hargrove, or whoever you want!

cw: MDNI 18+, exhibitionism, sub!reader | masterlist

So delicate, you almost thought it was a breeze, his fingers brushed along the hem of your dress. Gliding the fabric up your thigh until his palm rested heavily on your skin, a stanchion. Locking you in place.

He didn't falter in his conversation with his family, never once glanced in your direction, but with that simple motion, he'd consumed every one of your senses. Rewired the synapses of your brain to only fire for him.

It was effortless for him, derailing you. And he knew it, the bastard, wielding his powers at the most inopportune moments.

Like now. In front of his entire family. At dinner.

You wrapped your hand around his, hoping to keep him from pushing further, and took a too-large sip of your drink to settle your nerves.

He flipped his hand over, twining his fingers with yours, smoothing his thumb over yours. Mollifying you.

Then, his aunt asked you a question, drawing your attention away, and you reluctantly allowed it, fielding her questions about your week. But not even a minute later, he guided your hand to the arm rest of your chair, wrapping your fingers around the lacquered wood.

Even without speaking, the order was secure as rope.

You tried to continue your conversation, but his hand had settled back onto your thigh, creeping higher with every word. His rings were cool against your fevered skin, coaxing tingles to dance up your spine.

His grip tightened, tugging your leg out a bit, spreading you, and your words hitched in your throat.

“Quiet,” he warned. Then, with a few carefully arranged words, he deflected the conversation, looping in his parents to take some of the heat off you. A small mercy that had your heart going gooey.

“Baby, please—” you protested weakly, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“You have a safe word,” he replied in a low whisper, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “And please isn't it.”

Fucker had you there.

He slipped back into the larger conversation, and you straightened, trying to look as dignified and poised as possible while his hand finally settled against your core. He palmed the entirety of you, feeling the heat, the moisture soaking through your panties.

His mouth quirked up at the corner, clearly pleased with his find, and a rush of excitement rinsed through you.

As much as you whined, you loved his insatiable appetite for you, and craved his approval like air, even if he was an ass about it.

His middle finger slipped beneath the gusset your panties, dragging through you, and you had to bite back the whimper that bubbled up.

With expert, practiced precision, he coaxed you open, slow and steady, completely hidden beneath the table. His family none the wiser of the way he was pulling you apart at the seams. Piece by torturous piece.

For his part, he seemed entirely unaffected, carrying on with the conversation like there was nothing else in the world he'd rather be doing than talking about his uncles work.

You were getting closer, pleasure burning through you, twisting low and merciless in your belly. You braced your hand on your chin, trying to cover to your face in anticipation, when suddenly his hand slipped away, the fire under your skin sputtering out.

You glared at him, and he winked at you, carefully cleaning your slick off his fingers before reaching up to take a sip of his drink. He tossed a wink at you, smug as could be.

Fucking bastard.

© agreeewrites 2025. do not copy, translate or claim my writing as your own.

[y3sterdaysproblem]

the final girl - matt/chris sturniolo

warnings: heavy on the MDNI, stalking, chasing, oral, fingering, squirting, unprotected sex, knife play, degradation/praise, talks of death, blood

spoilers for the scream movies if you’ve never seen them

a/n: hi! welcome to my blog, I hope you stay a while. I have a big passion for writing so i’m excited to start writing for this fandom.

wc: 6.7k

It was late.

Way too late for any woman to be walking around by herself, past dark alleyways and businesses that had long since closed for the night, however you just needed to clear your head, go for a quick little walk to get your mind off some things, and get a few extra steps in after a particularly lazy day at home binge watching your favorite show.

It wasn’t often that you walked around late at night, due to the potential dangers of it, but you also weren’t particularly afraid of it either, being comfortable with the area you lived and your level of self defense (although most of it was blind confidence, you’d never taken a self defense class in your life), so tonight felt no different than the other times that you had gone on a late night walk, except for maybe the fact that it had started to get slightly chillier out, prompting you to throw on a hoodie that came past the hem of your pajama shorts that had been on since the night before.

Typically you would have airpods in while you walked, but tonight you felt more like enjoying the sounds of night life chattering in the distance as the background noise for your walk, and that’s exactly what you heard as you kept a steady pace through the slightly busier side of town. Bars, restaurants, liquor stores, all littered up and down the streets, some with a few customers, and some completely blacked out. The only part that sent a small shiver down your spine every time you walked past one, was the dark, dimly lit or completely pitch black alleyways that seemingly dragged on for miles.

It wasn’t necessarily a fear, but the thought of being dragged into an alleyway and stabbed or brutally beaten had always been a nagging thought at the back of your mind on these walks. Maybe you had died in an alleyway in a past life. Regardless, you push through the small voice in your head that makes you step a little quicker every time you pass by.

It’s close to 30 minutes into your walk, zoned in as ever, when you feel a buzz in your back pocket, and the feeling rips you out of the deep thought you were having, using your hands to push up your hoodie to reach the butt pocket in your shorts, grabbing your phone and seeing an unknown caller on the screen. You furrow your brow and send it to voicemail, telling yourself if it was important, they’d leave a message, your thought process for any unknown caller.

However, this seemed a little different than a typical unknown number calling, as instead of seeing the voicemail start to pour in, you just see the call trying to come through another time, and again, you hit the red button on your screen, declining the call.

“Can’t be that important,” you mutter under your breath, about to put your phone back into your pocket, when it starts to buzz for a third time, making your heart start to pick up pace slightly. Who would be trying to reach you at such an ungodly hour? Why were they trying so desperately to reach you?

Your finger hovered over the decline button again, but something in you told you to accept the call. What if it was an emergency? What if a family member was in the hospital and they were trying to reach you? What if a friend was in jail and needed you to bail them out? Too many thoughts bounced around inside your head, but eventually you chalked it up to your anxiety getting the best of you, and you pressed down, declining the call again.

You stared down at your phone, stopping completely in the middle of the deserted sidewalk, waiting for another phone call to ring through your phone, but after waiting for a solid minute with no attempts at a call, you assume the caller is done bothering, and put your phone back in your pocket, quickening your pace in an attempt to get home a little quicker than usual.

It’s no more than two minutes later that your phone starts to buzz in your pocket again, and this time, it makes you completely freeze in your tracks. Again? you think to yourself, slowly reaching back and grabbing your phone once more, looking at the same number on the screen trying to reach you. Surely it has to be important if somebody is trying this hard, so with a bit of reluctance and a faster heartbeat than you’d like to admit, you swipe your phone across the screen and hold it up to your ear.

“Hello?” You speak, voice quieter than normal.

“Hi,” the voice on the other end drawls out in a slightly robotic, yet still human voice.

“Who am I speaking with?” You retort.

“I could ask the same question,” the voice replies.

This is weird, you think to yourself.

“You called me, so who is this?” Your voice raises slightly as you get annoyed with the situation. First this person has the nerve to call in the middle of the night, and now they won’t even disclose who they are.

“Woah, you’re feisty. I like that. You got a boyfriend?”

You pause. “Do I- what?!” The exasperation is clear in your voice, a slight panic filling your chest.

“You heard me. You got a boyfriend?” He repeats, a smirk evident in the way he spoke.

You remain silent on the line for a moment, looking around to see if anybody was nearby to overhear this conversation, but there was nobody in your line of sight no matter which direction you looked. “Yes,” fell from your lips before you could stop yourself. “I have a boyfriend.”

The man, or person rather, you weren’t too sure, made a pouting sound on the other end of the call, clearly dejected by your answer. “What a shame,” he starts. “I was hoping I could have you all to myself.”

The words that left his mouth is what really set off your panic, your heart racing in your chest as you started to move again, wanting more than ever to just get home and crawl into bed where you knew you were safe, because right now you felt anything but safe, too exposed in the nighttime air.

“I’m sorry, I think you’ve got the wrong number, have a good night,” you tell them, pulling your phone away from your ear to finally hang up and rid yourself of this interaction, but just as you’re about to end the call, you hear shouting coming from it, the person still yelling at you despite your efforts to end the call. Slowly, you pull it back to your ear, hoping he doesn’t know you’re still listening, but somehow, he knows, chuckling into the speaker.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he taunts. “You wanna play a game?”

Fuck, you think. There’s no way this was who you thought it was, right? Those were just movies, and killers like that don’t exist in the real world. Besides, who would be dumb enough to be a copycat killer with such a popular character? It would be stupid to think that you could possibly get away with trying to be Ghos-

“Hello?! Did you not hear me, slut? I said… do you want to play a game?” The voice bellows, getting more aggressive now.

“W-what kind of game?” You stutter out, your eyes frantically looking for a soul to share this terrifying moment with. But still, there was nobody around, nobody to be a witness. The sinking feeling that you might die, completely alone in the middle of the night, and probably in a stupid fucking alleyway floods your body, understanding how dire this situation is about to get.

“Do you like scary movies?”

The question was way too fitting for the breezy October air, but nowhere near cool enough to cause the goosebumps that arose on your skin.

“Yes,” you breathe out.

“Good. What’s your favorite scary movie?” He asks, curiosity evident in his tone.

You decide to push your luck, and see how far this can go, see who’s really behind the voice on the other end. “You ever heard of the Stab movies?” You ask.

He laughs. He knows you know now. But he doesn’t seem to mind that his cover is blown. “Wow, that’s a creative answer. I’ve heard of them,” he says.

You know that the Stab movies were just fictional, based on the stories of those in the Scream movies, but in reality, Scream was your favorite scary movie. It wasn’t too gory or scary, just the perfect amount of thriller to keep you on the edge of your seat, and truthfully, you always kind of had a thing for Ghostface, which is exactly why you’re still here on the phone, entertaining whoever is on the other end.

“Well, that’s my favorite movie. Are we done playing games now?” You’re more than ready to be back home now, but a part of you isn’t ready for this call to be over just yet. You wanna know if he’s gonna want to do trivia, just like the real Ghostface.

“The game hasn’t even started,” he begins. “Play with me, will you?” His voice is soft, almost begging. You would never admit it out loud, but it made you swallow a little harder than usual, and the feeling of your quickening heartbeat fell between your legs. Curse this Ghostface kink.

“O-okay,” you agree. “Let’s play.”

“Great. How about a warm up question? Who’s the killer in the original Scream movie?” He shoots out the first question like he’s reading it off of a script.

“Easy! It’s Billy Loomis, and don’t think I’ll fall for your trick question, Stu Macher is the other killer,” you proudly say, perhaps a little too loudly, but there was still nobody around to hear you boasting about your favorite movie killers.

He seems almost proud when he answers, like you’ve impressed him more than he’d like to admit. “Good job. Now we’ll play for real.”

“What?!” You exclaim. “I got that one right, that counts.”

“No, it was a warm up.” He’s determined to not count this question as a legitimate turn. “If you get this one right, you get to walk away.”

You’re overly confident in your knowledge of the Scream movies, so even though you’re not really sure what is going on at the moment, you’re almost positive you’ll get this question right and win whatever this game was, ending the conversation and letting you finally go home in peace. “And if I lose?” You dare to ask.

His reply is quick though. “If you lose, I get to wear your insides as a fucking necklace.”

Your heartbeat is pounding in your ears at the words, worry finally filling your head as you realize this was a lot more serious than you had initially thought. There was no way this guy was serious, but standing alone in the middle of the street at almost 2am, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was completely serious, and if a trivia question was the way your life would end.

“I don’t think I want to play this game anymore,” tears filled your eyes as you spoke, voice raising in pitch as your throat started to get tight. “Please just let me go home.”

He doesn’t respond to this with words, only a small chuckle before he speaks again. “What’s your name, pretty girl?”

“My name?” You choke out. “Why do you want to know?”

He pauses.

“Because I want to know who I’m looking at.”

It’s in this moment that you look to your right, realizing you’re stopped at the end of an alleyway, right at the driveway, and staring down the dark hall of the alley, you see a dark figure standing in the middle of it, phone held up to their ear, Ghostface mask the only thing visible in the one working light that shines down on their face.

“Holy fuck,” you panic, immediately turning the other way and running down the alley across the street, opposite the one the figure stood in. “Help!” You cry out, phone call long forgotten as you pump your arms to try and run quicker. It seems to be to no avail as you hear loud footsteps quickly approaching behind you, and you start to feel all hope draining from your body as the killer got closer.

It’s not long before you’re getting slammed up a brick wall, knocking the breath out of you as you come face to face with your favorite movie killer, however this wasn’t a movie, this was real life, and you were truly and utterly fucked.

“Please don’t hurt me,” you beg once you get your breath back, trying to shove them away, but your efforts failed. One arm was held across your chest, and the other was holding a large blade up to your throat. “I promise, I’ll do anything, just don’t hurt me.”

He laughs in your face, and the classic Ghostface voice is still there despite the phone call being over. The voice changer must be built into the fucking mask, and you couldn’t help but think how hot this would’ve been in any other situation. Except… part of you was still slightly turned on, even though your life was in jeopardy. “I’m going to do a lot more than hurt you,” he threatens. “Now tell me. How does Amber die in Scream 5?”

God, he’s still quizzing you? Even with a knife to your throat? The good thing is, you’ve seen these movies so many times, you know you can pull this without even thinking.

“She… she lights herself on fire, on a stove.” You choke out, looking up into the eyes of the mask. You almost let a smirk take over your face, but then you feel the blade press harder, and it makes your eyes widen.

“Wrong,” he taunts, leaning his face closer to yours. “She survives the fire and gets shot in the head.”

No, you think. No, there’s no way I’m wrong. Until you realize, he’s right. You have to shoot them in the head, or they come back. Fuck.

“Wait! Ask me another question, I can get it right I swear!” You’re squirming against his grip now, tears evidently streaming down your face. You know what happens in this part of the movie. The brutal stabbing, the guts hanging out, the killer getting away with it. It was over, and you were no doubt a dead man walking.

“Too late! You’re wrong!” He yells, moving his arm that lay across your chest and putting his hand on your shoulder, applying pressure to push you towards the ground, and the shove had forced you to fall on your knees, no doubt ripping them up with the uneven ground you now rested on. Your eyes looked up towards the masked figure, eyebrows contorted in confusion. This was not how the movies went at all, but a part of you was getting slightly warmer at the thought of what was about to happen, thighs clenching together around nothing.

“I-I’m sorry, I panicked and said the wrong answer,” you say in a quiet voice, still staring up at him through your lashes. From the position you were now in, you assumed you and the killer were on the same page, and you reached out to rest your hands on his thighs, separated by the cloak he wore and the jeans that lay atop his skin. “Please let me make it up to you.”

The tone shifts. No longer were you scared for your life, but you were excited for what was about to ensue. Sure, maybe this wasn’t the smartest thing you’ve ever done, and maybe it’ll be the last thing you ever do, but you wanted to go out with a bang, and this was definitely a bang.

As he fails to respond, you take that as your approval and start to move his cloak up, pulling it over your head and completely covering yourself with it so you, too, were underneath it, almost completely hidden from view apart from your bare knees touching the ground. The only thing separating you now was the normal clothes that lay underneath, and you reach your hands up to the button of his jeans, skillfully yet slowly popping it open, pulling the zipper down after it. Keeping the pants completely pulled up, just slightly undone, you move your hand downwards and palm over the hardness under the hard fabric, realizing that he was having just as much fun as you were. Besides, who could turn down a free blowjob from a pretty girl in a dark alleyway?

Deciding you were ready to take this on, you push your hands in the waistband of his jeans and boxers, pulling them down to expose the hard member that impatiently awaited, hearing the masked killer suck in a hissed breath, still contorted by the voice changer. God, this was a fucking dream come true and you wanted to relish in every second of it that you could.

He was bigger than you expected, but just like your movie trivia confidence, you were confident you could take him, in more ways than one, and you lean forward to gently start taking the tip into your mouth, creating a suction around it that made him have to lean a hand on the alley wall to keep his balance and not fall to his knees alongside you. Once you’re comfortable with the feeling, you reach a hand up to cover what your mouth can’t reach and start pumping in time with your head movements, tongue flattening out onto the bottom of his dick, twisting your hand slightly as you moan when the tip hits the back of your throat, causing him to let out a choked moan.

“You should be fucking bleeding out in a dumpster right now, you stupid bitch,” he mumbles, but it’s in vain. You’ve got him right where you need him, and he would never admit it, but he’s living for it. The euphoria filling his veins as he focuses on the way your tongue moves on him is taking over his senses, eyes closed and head thrown back.

All you do is moan in response as you continue your pace, feeling your own arousal creeping up inside your pajama shorts, wishing you could reach down and relieve some of the pressure, but you decide to not push your luck too much. You don’t know what he would let you get away with and what he wouldn’t.

You feel him start to lose control slightly, using his hand braced on the wall as leverage as he starts to move his hips forward, fucking your mouth lightly at first, but quickly picking up pace as he realizes that you can take a lot more than you’re letting on, not stopping even when your hands fly up to his hips and you gag around his cock abusing your throat, using it as a fuck toy. However, your hands don’t push him away, just grasp on so you have something to ground yourself in the moment.

Suddenly, the rough pace stops, and he pulls the cloak from over you and looks down and your fucked out face, day old mascara running down your cheeks, drool dripping down your chin as your mouth hangs open while you try to catch your breath. It’s a beautiful sight to him, and he can’t get enough. He pushes your head against the brick wall, a big more aggressive than needed, but not hard enough to hurt you, and uses his other hand to slap his cock against your cheek lightly before letting out a breathless laugh.

“Stand up, slut. Wanna see how wet you are for me,” he demands, taking a fistful of your hair and pulling you up, not giving you time to focus on the ache in your knees from the position you were in. But you eagerly got up anyway, returning to your face to face positioning. Swallowing thickly, you finally catch your breath as you stare back into the eyes of the mask, but it’s dark in this alley that you can’t see the eyes behind it.

“I’m so wet, please touch me. It hurts. I need you to touch me,” you beg, his hand still tangled in your hair while the other one is still wrapped around the handle of a blade. You knew the begging was risky, not knowing what his plans were with you, but you decided to try it anyway, not giving yourself much time to talk yourself out of it.

He doesn’t reply just yet, only takes his wielded weapon and slowly moves it under your hoodie, sliding the blade down your stomach, the cold, pointed tip pressed hard enough to cause goosebumps to prickle your skin, but not enough to break skin. Not yet.

He drags it into the waistband of your shorts and panties, knife touching your soaked pussy momentarily before he shoves it down and slices a hole right through both layers of your clothes, creating a gash large enough for whatever he had planned for you. The autumn air rushed over your wetness, causing you to try and clench your legs shut, but you quickly relaxed your knees when you realized the knife was still hanging between your thighs, not wanting to risk cutting yourself. It was a vulnerable position, one that should be terrifying, but it just made you more desperate to be touched.

Slowly he pulled the knife from your shorts, reaching back to slide it in the waistband of his jeans so both of his hands were free to touch you, and once his right hand was rid of the blade, he brought it to the hole in your shorts and ran a finger through the smooth slit of your pussy, gliding easily from how wet you already were. It was a fucked situation, but it had you worked up beyond belief. You don’t know if you’ve ever been this wet prior to even being touched before.

“All of this for me?” He breaks the silence for a first time in the while, causing a whimper to leave your mouth as he kept playing with you lightly, not dipping his fingers where you needed them the most right now, barely grazing over the folds covering your clit. The teasing was making you crazy, but you were too scared to tell him what to do, or even to reach out and touch him while you were face to face. You felt completely at his mercy; and it was the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced in your life.

“Tell me, pretty girl. How bad do you want me right now?” He asks, leaning his masked face in closer to yours. You swore you almost hear his real voice underneath the voice changer, but brush it aside and focus on the Ghostface voice you know and love, finally opening your mouth to speak, heavy breathing accompanying your words.

“I don’t want you, I need you so bad, please put your fingers inside me, I need it. I need to feel you inside of me, please,” you beg, voice cracking as you realize tears are streaming down your face, but you don’t know if you’re crying because you’re terrified or because you’re just so fucking desperate.

He chuckles as he slides two fingers in between your folds, dragging your wetness to your clit for a moment and rubbing there, finally relieving some of the pressure. Your head falls back against the rough brick wall of the alleyway as you let out a loud moan, his fingers rubbing circles around your clit nearly making your knees give out from that alone. “You sound so good making those noises for me, slut. I can’t wait to have you screaming for me.”

He finally pushes his two fingers back and dips them inside of you with no resistance, your body accepting them more than willingly, and you both let out a moan at the feeling, your back arching away from the wall as he curls his fingers inside of you.

“Fuck!” You cry out, unable to stop yourself from reaching out and grabbing his left bicep, needing something to latch on to in the moment. Your left leg comes up and finds purchase on a pipe that ran along the wall, giving him more access to your dripping core. “Your fingers feel so good,” you’re breathless as you speak. “Please don’t stop.”

His fingers start a quick pace inside of you, pumping in and out while also curling them inside, soft grunts leaving his mouth as he pleasured you. He was enjoying this almost as much as you were. “God, you’re so loud. You sound so fucking hot.” He praises you, clearly turned on by the way you’re crying out for him.

He halts for a moment with his fingers deep inside of you, making you pull your head up from the wall and look down at his fingers before you look up at him, confusion clear on your face. “Why’d you st- oh!” You moan out and throw your head back again, hand gripping harder on his bicep as he starts to move his hand back and forth now, palm pressed firmly on your clit as he fingers you rapidly, causing your first orgasm of the night to rip out of you with a scream, body shaking and barely able to stand up straight. Although this orgasm was different. It was harder, more intense, and you realize you’re still cumming as he keeps pumping his fingers inside of you, hot liquid pouring out of your already dripping pussy and draining down your legs, creating a puddle underneath you where you stand.

He pulls his fingers out of you when he’s had enough and drags them over your swollen clit, making your body jerk when he starts rubbing it quickly, overstimulating you and causing a tiny bit more liquid to pour out. You cry and use your left hand to push his away from you, not being able to take anymore.

But he doesn’t care if you had time to collect yourself or not, and he’s pulling his cloak up to unveil his still hard cock, desperately waiting to fuck you senseless until you couldn’t even stand up straight anymore. “I’m not done with you,” he reveals. “You think I’m just going to let you cum one time and walk away? No. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t fuck anybody else without thinking about me and wishing I was there to fucking ruin you all over again.”

You breathed heavily as you looked at him, or rather the mask that hid the man that was absolutely draining you of any energy you had left for the night, a fucked out expression already adorning your face. “I was hoping you weren’t done,” you breathed out, letting a smirk fall on your features briefly.

“Don’t get fucking mouthy,” he growls, grabbing your leg that was perched up on the wall and slinging it around his waist, using his other hand to guide his cock to your entrance, teasing briefly before shoving inside of you, bottoming out on the first thrust. You screeched at the feeling, using both hands now on each bicep to grip onto him for some sort of leverage, needing to ground yourself somewhere.

“Oh my fucking god!” You cry out, tears filling your eyes, a mixture of the pleasure and the stretch. You weren’t always sex crier, but sometimes when it felt particularly overwhelming, you couldn’t help a few tears from falling.

He doesn’t wait long before he starts thrusting inside of you, low grunts leaving his lips and traveling through the mask, turning you on even more. “God, you feel so good,” he says breathlessly. “I can’t believe you’re so turned on by a fucking serial killer. You’re a freak, you know that? I should kill you and leave your body here just like this so everyone knows you died a stupid fucking slut.”

Your jaw was slung open, eyes half lidded as you stared at the mask in front of you, barely able to comprehend the words spilling from his mouth, but the words that stuck in your brain made you even hornier. He was right, you were a freak. This should be anything but sexy, but to you it was the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced. “You could kill me…” you start, smiling lightly as you speak. “And my last words would be thank you.”

The sound of skin slapping against skin was the only thing to be heard aside from the heavy breathing and moans coming from both of you.

He grunts in response, bringing his left hand that isn’t holding your leg down to your clit, rubbing quickly in time with his thrusts, making you whimper loudly, throwing your head back against the harsh brick wall. “Fuck!” You nearly scream.

The feeling of both was far too much, your second orgasm slamming into you like a truck, your hands reaching down to his hips to push him out of you, your head shooting up to look down at where you gushing again, a second time for the night. Your thighs shook as you struggled to hold yourself up, moans still leaving your lips as your orgasm faded, turning into soft whimpers. “I-I can’t, I’m done.” Your voice is shaky, eyes barely able to stay open as you bring them up to look into the eyes of the mask.

He laughs. Not a chuckle, he full on laughs, throwing his head back in time with the heavenly sound leaving his mouth. “You’re done?” He questions, looking back towards you. You had black tear tracks running down your bright red cheeks, your lips were puffy from biting on them, and he couldn’t tell if it was drool or precum all over your chin; probably both. “I don’t remember you being in charge.”

Keeping your leg wrapped around his waist, he uses his left hand to reach into his back pocket, the one across from the blade still resting comfortably, and dips into it, coming back out with a piece of fabric. You weren’t sure what it was, but when he unfolds it and holds it up to you, you realize it’s a thin, long piece of fabric.

A blindfold.

“Be a good girl for me and close your eyes,” he whispers in your ear, and all you could do was obey. Your eyes fluttered shut, realizing that your trust was fully in this man. He really could do anything he wanted to you now, and you wouldn’t be able to see it coming.

His hands come up and tie the blindfold behind your head, making sure it’s secure enough that you can’t see through the bottom, but not tight enough to hurt, not that not hurting you was particularly on the top of his priority list. “You’re so good for me,” he praises, running his thumb over your cheek, gently flitting over your bottom lip before leaving your face completely. “Can you hold this for me?”

Your hand reaches out instinctively, blinding feeling for whatever he spoke of. Something touched your hand, and you grasped your fingers around it, unable to figure out what it was, until you felt him slowly moving downwards, your leg now resting on his shoulder as he placed his hands on your thighs, squeezing them roughly. His lips dragged over the tops of your thighs, pressing lightly in soft kisses every couple of seconds, getting closer to your core where you needed his mouth the most.

Your free hand that wasn’t wrapped around his mask tangled in his hair, threading through it gently, chest heaving in anticipation. Your hips pressed forward and your back fully leaned against the wall behind you when you felt his lips finally press against your wet folds, kissing softly there before he dragged his tongue from your hole to your clit, wrapping his lips around the swollen nub and sucking roughly, hands pushing your legs farther apart for him.

Your senses were elevated with the lack of vision, tingles erupting over your whole body as he ate you out like his life depended on it. You moaned out, hands gripping his hair harder now. “Oh my god,” you breathe. “That feels so good, baby, please don’t stop.”

He only hums against your pussy, sending shivers down your spine. He eats you out ruthlessly, wet noises filling your ears alongside the pounding from your racing heart. His tongue was working magic on your clit, expertly coaxing you to a third orgasm. You were so close, gently grinding your hips into his mouth, feeling the stubble around his chin creating friction between the two of you. Your thighs were aching from how hard they had been shaking, but nothing mattered except the feeling of where the two of you were connected.

“Keep going, please. I’m so close. You’re gonna make me cum again, baby.” Your voice was hoarse as you spoke.

Wanting nothing more than to rip your orgasm from you, he reached up and slid two fingers back into you while his mouth sucked on your clit, making you cry out. “Shit!” You screech, voice getting pinched as you came for a third time, knees buckling beneath you. He grabbed your hip with his free hand and held you up, while his other hand continued pumping inside you, tongue still working its magic. He swallowed the juices that flowed from your pussy, moaning at the taste.

“You taste so good,” he mutters against your skin, pulling his fingers out and dragging his lips along your thigh, nipping slightly at the goosebump covered skin. “I could eat you for hours.”

You whimper at the desperate sound of his voice, wanting nothing more than to look down and see the face looking back at you, but he stands back up to his feet, and you expect him to grab the mask from your hands and hide his face once again, but once he’s up to his feet and standing straight up, he leans forward and presses his lips to your neck, making your breath catch in your throat. He litters small kisses there, before sinking his teeth into the curve where your neck meets your shoulder, sucking a deep red mark into the skin.

You reach up and cup his own neck, tilting your head to give him further access and holding him close to you, breathing heavily as he marked his territory. “Are you done with me yet?” You whisper, afraid to speak too loud and break the moment.

“No,” he whispers back, voice free of any effects, the raw tone of his voice ringing in your ears. “Not yet.”

His demeanor changes and he grabs a fistful of your hair, pressing his lips firmly to yours in an aggressive kiss, tongue sliding past your teeth and meeting your own. But it’s short lived, and he pulls away, snatching the mask from your hand.

Moments later, the blindfold is ripped from your face and you have to blink a few times to adjust your eyes to your surroundings again. You look down and see you’re standing in a puddle of your own release, legs and feet soaked in a mixture of spit and arousal, your shorts damn near torn to shreds. You were a complete mess, and you couldn’t imagine what there was left to ruin.

He reaches back into his pocket, pulling out the blade once more and holding it up to the side of your throat. “On your knees,” he demands, using his other hand to push your shoulders down, keeping the blade firmly against your neck as you fell to your knees again.

The feeling of the blade on your neck made your heart pick up pace, knowing that he could kill you at any moment with just a flick of his wrist, but the thought just made you reel even more. He picks his hand up off of your shoulder and grabs his own cock, rubbing it over your lips lightly, breathing out at the feeling of some sort of relief after pleasuring you for so long. Your eyes stare up at him innocently, sticking your tongue out and flattening it against the bottom of his dick, allowing it to slide into your mouth with ease.

You close your lips around him and moan at the taste of you and him hitting your senses, leaning your head in as far as you can take him, but it’s not enough for him, and he pushes your head back against the wall and starts fucking your throat, moaning loudly as he did so.

He was already so close to cumming, getting so worked up at the feeling of you falling apart on his tongue, that it wasn’t going to take him much to tip over the edge himself. His blade pushed harder into your neck as he started to lose control, and you started whimpering at the feeling, not knowing how far he was going to take it, or if he even noticed he was doing it. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, hips starting to stutter as he fucked your mouth.

Moments later, he pulls his dick out of your mouth and you reach up to grab it, pumping quickly with your tongue hanging out of your mouth, graciously accepting the load that shot out of him and all over your face, even into your hair. You stroked him through his orgasm and swallowed what landed on your tongue, staring up at him as he stared down at you, small moans and almost whimpers passing through his lips.

“Stop,” he chokes out, pushing your hand away from his sensitive tip. You just laugh in response as you drop your hand to your side, slowly standing back to your feet. “Now you know how I feel,” you tell him.

You both take a moment to collect yourself and catch your breath, the heaving in your chests gradually getting calmer.

“Shit,” he mumbles, reaching up and swiping his thumb over your neck, smearing a liquid you didn’t know was there. “I cut you.”

You look down at his thumb, red substance covering it. It should’ve been a little scary, the thought of the knife actually cutting into you and you didn’t even know, but you just grabbed his hand and brought his thumb to your mouth, sucking the blood off with a quiet pop.

“I think I’ll live,” you smile at him, reaching up to rip the mask off of his face, revealing your boyfriend’s messy brown hair and bright blue eyes staring back at you. He smiles and leans in to place a kiss on your nose, pulling back quickly.

“You ready to go home? I’m exhausted,” he laughs.

You giggle a bit and take a look at the mess that the both of you are. “You’re exhausted? I don’t think I can walk home, my legs don’t work anymore.” You tell him.

He just chuckles as he buttons his pants, the knife safely tucked away into his back pocket once more. “Good thing I brought the car then. Couldn’t risk anyone seeing you walking home like this. C’mon, it’s at the end of the alley. I’ll carry you.” He leans down and scoops you up, hands covering the hole in your shorts as he walks you to the car.

“Hey,” you speak up as he sets you in the passenger seat of your shared car.

“Hm?” He replies tiredly, looking down at you from where he stood.

“Can we maybe… keep the mask? Do this again some time?” You ask him bashfully, twiddling your fingers as he spoke.

Your boyfriend laughs and leans down to kiss your cheek, then brings his lips close to your ear.

“Of course. After all, the final girl always makes the sequel.”

a/n: ……

who did you imagine?👀

dare you to read it again and imagine the other one 😇

taglist

@nathangirl3

@vamp1re-bite

[thrillered]

Spencer at a " Y/N L/N is dead | The funeral roast" pretty please🫶

(Bonus points if after roasting reader he gets all sentimental and reiterates that he CANNOT live without them or he'll just die on the spot)

"Y/N is dead. | The funeral roast" | Spencer Agnew x Reader

this was so fun to write! I hope you enjoy it!

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You were sitting in the blue velvet coffin, a bouquet of fake black roses in your hands and tears in your eyes. You were in the middle of shooting your funeral, surrounded by your friends and coworkers as they roasted the hell out of you. Right now Shayne was playing the CEO of converse, crying over who was going to keep them in business now that you were gone. You looked down at your pair of custom smosh platform converse you were wearing that Ian had bought you for your 3 year ‘smoshiversary’. 

Shayne finished his bit, earning claps from throughout the room. You peaked one eye open, looking to see who was going next. Tommy was stepping up to the podium, his signature lace funeral hat on. 

“Friends, coworkers… those who somehow managed to deal with Y/N, I am here to read the final will of Y/N L/N.” He began, pulling a piece of paper out of his long black leather jacket; a dig at your favorite coat you thrifted. “She left a lot of things for those she loved, I will not be reading those today.” 

You laughed, peeking at the offended looks on everyone's faces. 

“Courtney, Y/N leaves you her sense of humor. There wasn’t much of it but it was stolen from you to begin with.” Courtney gasped while Shayne let out a pfft. He turned his attention to Shayne, “Shayne, everyone knew of the “fake” beef the two of you played up on camera… so to you she left her 17 pairs of platform converse, this way you don’t have to look up to her… maybe now you'll see eye to eye.” 

You pulled a hand over your mouth, attempting to muffle the loud cackle that was escaping you. “Well damn.” Shayne sputtered. 

“To Angela Y/N leaves her entire Le Creuset cookware set. Everyone knew you were jealous of it.” 

“Okay that’s not fair, it’s literally all light blue, it's gorgeous!” Angela exclaimed.

“And finally Y/N leaves Spencer her heart… and yet he’ll still probably ask if she actually loves him.” 

“That's crazy…” You huffed, through fits of laughter. The entire crew clapping and ‘ohhh’ing at Spencer. 

Tommy left the podium, grabbing your knees as he walked by the coffin, knowing you hated it. “I gotcha!” He sneered, making you yelp.

The only person left to speak was Spencer. He was in a full suit and tie, dressed for an actual funeral. He looked really good, you just wanted to stare at him. He approached the podium, a large binder in his hands. 

“In honor of Y/N’s memory I would like to start by going through some of my favorite memories with her in this photo album.” Spencer declared, opening to a middle page of the album. “This is when Y/N and I met.” He turned the binder around, showing a picture from your first day at Smosh. 

Awe’s could be heard around the room. You scrunched your brows, not trusting Spencer to only be nice. “Then I got to know her…” He hesitated, pulling an awkward and tight grin across his face. “Then she passed. That’s my favorite” He showed a picture of you sitting in the coffin, clearly taken today.

“What the fuck?” you asked, “How did you print that so quickly?” 

“The dead don’t talk.” Erin reminded from the seats, earning a middle finger from you. 

“Anyway, time for the eulogy.” Spencer continued, tossing the album away from him, a loud clap echoing in the room as the binder hit the ground. “The world went quiet when Y/N died… mostly because she couldn’t cackle like a banshee anymore… frankly? Pretty peaceful.” 

“Oh my god.” Amanda laughed, covering her face.

“I think we can all agree that Y/N was an integral part of this company and an integral part of this cast.” Everyone nodded, Angela pretending to wipe away tears. “I mean.. Who else is gonna be worse Courtney? Or shorter Amanda? Or Taller Angela? Or less clever Arasha? Or Shayne if he was a lady barista who wanted to be a skater?” 

“Jesus Christ man.” Shayne said, shaking his head in confusion.

“He’s not wrong.” Courtney agreed, putting a hand on Shayne’s shoulder.

“But things will never be the same without her. I am reminded of her constantly… mostly because her hair is everywhere. I don’t know how she still has hair, she literally sheds like a husky; whines like one too.” 

You were shaking your head, holding in a laugh, not wanting to give Spencer the win of your laughter. 

“But seriously, I love you Y/N. I don’t know what I would do without you, I think I would actually die. Please don’t make me sleep on the couch tonight.” Spencer admitted, making eye contact with you, a smile on his face. “You mean the world to me.” 

Spencer sat down. You waited a dramatic few seconds before sucking in a large breath of air, pretending to wake from the dead. “How long was I out for?” you asked, making everyone laugh. “That was some… nice?... things you guys said about me, thanks guys.” 

“Luckily I just came from hell so I can handle the heat… I wonder if you guys will do the same,” you smirked, pulling a folded piece of paper out of your bra, unfolding it and reading it aloud, “Call me sometime, satan? Oops, wrong paper!” You joked, tucking the paper away. 

“Man what the hell?” Spencer asked.

“Well that's where she was apparently.” Shayne reminded, making himself laugh. 

“Okay this is the right one,” You began, unfolding a larger paper. “Tommy… ur gay. Courtney… ur gay. Shayne….” You stopped, staring at him for a moment before simply moving on. “Angela… me and your mom genuinely text, and I want you to think about that.” 

“That’s actually devastating.” Shayne cackled.

“Amanda… we need to hang out more.” You insisted. “But maybe just at my house, I’m tired of having to climb a beanstalk to come see you” You joked, turning Amanda's sly grin into a face of shock. “Erin… Erin Erin Erin….I lied when I said I lost that blue shirt I borrowed… I still have it and wear it regularly.” You admitted. “And you’re not getting it back.” 

“You bitch!” Erin gasped, disgust crossing her features as you blew her a kiss. 

“Last.. and least!” You emphasized, “Spencer.. My best friend, my boyfriend, and my other half… if I’m gone you’re a glass half empty. If you’re gone, I’m a glass half full.” You informed. “That’s all to say: You’re Y/N L/N’s boyfriend, and that’s your most impressive accomplishment.”

Everyone laughed, teasing Spencer with an eruption of ‘ooh’s and agreements. 

“Seriously though, I love you all so much. Honestly the specificity of each roast made me really happy, you guys really know me and that means a lot to me.” You smiled, looking around the room to each and every one of your closest friends. “And a special thank you to Spencer for loving me, even through all the quirks and flaws that were mentioned here, I love you.” You finished, suddenly pretending to have a hard time breathing before collapsing into dead weight. Then quickly waking back up, “You’re still sleeping on the couch though.” You noted, staying ‘dead’ this time.